“Realistic,” Jaime Serrano agreed. “Not nice. But realistic.”

  “So, looked at realistically—?” Willie suggested.

  “Looked at realistically,” Ray Stanley said, “I think for the sake of my own self-respect, and to underwrite and reconfirm the general rules of ethical conduct which I have attempted to live by for forty years in the Foreign Service—I will resign.”

  “I think I will do the same,” Eulie said gravely.

  “Good for you both,” Mary said.

  “It’s a long way from Riyadh,” Eulie said, and again tears came into her eyes, “but here we are, the three musketeers, still together.”

  “Yes,” Mary said, her own eyes filling sympathetically at the thought of so many years, such old friendship. “Still together.”

  Jaime cleared his throat.

  “I do not have this sentiment about it,” he said, “but I too have some principles. I do not quite know why the President chose me to be his national security adviser, except maybe a big campaign contribution—”

  “Maybe,” Willie agreed. “And to help him carry Miami and Florida next time.”

  “—but I have tried to do my best for him. But I don’ have to stay if I don’ want to. I don’ have to stay if good friends whom I admire say they can’t remain. I don’ think I can either.”

  “That’s nice, Jaime,” the Secretary said, touched, “but don’t get carried away. Don’t let us influence you. You may still be able to contribute much to what he does.”

  “I doubt it,” Jaime said, and added with a surprising bitterness, “I am jus’ his trained monkey. It is maybe time for me to move on with my silly chatter.”

  “Not silly at all,” the Secretary objected. “But—whatever you think best.”

  “I think bes’,” Jaime said.

  “Do you want to call Helen?” Mary asked. “Didn’t she ask you to, Ray?”

  “She did,” the Secretary said. “Thank you for reminding me.”

  He got up, went to his desk, dialed the White House.

  “This is Secretary Stanley,” he said. “Has the First Lady retired…? Oh, good. Can you put me through, please.… Helen, this is Ray Stanley. I’m here at the apartment with Eulie and Jaime”—Willie lifted a warning hand—“and Mary, and we’ve been discussing the subject we discussed with you after the NSC meeting.”

  “Yes?” she said, quite impersonally, though he knew she was deeply interested and possibly a little tense; but it wouldn’t be like her to show it. “And—?”

  “I think the answer of all three of us is yes.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “It will be a blow to him,” she said finally. “And, for a little while, a great political scandal. He will be very sorry.”

  “But he will survive,” Ray suggested.

  “Oh, yes,” she agreed. “He will survive. You really think you must?”

  “I’m afraid we do,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too, Ray” she said. “I really am. Please tell Eulie and Jaime I said so … I think he’s reading, I don’t think he’s gone to sleep yet. Do you want me to tell him, or do you want to wait and talk to him tomorrow from the department?”

  “We’ll do that,” he said. “But you might prepare him now, yes.”

  “Perhaps you’ll change your minds by tomorrow. I know he will be hoping that.”

  “He’s always the confident optimist,” the Secretary said, not knowing whether to be amused or sad. “But I don’t think we will.”

  “One never knows, in this world,” she said. “One never knows about anything. Thank you for calling me, Ray. All the best to you and the others. You have my friendship, no matter what.”

  “Thank you, Helen,” he said gravely. He hung up and recapped the conversation briefly for them. They looked at one another with a sudden relief, a sudden release of tension, a surge of feeling good about themselves and their decision.

  “I think,” Willie Wilson said, “that everybody should have another drink.”

  * * *

  As promised, they called the President in the morning. He expressed deep regrets, accepted their decision matter-of-factly since he had no other choice in the face of their obvious determination, and asked one favor: that they withhold public announcement until after the signing ceremony on the White House lawn and his own speech, which would conclude the hallowed ritual established by his recent predecessors, in which benign Chief Executives preside over the diplomatic achievements of others while cameras roll and thousands cheer.

  This they agreed to, although as Willie remarked when Ray told him about it later in the day, “He’s got you blocked there. Before his speech, you would have been a big sensation. After it, you’ll be just a footnote—quite a big footnote, but still a footnote.”

