The Rivalry (14 page)

“I think so,” Kelly said. “Get on back to the huddle. I’ll take care of him.”

Jared leaned down and patted Stevie on the shoulder. “Really sorry, man,” he said.

“I should have seen you,” Stevie said, just as a jolt of pain went through his arm.

Kelly saw him wince. “Where’s it hurt?” he asked.

“My arm.”

“How’s your head?” he asked. “Can you tell me what day it is, where we are?”

Stevie almost laughed. “It’s Saturday afternoon, we’re at West Point, it’s freezing, and Susan Carol and Kathy are both three inches taller than I am. Susan Carol, maybe four.”

Kelly smiled. “Okay, good. Let’s get you up and take a look at that arm.”

He helped Stevie to his feet. As he did, pain shot through Stevie’s left arm and he almost doubled over.
Susan Carol, Orton, and Beretta were all gathered around. And Coach Ellerson had come over to check on him too.

“Everything okay, Tim?” Ellerson asked.

“Well, he never lost consciousness, and he’s not groggy at all,” Kelly said. “But he seems to have hurt his arm. I’m going to take him inside and have a look.”

Ellerson nodded. “Okay, let me know how it goes. Really sorry, Steve.”

Stevie tried to force a smile. “Should have been paying better attention,” he said.

He and Kelly turned to head to the locker room. Susan Carol asked Kelly if she could go with them.

“Sure,” Kelly said.

They walked slowly inside, Kelly supporting Stevie’s throbbing arm.

“Did I break it?” he asked.

“I need to get a look,” Kelly said. “We may have to do an X-ray to be sure. Let’s not panic just yet.”

Stevie was panicking. The last thing he needed right now was a broken arm.

“Assuming you’re right-handed, you might have gotten a little bit lucky,” Kelly said.

Before Stevie could answer, Susan Carol jumped in. “He’s a lefty.”

“So maybe you weren’t so lucky,” Kelly said.

They made it inside the training room, and Kelly helped Stevie up onto a table after carefully taking his jacket off. He unbuttoned Stevie’s shirt for him and helped him get it off too.

“Okay, I’m going to feel around a little bit and move your arm around a little bit,” Kelly said. “You just let me know when it hurts.”

Just about any movement hurt, as it turned out. Kelly kept apologizing but kept moving the arm up, then down, then out, then in toward his chest—which
really
hurt.

“Broken?” Susan Carol asked.

“Don’t think so,” Kelly said. “I’d like to try something, Steve, but I’ll warn you in advance, it’s gonna hurt.”

“What’s that?” Stevie asked.

“Just trust me for a minute and then I’ll explain,” Kelly said. “Susan Carol, do me a favor and stand on Steve’s right and talk to him about something he likes. Steve, look at Susan Carol and focus on what she’s talking about. I’m going to feel around here for another few seconds while you talk.”

Stevie was baffled but did as he was told.

He felt Kelly taking ahold of his arm—which hurt—while Susan Carol began talking. “Mr. Beretta told me there’s a great place nearby called Loughran’s where they have a terrific prime rib,” she said, picking Stevie’s favorite topic—food.

“OH MY GOD!” Stevie screamed in pain. Kelly had just yanked on his arm so hard Stevie was convinced the trainer had pulled his arm out of its socket.

“What in the world did you do?” Susan Carol asked, her southern accent in full voice as it usually was when she was upset.

Kelly held up a hand. “I’m sorry that hurt so much. But
do me a favor, Steve: bend your arm, see how close to your face you can get your hand.”

Stevie gave him a look, wondering what in the world made him think he could bend his arm. But he tried it anyway. He brought his hand up to his face and felt absolutely no pain. He did it a few times to be sure. He shook his arm to see if that hurt. There was still a little pain from where Kelly had yanked, but nothing like he felt before.

“Any pain?” Kelly asked.

“No, not really,” Stevie said.

Kelly smiled. “My guess was right. You dislocated the elbow when you fell; that’s why your arm was crooked the way it was. It looks like I was able to pop it back into place.”

“Mr. Kelly, you are a genius!” Susan Carol said, The Smile lighting up her face, the southern accent there now because she was so pleased.

