I wonder, Canidy thought, if after they find out they have the wrong guy, I’ll have to walk back to the O Club.
The admiral’s aide-de-camp, a full lieutenant, opened a side door to the residence.
‘‘Canidy?’’ he asked.
‘‘Yes, sir,’’ Dick replied.
‘‘You would have been here somewhat sooner, Mr. Canidy, ’’ the aide said, ‘‘if I thought to tell the orderly to try the beer hall first.’’ He waved Canidy ahead of him into the kitchen, where a white-jacketed Filipino steward was tending an array of bottles.
The admiral’s aide stepped around Canidy and pushed open a swinging door to the dining room.
‘‘Mr. Canidy, Admiral,’’ he announced.
‘‘Come on in, Canidy,’’ a gruff voice ordered.
There were two ruddy-skinned, gray-haired men sitting at a long, brightly polished dining-room table. A large candelabrum had been pushed aside to make room for some manila folders (obviously service records), lined pads, a telephone, and two ashtrays. There was a cigar box and coaster, on which sat glasses dark with whiskey.
Both the middle-aged men were wearing insignialess khaki shirts and trousers, and it was a moment before Canidy was sure which of them was the admiral.
‘‘Lieutenant Canidy reports to the admiral as directed, sir,’’ Canidy said.
‘‘I have one official thing to say to you, Mr. Canidy,’’ the admiral said, looking at him with unabashed curiosity. ‘‘What you see in this room, what you hear in this room, you will not relate to anyone, in or out of the service, without my express permission. You got that?’’
‘‘Yes, sir.’’
So it wasn’t a case of mistaken identity. He was expected and something very unusual was about to happen. This was, obviously, one of the wild days Canidy had infrequently experienced in his life. For months, or sometimes years, everything went according to some dull plan, and then, all of a sudden, strange, unexpected, and exciting things happened, one after the other.
This insane day had begun with Eddie goddamned near killing himself; and then he had learned, in a Southern plantation mansion, that Sue-Ellen Chambers was Eddie’s cousin’s wife; and now he was in the admiral’s dining room.
The admiral looked at him from rather cold gray eyes for a long moment, and then he raised his voice.
‘‘Pedro!’’
The Filipino steward pushed open the swinging door.
‘‘Tell Pedro what you’ll have to drink, Canidy,’’ the admiral said. ‘‘And then sit down. Close. This old birdman is as deaf as a post.’’
‘‘Fuck you, Charley,’’ the other gray-haired man said, smiling, and without rancor.
‘‘Sair?’’ the steward asked, wanting Canidy’s drink order.
‘‘Bourbon, please,’’ Canidy said. ‘‘Over ice.’’
‘‘Yes, sair,’’ the steward said. The admiral held up his glass and looked at the other man, who nodded.
The steward ducked back into the kitchen.
‘‘Canidy, this is General Chennault,’’ the admiral said. ‘‘Of the Chinese Air Force.’’
That didn’t surprise Canidy either. Then he remembered who Chennault was. He was a former Army Air Corps pursuit pilot, one of the old-timers, who had gone to China to help the Chinese in their war with the Japanese.
‘‘For the way you emphasized ‘Chinese,’ ’’ General Chennault said, ‘‘fuck you again, Charley.’’
‘‘As you may have guessed, Canidy,’’ the admiral said, ‘‘General Chennault and I go back a long way together. But this isn’t a social call. General Chennault is here with the express permission of the Commander in Chief.’’
‘‘Yes, sir,’’ Canidy said, because he could think of nothing else to say. It took him a moment to realize that the admiral was speaking of the Commander in Chief, not the commander in chief of naval aviation training, or even the chief of naval aviation training, or even the chief of naval operations. He was speaking of the President of the United States.
‘‘Aren’t you just a little curious, Lieutenant?’’ General Chennault asked.