  “Can’t be helped,” the Secretary said. “He had a right to ask and we had to agree.”

  “Oh, of course,” Senator Wilson said. “But it’s a shame. You can still come before the committee, though, if you’d like. That’s a promise.”

  “We may do just that,” Ray Stanley said thoughtfully. “We’ll have to see what he has to say, and how things develop.”

  After that, events seemed to accelerate rapidly as they approached the great day at the White House. Inevitably, although they all did their best to keep it quiet, the impression got out, encouraged by much media speculation, that their resignations might be imminent.

  The British ambassador called.

  “I say, Ray,” Tony Marsden said, “are you going to bite the bullet and pull out of that mess over there?”

  “Not a mess on my watch,” the Secretary said. “At least,” he added wryly, “not until lately.”

  “But you’re going to do it,” Tony pressed. “It’s all over but the shouting?”

  “Stand by,” Ray Stanley said. “Don’t do anything until you hear the shouting.”

  “Good for you,” Tony said. “I heartily approve.”

  The former Secretary of State called.

  “Ray!” cried Reginald Pennebaker Sims. “Heartiest congratulations! I hear you’re going to tell that wavering wishy-washy wimp where to head in!”

  “I wouldn’t say that, Penny,” the Secretary said mildly. “I’m not prepared to say yet—to anyone—what I’m going to do.”

  “Not even to me, one of your oldest and closest friends in the Foreign Service?” Penny demanded. “And one of the most discreet, too,” he added, so defensively that the Secretary could not help laughing.

  “Penny,” he said, “you’re the absolute soul of discretion. Nobody could possibly be more famous throughout the service for it.”

  “Well, thank you,” Penny Sims said, a trifle huffily. “I hope you’re going to give him absolute hell when you all go public. When will that be, after the big show on the White House lawn?”

  “Yes,” Ray said before thinking, then caught himself hastily as Penny uttered a triumphant crow. “If we do such a thing,” he amended, “that is when it would be. But I’m not saying—”

  “Of course you’re not,” Penny agreed with a chuckle. “And Eulie’s going to join you, eh? What a story that will be. Why don’t you do it right away, before his speech? He’ll blanket you right out.”

  “Penny,” the Secretary said, “I am counting on your discretion. He asked us to wait and we made him a promise. So we’re stuck.”

  “What a pity,” Reginald Pennebaker Sims said. “You could have wiped the floor with him. Timing is all. You know that.”

  “I do,” Ray said, “but he caught me before I had time to think.”

  “Pity,” Penny said again. “Well, I’ll keep quiet. But I hope the media come to me for comment afterwards. I think he’s an absolute disgrace to his office. And a real detriment to the United States. I’ll say so, too.”

  “Thank you, Penny,” the Secretary said. “We appreciate your support. Mum’s the word for now.”

  “I guess so,” Penny Sims said, sounding disgruntled. “It is a pity, though.”

  Jimmy Van, Able Montague, and Sally Holliwell called him on a conference line a little later.

  “Ray,” Jimmy said abruptly, “is it true that you and Eulie and Jaime Serrano—?”

  “Speculation, speculation, speculation!” he interrupted. “What became of the days of hard news that I grew up in?”

  “Frightfully dull,” Jimmy said.

  “You must admit it’s more fun now,” Able suggested.

  “Not necessarily,” he said. “Not—necessarily. I have no comment to make about anything.”

  “We want you three to be on Able’s show with us on Saturday,” Sally said. “How about it?”

  “Where did you guys get this idea, anyway?” he demanded.

  “Oh,” Able said airily, “that’s just how things go in Washington.”

  “You know how it is,” Jimmy said.

  “Yes,” Sally agreed. “Somebody hears—somebody sees—somebody guesses—somebody knows—somebody talks. The great sieve of the universe.”