“I’m just a trainer,” Kelly said. “I’m glad that’s all it was. Now, Steve, if you feel any pain at all the next few days, you go see a doctor,” Kelly continued. “I don’t think you will, but—”

He stopped as the phone on the wall next to the table Stevie was sitting on rang. He looked at the caller ID screen and said, “Wonder what this could be?” He picked up the phone and said, “Jeff, what’s up?”

For the next few moments, he listened, his face showing increasing concern. Finally, he said, “Really? A positive connection? With the who?” He nodded. “Okay,
thanks for the heads-up. I imagine that’s what they’ll do here. Let’s stay in touch.”

He hung up and looked at Stevie and Susan Carol. “That was Jeff Fair, who is my counterpart at Navy,” he said.

“I met him at Notre Dame,” Susan Carol said.

Kelly nodded. “Yeah. Good guy …” He trailed off.

“That sounded … important,” Stevie offered.

“I don’t know, I’m just shocked. Apparently the Secret Service has found a connection between a player’s family and a hate group.”

“Really? Did he say who?” asked Susan Carol.

Kelly blinked a couple times and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. This is … Steve, if you’re feeling better, let’s get back out to the field, okay?”

“I
heard you took quite a hit,” Dowling said as Stevie, Susan Carol, and Kelly walked up.

“He dislocated his elbow,” Kelly said. “I was able to pop it back in.”

“Stevie was very brave,” Susan Carol put in.

Tamara had returned from her interview with the supe. “Stevie! I leave you two alone for two hours …,” she teased, clearly relieved that he seemed okay.

More media members had also shown up. There were a couple of TV crews, but they weren’t filming anything, apparently at Ellerson’s request. Beretta introduced Stevie and Susan Carol to two columnists who had joined the group shivering in the rain: Mike Vaccaro from the
New York Post
and Kevin Gleason from the
Times Herald-Record
, the local paper that, Stevie knew from reading clips, covered Army more thoroughly than anyone.

“It is such a pleasure to meet you both,” Susan Carol said. “Mr. Vaccaro, I just
loved
your book on the World Series.”

Dowling turned to Beretta and said, “Bob, did you explain to these guys that I’m going to need a couple of your kids as soon as practice is over?”

“Didn’t get the chance yet,” Beretta said. “I’m sure they understand.”

“It’s just some background stuff we’re finishing up,” Dowling said. “Pretty routine. Won’t take long.”

“I think the media request who is on your list, Pete, is Mike Arnott,” Beretta said. “The rest of the guys the media needs you’ve already talked to. Kathy and Susan Carol wanted to talk to Mike. I’ll get you two in with Derek Klein while you’re waiting.”

Stevie noticed that Ellerson had blown his whistle and all the players were making their way toward the middle of the field.

“Is it okay if I go listen?” Stevie asked.

“Sure,” Beretta said. “I doubt if he’s going to keep them long in this weather.”

Stevie trotted onto the field, followed by Gleason.

“I’ll represent the old guys,” Gleason said.

The players had gathered around Ellerson. Most took a knee, Stevie noticing that the artificial turf field—which looked at first glance like real grass—hadn’t gotten too wet.

“Fellas, if the weather is like this tomorrow, we’ll go inside,” Ellerson said. “We want to know what bad weather
feels like, but we also don’t want anyone getting sick. That was a good workout today.” He glanced in Stevie’s direction and said, “Mr. Thomas, I’m glad to see you look to be okay. Jared, that’s one less member of the media who will write anything bad about you.”

Everyone laughed.

Ellerson went on. “There are seven of you who Mr. Dowling from the Secret Service needs to see today just to go over some paperwork issues. I know it’s a pain, but these guys are just doing a job—a tough one at that. So, once you’ve showered, I need Conroy, Calame, Parker, Klein, Thompson, Arnott, and Davis to report to Mr. Hall’s office. Mr. Dowling will talk to each of you there. He won’t need more than a few minutes.

“Same time tomorrow. And, fellas: I know it’s Saturday, I know you can sleep in tomorrow, but let’s not get carried away tonight. One week from today we’ll be playing Navy. Remember that.”

They huddled up, hands in, and on the count of three said, “Beat Navy!”

Then they all began sprinting for the locker room, wanting to get inside as fast as possible.

Stevie and Gleason returned to the others on the sideline.

“Anything gripping?” Vaccaro asked.

“Yeah,” Gleason said. “I’ve learned exclusively that they want to beat Navy.”

