Hazardous Duty (Presidential Agent 8)

“The way that works, Sweaty,” Radio & TV Stations said, “is that the minute someone gets elected President—and I mean someone of whatever political party and sexual preference—he starts thinking of how he’ll be remembered twenty, fifty, a hundred years from now. He starts thinking of his legacy.”

“I don’t think I understand,” Sweaty admitted.

“Let me have another shot at it. I guess it started with Roosevelt, Franklin D. What they do is have a presidential library. Roosevelt’s was built in Hyde Park, New York, where he’s buried. Ronald Reagan’s is in California. So is the Richard Nixon library. And they’re buried at their libraries.”

“They’re buried in their libraries?” the Widow Alekseeva asked incredulously.

“Usually, my darling, in sort of a garden just outside their libraries,” Charley qualified.

“Even Jimmy Carter has a presidential library,” Radio & TV Stations said. “With, I suppose, a lot of empty shelves.”

Charley and Hotelier chuckled.

“That’s unkind,” Annapolis said.

“You’re only saying that because you both went to that school for sailors,” Castillo said. “You’ll have to admit that Carter’s library has to have a lot of empty shelves.”

“The Harry S Truman Library is in Missouri,” Radio & TV Stations said. “One of the better libraries, really.”

“They all have libraries?” the Widow Alekseeva asked. “What’s that about?”

“Their legacies, Sweaty,” Radio & TV Stations explained. “They appoint some guy to run their libraries, and he spends his time filling them with books and newspaper stories and other material proving their guy was the best President since George Washington.”

“And collecting and then burning books and newspaper stories and other material proving their guy was the worst President since Millard G. Fillmore,” Charley contributed.

This time all of them chuckled.

“Either that,” Annapolis chimed in, “or they send the non-flattering stuff to the Library of Congress.”

“Where it will be misfiled,” Radio & TV Stations said.

“And absolutely will never again be read by anyone,” Charley concluded for him.

All the men were now chuckling, visibly pleased with their own humor.

“Before you all grow hysterical and incoherent,” the Widow Alekseeva said, “tell me where President Clendennen has his legacy library.”

“He doesn’t have one yet,” Charley said. “But he’ll get around to preserving his legacy, Sweaty, sooner or later. His ego—and Belinda-Sue’s ego—will demand it.”

“Not later, my darling,” the Widow Alekseeva said. “Sooner. Now.”

“Excuse me?”

“Now. Right now,” she said.

“I don’t understand,” Charley confessed.

“I’m not surprised. Tell me, my darling, what do you think just might take President Clendennen’s mind off putting your beloved Delta Force into Clan Clendennen kilts?”

There was silence.

All the

men shrugged.

“I will be damned,” Radio & TV Stations said finally.

“She’s a genius!” Hotelier said.