The Rivalry (15 page)

“Not exactly your fault,” Kathy said.

Arnott smiled. “True enough,” he said as they all sat down.

Susan Carol noticed he had a southern accent. “Sounds like you’re a southerner like me,” she said.

“I’m from Sumter, South Carolina.”

“Nice weather to practice in today, huh?”

Arnott laughed. “After four years at this place, you almost don’t notice it anymore.”

They talked for a while about the game, about how much Army wanted to break the losing streak against Navy, and how having a brother there—and a younger brother at that—made the rivalry all the more intense.

What Susan Carol really wanted to know was what the Secret Service had asked him, so she was pleased when Orton moved the discussion away from football. “This is the first time President Obama’s been to the game,” she said. “Are you guys looking forward to that?”

Susan Carol watched Arnott closely, checking his face and his body language.

“Anytime the president comes, it’s a big deal,” he said. “I know we’re all hoping to shake his hand. I know for me, I’ll always remember that the first time I pulled a lever in a presidential election, it was for President Obama. So it will be exciting to actually meet him. But I think my roommate, Adrian Calame, is even more excited. We’ve talked a lot about what it means to him and to other African Americans to have an African American in the White House. It’s cool to feel part of a time when the country is changing—and to be a part of that change.”

Orton asked, “Being here at the academy and in the north, have you found racial attitudes a little bit different than where you grew up?”

Arnott nodded. “To put it mildly,” he said. “I grew up in an all-white neighborhood and got sent to an all-white private school when I was in the sixth grade. So I competed
against
black players in high school but never with one until I got here. My parents and a lot of their friends are from a generation that hasn’t quite outgrown a lot of the traditions of the old South. I argue with them all the time about whether the Confederate flag should fly over the statehouse in South Carolina.”

“So how did your parents feel when you told them you’d voted for President Obama?” Susan Carol asked.

Arnott smiled ruefully. “My dad told me I was an idiot. But that’s part of what I mean about things changing. My dad said that it was one of the saddest days in American history. But I think it was one of our best.”

When Stevie and Susan Carol compared notes after their interviews, things were as murky as before.

“Michael Arnott did say his dad was upset about the election, so I guess there could be something there. And since his brother is at Navy, what Kelly said about the Secret Service doing the same thing at both schools could mean they were talking to Alan Arnott too.…”

“We’re guessing, though.”

“Totally. Well,” Susan Carol said, “we’ve got security questions, so I guess we should talk to our Secret Service contact.”

“But how can we ask when we’re not supposed to know any of this?”

“Carefully.”

They found Dicky Hall outside his office.

“Is Mr. Dowling still in there?” Stevie asked.

Hall nodded. “He’s with Joel Davis. Should be almost finished—he said I could have my office back about now.”

Just then, the door to his office opened and Joel Davis walked out. Dowling was gathering up papers spread in front of him on Hall’s desk.

“All done, Dick,” he said. “Thanks for letting me use the office.”

“No problem,” Hall said.

“Could we talk for a minute, Mr. Dowling?” Susan Carol asked.

Dowling looked at his watch. “Sure, I’ve got a minute.”

Hall stepped back to let Stevie and Susan Carol walk inside. And pulled the door shut behind them.

“What’s up, guys?” Dowling asked.

“We’re not sure—but it’s starting to feel like
something
,” Stevie began.

Dowling raised an eyebrow.

“Well, we know you guys were a little concerned about what happened in Philadelphia.…”

“Fraternity prank,” Dowling said.

“As you keep saying. But then rumors started about the president not coming—”

“Rumors that are untrue,” Dowling cut in.

“But now we hear Vice President Biden’s not coming,” said Susan Carol.

“Where did you hear
that
?”

“And now you’ve found some kind of connection
between a player and a hate group …,” Susan Carol continued.

“What?!” Dowling was clearly getting agitated.

“And today you had more follow-up questions for seven players—”

“Totally routine,” Dowling interrupted.

“And one of those players was Michael Arnott, who I just interviewed with Kathy Orton.…”

Dowling was quiet now, so Susan Carol kept going. “And he happened to mention that his father was very upset about the election.”

