Some of these people are controversial, and if they are ultimately nominated we'll have a small war getting them approved by the Senate. We'd prefer not to start fighting now. This must be kept confidential."
Voyles suddenly turned and glared at Coal. "You're an idiot, Coal! We've done this before, and I can assure you when we start checking on these people the cat's out of the bag. You want a thorough background investigation, and yet you expect everyone contacted to keep quiet. It doesn't work that way, son."
Coal stepped closer to Voyles. His eyes were glowing. "You bust your ass to make sure these names are kept out of the papers until they're nominated. You make it work, Director. You plug the leaks and keep it out of the papers, understand?"
Voyles was on his feet, pointing at Coal. "Listen, asshole, you want them checked out, you do it yourself. Don't start giving me a bunch of boy scout orders."
Lewis stood between them, and the President stood behind his desk, and for a second or two nothing was said. Coal placed his memo on the desk and retreated a few steps, looking away. The President was now the peacemaker. "Sit down, Denton. Sit down."
Voyles returned to his seat while staring at Coal. The President smiled at Lewis and everyone took a seat. "We're all under a lot of pressure," the President said warmly.
Lewis spoke calmly. "We'll perform the routine investigations on your names, Mr. President, and it will be done in the strictest of confidence. You know, however, that we cannot control every person we talk to."
"Yes, Mr. Lewis, I know that. But I want extra caution. These men are young and will shape and reshape the Constitution long after I'm dead. They're staunchly conservative, and the press will eat them alive. They must be free from warts and skeletons in the closet. No dope smokers, or illegitimate children, or DUIs, or radical student activity, or divorces. Understand? No surprises."
"Yes, Mr. President. But we cannot guarantee total secrecy in our investigations."
"Just try, okay?"
"Yes, sir." Lewis handed the memo to Eric East.
"Is that all?" Voyles asked.
The President glanced at Coal, who was ignoring them all and standing before the window. "Yes, Denton, that's all. I'd like to have these names checked out in ten days. I want to move fast on this."
Voyles was standing. "You'll have it in ten days."
Callahan was irritated when he knocked on the door to Darby's apartment. He was quite perturbed and had a lot on his mind, a lot that he wanted to say, but he knew better than to start a fight because there was something he wanted much worse than to blow off a little steam. She had avoided him for four days now while she played detective and barricaded herself in the law library. She had skipped classes and failed to return his calls, and in general neglected him during his hour of crisis. But he knew when she opened the door he would smile and forget about being neglected.
He held a liter of wine and a real pizza from Mama Rosa's. It was after ten, Saturday night. He knocked again, and looked up and down the street at the neat duplexes and bungalows. The chain rattled from inside, and he instantly smiled. The neglect vanished.
"Who is it?" she asked through the chain.
"Thomas Callahan, remember? I'm at your door begging you to let me in so we can play and be friends again."
The door opened and Callahan stepped in. She took the wine and pecked him on the cheek. "Are we still buddies?" he asked.
"Yes, Thomas. I've been busy." He followed her through the cluttered den to the kitchen. A computer and an assortment of thick books covered the table.
"I called. Why didn't you call me back?"
"I've been out," she said, opening a drawer and removing a corkscrew.
"You've got a machine. I've been talking to it."
"Are you trying to fight, Thomas?"
He looked at her bare legs. "No! I swear I'm not mad. I promise. Please forgive me if I appear to be upset."
"Stop it."
"When can we go to bed?"
"Are you sleepy?"
"Anything but. Come on, Darby, it's been three nights."
"Five. What kind of pizza?" She removed the cork and poured two glasses. Callahan watched every move.
"Oh, it's one of those Saturday night specials where they throw on everything headed for the garbage. Shrimp tails, eggs, crawfish heads. Cheap wine too. I'm a little low on cash, and I'm leaving town tomorrow so I have to watch what I spend, and since I'm leaving I thought I'd just come on over and get laid tonight so I wouldn't be tempted by some contagious woman in D.C. What do you think?"
Darby was opening the pizza box. "Looks like sausage and peppers."
"Can I still get laid?"
"Maybe later. Drink your wine and let's chat. We haven't had a long talk in a while."
"I have. I've been talking to your machine all week."
He took his wineglass and the bottle and followed her closely to the den, where she turned on the stereo. They relaxed on the sofa.
"Let's get drunk," he said.
"You're so romantic."
"I've got some romance for you."
"You've been drunk for a week."