  “If,” he said carefully, “there were anything to your speculation, I expect that Eulie and I—and probably Jaime, though I can’t speak for him—would be happy to be on your show, because some things need to be said. But I expect it would have to be after his speech at the White House signing, if at all. Anyway, I can’t really speak for them.”

  “They’ll do it if you will,” Sally said confidently. “Can you give us a conditional acceptance?”

  “Conditional on what?”

  “Conditional on your doing what we all know you’re going to do,” she said with a cheerful laugh in which he joined.

  “Don’t call us,” he said. “We’ll call you.”

  “That’s a promise?” Jimmy Van inquired.

  “That’s a promise.”

  “We admire you all greatly,” Jimmy said.

  “And agree with you entirely.” Able said.

  “And applaud what you’re doing with all our hearts,” Sally said—all of them more solemn and serious than he had ever heard them.

  “Well, thanks very much,” he said, touched. “You’ll hear from us.”

  Two other calls touched him particularly in the next couple of days. Dolly Munson reached him next morning, his daughter soon after.

  “Ray,” Dolly said, voice old and slow (“because I am old and slow,” she often said with a chuckle) but as warm and full of life as ever, “what’s this I hear about you and Eulie checking out over there? And Jaime Serrano at the White House?”

  “Dolly, darling,” he said, “now, where did you hear a thing like that?”

  She chuckled.

  “Right here in my living room,” she said, “which is where one hears almost everything of any importance in Washington, isn’t that right?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “Well, just between us, because I know I can rely on your discretion—”

  “Deep as a well.”

  “—it’s true, but I trust you not to tell anyone until we make it official.”

  “It’s all over town,” she said, and inquired, with her famous relish for a good political scrap, “Are you going to let him have it? He’s such a pathetic man—so mixed up, so out of his depth, so—immature, somehow. Such a disaster for the country.”

  “Well, you’ve seen ’em come and seen ’em go,” he said. “You ought to know.”

  “One of the worst,” she said. “Although sure to be reelected, I’m afraid.”

  “And with this as one of his triumphs to point to,” he said regretfully.

  “Shameful,” she said. “Absolutely shameful. Well …” She seemed to be drifting for a moment, came back strong. “Well”—briskly—“why don’t you and Eulie and Bets and the Jaimes come for dinner next week after it’s all over? We’ll have a little consolation party. Maybe I’ll invite Willie Wilson, too, and Jimmy Van and Able Montague and Sally Holliwell, they’ve become such an inseparable trio since they went to Greater Lolómé and did that show with that dreadful man. Very small and intimate, just us.” She chuckled suddenly. “We’ll burn the President in effigy and chant vile things over his ashes. Will that make you feel better?”

  “It would make us all feel marvelous,” he said with a hearty laugh. “You’ve cheered me up immensely already, dear Dolly. I’ll tell Mary and Eulie you’ll be calling.”

  “It’s a date,” she said. “Good cheer, dear Ray, good cheer!”

  Bets called a little later. Her voice was still heavy with grief, shock and sorrow for Samir still in full flood. But she was a good daughter, sophisticated in the world of diplomacy and of Washington, and family solidarity was more than ever important to her now.

  “Daddy,” she said, “Mom just called and told me about your decision to resign. I just want you to know I’m for it one hundred percent. I’m proud of you.”

  He felt a rush of feeling, tried not to let it show too much in his voice.

  “Thank you, dear,” he said gravely. “Bless your heart. Your support means a lot.”

  “You never dreamed you’d have it.”

  He was pleased to note a trace of the old humor returning. He ventured a laugh, not too hearty.

  “Never … How are things going? How are you doing?”

  “Oh,” she said, voice turning somber. “Not too bad … I guess. The kids are still having a rough time, but they’ll be all right. And I’m managing.” Her voice became suddenly bitter. “I wish now I’d raised more hell about those nights out with Boo and his friends. If he hadn’t been with them that night—”

  “I know,” he said grimly, thinking that he knew, or could guess, considerably more than she could. “But there was no way you could stop him. And it all seemed innocent enough.”