“How did he
happen
to mention that? I hope you haven’t been sharing these … speculations of yours with—”

“No! Of course not,” Susan Carol rushed to say. “Kathy was asking how he felt about meeting the president, same as we’ve been asking everyone.”

“And we are working on a story about security at the game—you know that,” Stevie added.

Dowling sighed. “Yes, but right now, I wish you weren’t.”

“Because we’re right about this?” Susan Carol asked—a little surprised.

“No, because I’m afraid you’re going to chase after these rumors and ideas you’ve got and make my job harder.”

“Well,” Stevie offered, “if you filled us in on what’s going on, we’d be less likely to do that.…”

“No.” Dowling was firm. “In my job, people tell
me
what
they
know, not the other way around.

“Now, I know that neither of your papers would print a story based on the kind of flimsy conjectures you’ve got going. And I will ask you both to please tread lightly on this and let the Secret Service do their job unimpeded.

“I’ll be speaking to Bobby Kelleher about this—I suggest you do the same.”

Susan Carol and Stevie exchanged a look as Dowling picked up his papers and briefcase and strode from the room.

One week before the Army-Navy game, and something was officially up.

“L
adies and gentlemen,” the PA announcer said, “Mike Daniels and his team of officials for today’s game will now present awards to the twelve winners of the second annual Outstanding Officials program. These twelve men were selected from around the country to be honored for their years of dedicated work as high school football referees.”

As the PA guy droned on, introducing all twelve winners, Daniels presented each with a plaque as he congratulated them.

“Pretty ironic,” Stevie said to Susan Carol.

She nodded but said, “It really is a hard job—”

“Stop feeling guilty!” Stevie said. “It’s a hard job that four of those guys out there did really badly. And you said so. You told the truth.”

Susan Carol nodded. “Let’s hope they do better today.”

“Everyone will be watching, that’s for sure.”

As the officials were all leaving the field, Stevie noticed Agent Dowling had his hand on his earpiece. “Copy that,” he said into his wrist. Then he said to all of them, “Marine One has landed; the president is on his way to greet the teams in their locker rooms.”

At last, Susan Carol thought. So much planning and preparing and strife, but it was really happening. The president was here.

She noticed that a group of midshipmen were now standing at attention at midfield facing a group of cadets.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Prisoner exchange,” Kelleher said. “The mids have been exchange students at West Point this semester, and the cadets have been at Annapolis.”

They all watched as the two groups saluted each other. Then the two lines stepped toward each other and for a moment blended into one. Then they kept going, the cadets heading toward the Army stands and the mids heading for Navy. Soon the lines grew wavy and then each group broke into a run—diving into the stands with their classmates.

“I guess they don’t do anything like that at Michigan–Ohio State,” Stevie said.

Kelleher laughed. “You’ve got that right,” he said.

Next, the color guard marched into place at center field, and the PA announcer introduced the Reverend John Lotz to deliver the pregame prayer. Stevie wondered how it was possible to be both tense and bored at the same
time. They were so close to things really starting, but this was taking forever!

Once the prayer was over, it was time for the national anthem. Stevie couldn’t help but notice that almost everyone in the stadium was standing and singing. He remembered his dad once saying at an Eagles game that the reason almost no one sang the anthem was because most of the fans didn’t know the words. So here was another way Army-Navy was special. Here,
everyone
knew the words and felt good about singing them loud and proud.

T
hey were on the road to Annapolis by eleven o’clock. Saturday’s rain had cleared, and it was a beautiful, breezy end-of-fall Sunday. They drove right through downtown, Kelleher giving them an informal tour that ended down by the docks, where boats were still tied up even with winter fast approaching. Soon Kelleher turned right into what was labeled
GATE 1
at the Naval Academy.

Kelleher had some kind of special pass that allowed him to park on the academy grounds. “This place is a lot smaller than the Post is up at Army,” he explained after they had been waved on through by the marine posted at the gate. “After 9/11, they banned all civilian traffic unless you had a special pass.”