"No I haven't. Eighty percent of a week. It's your fault for avoiding me."
"What's wrong with you, Thomas?"
"I've got the shakes. I'm all keyed up and I need companionship to knock the edge off. Whatta you say?"
"Let's get half drunk." She sipped her wine and draped her legs across his lap. He held his breath as if in pain.
"What time is your flight?" she asked.
He was gulping now. "One-thirty. Nonstop to National. I'm supposed to register at five, and there's a dinner at eight. After that I may be forced to roam the streets looking for love."
She smiled. "Okay, okay. We'll do it in a minute. But let's talk first."
Callahan breathed a sigh of relief. "I can talk for ten minutes, then I'll just collapse."
"What's up for Monday?"
"The usual eight hours of airhead debate on the future of the Fifth Amendment, then a committee will draft a proposed conference report that no one will approve. More debate Tuesday, another report, perhaps an altercation or two, then we adjourn with nothing accomplished and go home. I'll be in late Tuesday evening, and I'd like a date at a very nice restaurant, after which we can go back to my place for an intellectual discussion and animal sex. Where's the pizza?"
"In there. I'll get it."
He was stroking her legs. "Don't move. I'm not the least bit hungry."
"Why do you go to these conferences?"
"I'm a member, and I'm a professor, and we're just sort of expected to roam the country attending meetings with other educated idiots and adopting reports nobody reads. If I didn't go, the dean would think I was not contributing to the academic environment."
She refilled the wineglasses. "You're uptight, Thomas."
"I know. It's been a rough week. I hate the thought of a bunch of Neanderthals rewriting the Constitution. We'll live in a police state in ten years. I can't do anything about it, so I'll probably resort to alcohol."
Darby sipped slowly and watched him. The music was soft and the lights low. "I'm getting a buzz," she said.
"That's about right for you. A glass and a half and you're history. If you were Irish you could drink all night."
"My father was half Scottish."
"Not good enough." Callahan crossed his feet on the coffee table and relaxed. He gently rubbed her ankles. "Can I paint your toes?"
She said nothing. He had a fetish for her toes, and insisted on doing the nails with bright red polish at least twice a month. They'd seen it in Bull Durham, and though he wasn't as neat and sober as Kevin Costner, she had grown to enjoy the intimacy of it.
"No toes tonight?" he asked.
"Maybe later. You look tired."
"I'm relaxing, but I'm filled with virile male electricity, and you will not put me off by telling me I look tired."
"Have some more wine."
Callahan had more wine, and sank deeper in the sofa. "So, Ms. Shaw, who done it?"
"Professionals. Haven't you read the papers?"
"Of course. But who's behind the professionals?"
"I don't know. After last night, the unanimous choice seems to be the Underground Army."
"But you're not convinced."
"No. There have been no arrests. I'm not convinced."
"And you've got some obscure suspect unknown to the rest of the country."
"I had one, but now I'm not so sure. I spent three days tracking it down, even summarized it all real nice and neat in my little computer, and printed out a thin rough draft of a brief which I have now discarded."
Callahan stared at her. "You're telling me you skipped classes for three days, ignored me, worked around the clock playing Sherlock Holmes, and now you're throwing it away."
"It's over there on the table."
"I can't believe this. While I sulked around in loneliness all week, I knew it was for a worthy cause. I knew my suffering was for the good of the country because you would peel away the onion and tell me tonight or perhaps tomorrow who done it."
"It can't be done, at least not with legal research. There's no pattern, no common thread in the murders. I almost burned up the computers at the law school."
"Ha! I told you so. You forget, dear, that I am a genius at constitutional law, and I knew immediately that Rosenberg and Jensen had nothing in common but black robes and death threats. The Nazis or Aryans or Kluxers or Mafia or some other group killed them because Rosenberg was Rosenberg, and because Jensen was the easiest target and somewhat of an embarrassment."
"Well, why don't you call the FBI and share your insights with them? I'm sure they're sitting by the phone."
"Don't be angry. I'm sorry. Please forgive me."
"You're an ass, Thomas."
"Yes, but you love me, don't you?"
"I don't know."
"Can we still go to bed? You promised."
"We'll see."
Callahan placed his glass on the table, and attacked her. "Look, baby. I'll read your brief, okay? And then we'll talk about it, okay? But I'm not thinking clearly right now, and I won't be able to continue until you take my weak and trembling hand and lead me to your bed."
"Forget my little brief."
"Please, dammit, Darby, please."