"Now I can die content, for I have seen everything."
36
The President straightened and looked into the grinning face of Timothy March, his Secretary of Defense.
"It all goes to prove how much time I have on my hands now that I'm a lame-duck president."
March, a short, dumpy man who detested any sort of physical exertion, walked onto the green. "You should be happy with the election. Your party and your man won."
"Nobody ever really wins an election," the President grunted. "What's on your mind, Tim?"
"Thought you might like to know I've clamped the lid on that old aircraft found in the Rockies."
"Probably a wise move."
"A baffling affair," said March. "Except for those doctored flight plans in Air Force files, there is no trace-of the crew's true mission."
"So be it," said the President, finally knocking a ball into the cup. "Let's leave it lie. If Eisenhower buried the answers during his administration, far be it from me to open a can of worms during mine."
"I suggest we remove the remains of the crew for a military burial. We owe them that."
"Okay, but absolutely no publicity."
"I'll make that clear to the Air Force officer in charge."
The President tossed the putter to a Secret Service man who lurked nearby and motioned for March to accompany him to the Executive Offices.
"What's your best educated guess, Tim? What do you really think Ike was trying to cover up back in 1954?"
"That question has kept me staring at the ceiling the past few nights," said March. "I don't have the foggiest idea."
Steiger shouldered his way past the lunchtime crowd waiting for tables at the Cottonwood Inn and entered the bar. Pitt waved from a rear booth and motioned for the cocktail waitress in almost the same gesture. Steiger slipped into a seat across from Pitt as the waitress, seductively attired in an abbreviated colonial costume, arched her blossoming breasts over the table.
"A martini on the rocks," said Steiger, eyeing the mounds. "On second thought, make that a double. It's been one of those mornings."
Pitt held up a nearly empty glass. "Another salty dog."
"Christ," moaned Steiger. "How can you stand those things?"
"I hear they're good for cutting down weight," Pitt answered. "The enzymes from the grapefruit juice cancel out the calories in the vodka."
"Sounds like an old-wives' tale. Besides, why bother? You don't have an ounce of fat on you anywhere."
"See," Pitt laughed. "They really work."
The humor was contagious. For the first time that day Steiger felt like laughing. But soon after the drinks arrived his expression clouded again, and he sat there silently, toying with his glass without touching its contents.
"Don't tell me," said Pitt, reading the colonel's dour thoughts, "your friends at the Pentagon shot you down?"
Steiger nodded slowly. "They dissected every sentence of my report and flushed the pieces into the Washington sewer system."
"Are you serious?"
"They wanted none of it."
"What about the canisters and the fifth skeleton?"
"They claim the canisters are empty. As to your theory on Loren Smith's father, I didn't even bring it up. I saw little reason to stoke the fires of their already flaming skepticism."