“Well, they searched the whole property, and they found a bomb in a wine storage room adjacent to the main restaurant.”
“What kind of bomb?”
“Both simple and sophisticated, the expert said. A kilo or two of plastique.”
“Since we’re sitting here having dinner with the president, my guess is they disarmed it.”
“Right, but there may be two more. Not here, because the place has been ransacked, but somewhere. They may try to get them onto the grounds.”
&nb
sp; “I hear they’re practically strip-searching every arrival.”
“That’s true, so if the bombs are not here, it’s a pretty sure thing that they’re not going to be.”
Dino nodded. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because you look like you know something you don’t want anybody else to know.”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Come on, are you kidding me? Should I be running for a flight out of here?”
“I think the answer to your question is right over there,” Stone said, nodding in the direction of the president, “eating fried chicken with his fingers.”
“I always thought that was the best way,” Dino said. “I mean, if you’re gonna eat fried chicken. And if he feels safe, so I and mine should feel safe?”
“You see the young man talking to the president?”
“I think I recognize him. He’s related to you, isn’t he?”
“He is. And if I thought he weren’t safe, he would be on a plane back to New York, along with the rest of us.”
—
Peter Barrington sat on the sofa next to the president of the United States and ate his fried chicken with his fingers.
“You know,” Will Lee said, “I’ve got a son—stepson, really—who’s a little older than you. His name is Peter, too.”
“I heard that,” Peter replied. “I heard he slipped up and went to Harvard.”
Lee laughed and handed his plate to a passing waiter, then wiped his hands carefully. “Our Peter sent us a copy of your film, Autumn Kill. Kate and I thought it was terrific, and I couldn’t believe a student did it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Peter replied.
“How much of it was true?”
Peter shrugged. “Well, nobody has sued me yet, though I hear it caused quite a stir at my old school. It was based on rumors, really, kind of a legend that gets handed down from class to class. I filled in a lot of blanks, just made up stuff, but the reaction made me think I might have guessed right.” Peter wiped his fingers, and a waiter took his plate and the president’s napkin.
“You’re at Yale Drama, right?”
“That’s right. Ben Bacchetti and I are, anyway. Hattie, whom you met, is studying composition at the School of Music.”
“I hear she’s quite a pianist.”
“You’ll hear her tomorrow night. She’s going to open the concert and do a number with Ms. Gotham, too.”