“How’d you get one?” Stevie asked.

“I know the guy who does their radio broadcasts.”

Stevie wasn’t surprised. When it came to parking, Kelleher always seemed to know
someone
.

They drove no more than a few hundred yards up the road until it curved left at the water’s edge. Stevie could see downtown Annapolis directly across the water to the right. Kelleher swung the car into a small parking lot marked
RICKETTS HALL
and parked in a spot that said
ATHLETIC DIRECTOR
on it.

“Chet won’t mind,” Kelleher said, referring to Navy AD Chet Gladchuk. “He’s got a Yard pass—he can park on the sidewalk if he wants. Come on, let’s go find Scott Strasemeier and get the show on the road. We need to get a lot done today.”

Almost on cue, the front door to Ricketts Hall opened and a man of about forty came walking out.

“Scott, we were just talking about you,” Kelleher said as he walked up.

“At your service, as ever,” the Navy sports information director replied.

They told him who everyone wanted to talk to and he nodded, taking it all in. Susan Carol interviewing Alan Arnott after practice would be no problem. “You know Kenny, he’ll give you all the time you need,” Strasemeier said to Kelleher. Getting Stevie time with Ricky Dobbs would be a little more complicated because all the TV people wanted to talk to him too, but he’d work him in.

“Meanwhile, we’re flooded with Secret Service guys today,” Strasemeier added. “They’re all over on the practice field. Oh—Susan Carol, the Secret Service have a
meeting with Alan Arnott after practice, so we’ll get you to him right after.”

While they talked, a number of players walked past them in their practice gear en route to the field. And to Stevie, it seemed that every last one of them stopped to say hello to Susan Carol.

“Thawed out yet?” said one who Stevie recognized as quarterback Ricky Dobbs.

“Just barely,” Susan Carol answered, giving him The Smile.

“Did you get to know the
whole
team out at Notre Dame?” Stevie asked.

“Only about half of them,” Tamara answered before Susan Carol could say anything.

They followed Strasemeier toward the practice field. A large gaggle of media were already out there, about twice the contingent that had been at Army the day before. Stevie was a little surprised to see that many people on a Sunday when the Redskins were playing.

“The Redskins are in Detroit,” Kelleher said, doing his mind-reading thing. “They’re also lousy. So not as many people made the trip out there. If the Redskins were any good, half these guys wouldn’t be here.”

One of the TV guys was approaching them. Stevie knew he was a TV guy because he was wearing a suit, and a print or radio guy wouldn’t be caught dead in a suit at noon on a Sunday.

“Hello, everyone, nice to see you,” the TV guy said. He turned to Stevie and Susan Carol. “Bret Haber from
Channel Nine in Washington,” he said. “We met at the World Series.”

That’s
where he’d seen him, Stevie remembered.

“So, Bobby, you’re the smart one; what’s with all the Secret Service up here for practice?” Haber said, nodding across the field, where Stevie could see Pete Dowling and several other guys in suits all wearing sunglasses with their arms folded.

“Good question,” Kelleher said. “It might be one of those weird situations where the best way to find out is to ask.”

Haber grunted. “I know I’m just a TV guy, so you may not believe this, but I already thought of that. I
did
ask.”

“And …”

“And I was told to call the public information office if I wanted any comment.”

“Maybe they’ve seen your work.”

“Funny,” Haber said. “I suppose you’ll have better luck with them.”

“Doubt it,” Kelleher said. “They’ve probably seen my work too.”

It was apparent to Stevie that, even though Kelleher and Haber were friends, Kelleher wasn’t going to fill him in, even a little bit.

Haber laughed, waved a hand, and headed back to his camera crew.

“So, do we think it’s significant that Agent Dowling is here to speak to Alan Arnott?” Susan Carol asked as they watched him pull out his phone.

Just then, Bobby’s phone started to ring in his pocket. He looked at it and raised his eyebrows. “It would seem so,” he said as he answered. He listened for a minute, then said, “Fine. Ten minutes.”

He snapped the phone shut. “He’d like to meet us outside, by the water, in ten minutes.”