But Stevie did have something. He had a list of seven
names the Secret Service was interested in—perhaps in more than a routine way.

As everyone headed to the locker room, Stevie felt an arm on his shoulders.

“Hey, I just wanted to be sure you’re okay.”

Stevie looked up and saw Jared Hassin, the running back who had barreled into him.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I guess my elbow got dislocated when I hit the ground. Mr. Kelly popped it back in.”

“Glad to hear it,” Hassin said. “I’m really sorry, man. I saw you, I just couldn’t stop.”

“No, no, it was my fault,” Stevie said. “I wasn’t paying enough attention.”

They shook hands and Hassin trotted off. It was really tough not to like
all
these guys.

He followed the media group inside. Coach Ellerson was going to be in an interview room right away, and the players who had been requested by media would be available after they showered and changed.

“Trent said he needs about fifteen minutes,” Bob Baretta said, seeing Stevie as he walked in. “It will be you and Mike Vaccaro.”

Stevie had asked to interview quarterback Trent Steelman—but he was happy for a few minutes to think first. His head was swimming with half-formed theories and questions.

He decided to use the time to call Kelleher. Telling Bobby helped him order his thoughts on it all.

“So what did Kelly say on the phone? ‘A positive connection’?”

“Right. But … just because someone belongs to a hate group—or knows someone who does—it doesn’t mean they have plans to
do
anything.…”

“True, you’re right. But clearly the Secret Service is taking it seriously.”

“This security story is starting to feel a little too real,” Stevie said.

“I know,” Kelleher said. “But the Secret Service and the FBI know what they’re doing, especially when it comes to protecting the president. They don’t mess around.”

“So what do we do now?” Stevie asked.

“Get your interviews done and write today’s stories,” Kelleher said. “Write what you know now—”

“I know,” finished Stevie, “and keep digging.”

Not surprisingly, Trent Steelman was bright, engaging, and funny. He got Stevie’s attention right away when he mentioned that he had been eleven years old the last time Army had beaten Navy. Stevie did a little math and realized that he had been
six
the last time Army had won the game.

He asked Steelman how he and his teammates felt about President Obama coming to the game. Steelman smiled.

“Well, on the one hand, it’s a thrill,” he said. “I think
we’re all looking forward to meeting him, getting a chance to shake hands with him. He’s the commander in chief.…”

He paused. Vaccaro jumped in. “But,” he said.

Steelman shrugged. “To be honest, the whole security thing is wearing us out a little,” he said. “We all understand it, but they told us that when we get to the stadium, we’re all going to have to get off the bus, get wanded, have the bus checked, and only then will they let us drive into the tunnel. Like I said, I
get
it, but we’re just trying to get ready to play a football game. One none of us have ever won.”

Stevie understood. He liked Steelman’s honesty.

“I know you guys get asked this all the time,” he said. “But can you talk about what it’s like to be a student and an athlete here?”

“You mean what’s it like to try juggle steak knives with one hand while shooting a rifle with the other?” Steelman asked, smiling.

“It’s hard,” he continued. “It’s hard every day. One of the sayings among the cadets is that this is a great place to be
from
but not a great place to be.

“But I actually like that it’s hard. I think all of us—at least all of us who stay—feel that way. We get up early, we can’t miss class, we can get into trouble for almost anything. The other day one of the guys got put on report because he got caught riding an elevator in the barracks between classes. He had knee surgery two months ago, so he sneaks onto the elevator every now and then.

“But we all chose this. And going through the same tough experience together really forms a bond. So being here? Playing with these guys and under these amazing coaches? This is the easiest part of my week. The best part of my week.”

“Even on a cold wet practice like today?”

“Oh yeah, even today. No—maybe especially today. Because it’s so close, this game we’ve been working toward. We’re almost there. And we’re ready.”

At that moment, Susan Carol and Kathy Orton were being introduced to Michael Arnott. The first thing Susan Carol noticed was that they were both taller than he was. Linebackers at the military academies came in considerably different sizes, she thought, than they did at the big-time schools.

Arnott was wearing his gray winter uniform, had wavy blond hair, and was, Susan Carol thought, quite handsome. He had an easygoing manner and apologized for making the two reporters wait. “I had to talk to the Secret Service, really sorry.”