  “Wasn’t it?” she asked sharply, and he realized again, as he had many times before, that she was as intuitive as her mother.

  “As far as I know,” he said flatly.

  But she was not to be deflected.

  “You never did tell me what Hugo Mallerbie found out,” she said. “Did he discover what it was all about?”

  “No,” he said, thinking: this lie is necessary, and anyway, Hugo and the others haven’t found out anything specific. At least, not yet. “Apparently just what Boo said it was, a gathering of friends who like to talk.”

  “Boo’s still going,” she said. “Joanie told me it’s become more frequent in the last few days, almost every night, now. I still think it’s odd. But of course,” she said, bitterness deepening, “that won’t bring Samir back, so why should I care? I have enough on my mind as it is.”

  “That’s right,” he agreed quickly. “Best not to worry about that, it’s in the past now as far as you’re concerned. Boo assured me it was all a tragic happenstance, it had nothing to do with his group. Samir just decided to walk home on his own and … it happened.” (And you at least knew it was going to, he told Boo silently in his mind. If you didn’t know even more.)

  “Boo’s been a comfort,” she said gratefully. “He’s called several times and offered to take the kids to the movies. They’re not quite ready for that, but it was thoughtful of him. He’s a nice man.”

  “Yes,” he said, trying to keep suspicion and judgment out of his voice and apparently succeeding, for she dropped the subject and moved to end the conversation.

  “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I think you’re doing the right thing. I’ve always admired your integrity and I admire it even more now. I’m proud of my father. I’ve always been proud of him. I wanted you to know that.”

  “Thank you, my dear daughter,” he said quietly. “That fortifies me immensely.… Dolly Munson is going to have us all over to dinner after I leave, she’ll be calling you. Meantime, your mother and I will be in touch.”

  “Not the biggest of families,” she said, repeating a comfortable old inside family joke, “but a mighty solid one.”

  “Thicker than thieves,” he agreed more lightly. “Take care.”

  “You, too, Daddy.”

  Brought back to various unhappy realities by their talk, he decided to put in calls for Hugo Mallerbie and Eldridge Barnes. He had not had time to check with them privately since the day of the NSC meeting.

  Hugo had nothing new to report. As Bets had said, Boo’s little group was still meeting, on a somewhat stepped-up schedule whose significance still could not be discovered. Apparently with Samir’s death they had removed the only potential informer from their ranks. Nothing specific was emerging.

  “We’ll keep on it,” Hugo promised. “Joanie’s still very annoyed with me for being suspicious and defends him like the tiger she is. He knows we’re after them, but he’s quite confident we’re not going to find anything. He came in to see her yesterday and made a point of stopping by to chat with me for a while. All very smooth, you know Boo. He let me see he got a kick out of visiting me; we understand each other. That’s where it rests, for the moment.”

  “Keep digging,” the Secretary said.

  “We will,” Hugo Mallerbie promised grimly. “Be sure of that.”

  “Ray!” Eldridge Barnes said. “Are you resigning?”

  “I’m not saying,” he responded. “Do you think I should?”

  “After that performance we saw in the NSC?” El said. “Yes, I think you should. If you have any self-respect at all. And I know you have plenty.”

  “I do.”

  “So—?”

  “You’ll be among the first to know,” Ray said with a chuckle. He became serious.

  “What about our little toy boat ’way out there on the great big Atlantic?”

  “Still chugging along,” El said. “Not breaking any speed records, but it’s not that kind of ship. Plain old tramp steamer, battered and worn—at least that’s the official description we’re supposed to accept. Landfall in New York in about ten days, I’d estimate. We’re still tracking.”

  “Good,” Ray Stanley said. “Don’t let up, even if I do go.”

  “No, indeed,” El said. “I have a hunch about this one. We’re going to stay with it.”

  “Good,” the Secretary said again. “Good luck.”

  There was a knock on his door as he hung up. Basil Rifkin came in with another sheaf of media digests, which he placed on the desk with a sardonic expression.