The Last Heroes (Men at War 1)

‘‘Tell him, Bill, please, that I’m ready to join his damned team," Whittaker said. "If he wants to see me, call the Q Street house.’’ He started to open the door.

Donovan stopped him. ‘‘You take the car,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll walk up the drive.’’

He got out of the car.

‘‘Colonel,’’ he said, ‘‘your devotion to duty is commendable. ’’

Chesty could not tell if his friend was being sarcastic or not.

The officer made a gesture to a White House policeman, who stepped out onto Pennsylvania and stopped the traffic so the limousine could back out of the drive.

Chesty gave directions to the chauffeur, and five minutes later was at the house on Q Street.

He let himself into the house and put his suitcase at the foot of the stairs leading to the upper floors. Then he checked the thermostat. It was set at sixty. He moved it to seventy-two and a moment later heard the oil burner kick on.

He then walked down the corridor to the butler’s pantry and through it to the kitchen. He unlocked the kitchen door, went down the shallow flight of stairs, and crossed the brick-paved drive to the garage.

All three doors of the garage were closed, and he could see no lights in the apartment over the garage. It was possible, he thought, deeply disappointed, that Cynthia wasn’t home.

He climbed the stairs and pushed the doorbell button. There was a chime from inside, and a moment later he heard movement.

And the door opened.

Cynthia Chenowith smiled with genuine pleasure when she saw him.

‘‘I didn’t know you were coming,’’ she said.

‘‘Wild horses, that sort of thing,’’ he said.

She was in a robe, and her hair was wrapped in a towel. There was a stray wet lock on her forehead. Her skin glowed.

‘‘I just got out of the shower,’’ she said.

‘‘No!’’ he said mockingly.

‘‘Wiseass,’’ she said, laughing, and kissed him quickly, then beckoned him inside. He noticed she had not dried her left buttock, and the robe was glued to it.

He followed her into the living room. She started to make him a drink, but he stopped her.

‘‘I think cognac,’’ he said.

She looked at him curiously.

‘‘I’ve been on the edge of a vicious headache all day,’’ he said. ‘‘The cognac seems to help.’’

She found a snifter, filled it generously with Courvoisier, and handed it to him. ‘‘Drink this while I get dressed,’’ she said.

She saw the look on his face.

‘‘At least let me dry my hair,’’ she said.

He smiled.

‘‘You are impatient!’’ she said. ‘‘I’m glad.’’

She went into her bedroom. He took a swallow of the cognac and followed her into the bedroom. She was sitting at a vanity, vigorously drying her hair with a towel. She smiled at his reflection in the mirror. He sat down on the bed.

‘‘You didn’t go to the game? Or they called it off? What I mean is that you’re earlier than usual.’’