The Rivalry (16 page)

Tamara suggested, rather loudly, that she and Bobby should give Stevie and Susan Carol a tour of the Yard since they’d never been there, and they all headed away from the field toward the water.

Susan Carol was so preoccupied that she barely noticed how pretty it all was. There were boats chugging in and out of the harbor. She could see the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, which stretched across the bay, connecting Annapolis and the rest of Maryland to the state’s eastern shore.

But she couldn’t focus on the sights at all. Playing cat and mouse with the Secret Service wasn’t the reason she had gotten involved in sportswriting.

She loved to write. She loved sports. She love watching the practices up close and the games from the sidelines. She loved the camaraderie of the other writers.

And she really loved working with Stevie. He was different from the boys at school: for one thing, he hadn’t liked her right away. In fact, he had clearly
dis
liked her. But she had earned his respect and he had earned hers. Stevie was the first boy who had really treated her just as a
person, who had fought with her, disagreed with her. And usually, working with him made her feel safe—she knew he had her back. Now, though, even with the people she felt closest to, she was uncomfortable.

She liked the idea of breaking a story and the fact that she could get people to talk to her. But she wondered where the line was where you crossed over from reporting to being some kind of investigator she had never set out to be.

Pete Dowling and Bob Campbell were sitting on a bench at the corner of the seawall. There was a light right behind the bench and, reading the inscription, Susan Carol learned the light had originally been on a ship called the
Triton
.

“I’ll say one thing for you guys, you know how to pick a pretty spot,” Kelleher said.

“Didn’t even notice, to be honest,” Dowling said. “I just wanted to get far enough away from the practice field that no one would see us.”

“So what’s up?” Kelleher said, leaning against the seawall.

Dowling look at Campbell and then responded in carefully chosen words. “We know you’re thinking that we might have some concerns about the Arnott family.” He stopped for a moment. “I’m willing to fill you in on what’s going on, but it has to be off the record.”

“Why?” Kelleher asked.

“What do you mean why?” Dowling asked.

“Well, yesterday afternoon, you let me know, in no
uncertain terms, that you wanted Stevie and Susan Carol to back off. Now you want to fill us in, but it has to be off the record. Why?”

Both Bobby and Tamara had always counseled them that you never let someone go off the record without at least explaining why first. At the very least it made the person feel a little beholden to you for cooperating.

“We’re willing to talk because we think you’re likely to make the situation worse if you don’t know what’s going on. And we need to go off the record because if you print any of this, it could jeopardize an ongoing FBI operation.”

That news was shocking enough to silence everyone for a moment. Kelleher regained his composure first.

“As long as that’s really the case, then I’m okay with off the record,” Kelleher said.

“Come on, Bobby, we’ve known each other a long time,” Dowling said. “Have I ever misled you?”

“No. I don’t think you have. Okay, let’s hear it.”

Dowling turned to Campbell. “Go ahead, Bob, you’re the one who knows it best.”

“Okay. The FBI has an agent inside a white supremacy group called the Knights of the White Christian Soldiers—it’s something like the KKK, but nowhere near as well organized. And one of the members of that group is Michael Arnott—father to both Michael Junior and Alan.

“And last night, the FBI alerted us that Mr. Arnott had been talking about the Army-Navy game at a specially called meeting.”

“Whoa,” Stevie couldn’t help saying.

Susan Carol’s heart sank a little—she’d really liked Michael Arnott. Clearly his differences with his father were more serious than he’d let on.

“He said he believed his sons had been singled out by us for special attention. He said we’d interviewed a lot of kids for background but thought his sons were really our targets.”

“What made him think that?” Stevie asked.

“Could just be paranoia.” Campbell shrugged. “But the point is that he seemed to the FBI agent to be inordinately upset about it. He could just be pissed off that his sons are being questioned. Or it could be that our attention is messing up some plan of his.”

“But,” Stevie couldn’t help interjecting again, “did they talk about a plan?”

Campbell shook his head. “Nothing specific, no,” he said. “But there was enough talk about the Army-Navy game and the fact that the president was going to be there to make the FBI alert us.”

“Does this group have any history of violence?” Tamara asked.

“Nothing that’s been proven so far. But if the FBI feels it’s worth having a man inside, we have to believe it’s a possibility.”

That pronouncement made for another sobering pause in the conversation.

Then Dowling continued. “So, Susan Carol. We know you’re slated to talk to Alan Arnott. And I’m asking you
not
to dig into his family.”

“But the whole point of the interview is to talk about his brother at Army,” she said.

“Right—his brother is fine. Just stay away from the father and politics and the president.”

“But I’ve been asking
everyone
about those things—what it means to have the president at the game, things like that. Wouldn’t it be more suspicious
not
to ask?” Susan Carol said. She wasn’t sure why she was arguing, really. She just hated the whole situation.

Dowling sighed. “Look, Susan Carol, I’m going to ask you to use your best judgment.

“I need you all to take this seriously. The FBI agent feels that the other members of the KWCS are suspicious of him. So if you push too hard, or ask questions about white supremacy groups, or seem to know too much, it could come back on him, and that’s the last thing we need right now.”

“But I
don’t
know much,” Susan Carol protested.

“No.” Dowling gave the barest hint of a smile. “But you’ve proven yourself to be a good guesser.”

The reporters walked back to the practice field in silence.

The postpractice plan was still the same, but suddenly everything felt different.

O
nce the players had broken their huddle at the end of practice, Stevie saw Scott Strasemeier walking in his direction with Ricky Dobbs, who was wearing the red practice jersey that quarterbacks wore to let defenders know they weren’t supposed to be hit.

“Steve, this is Ricky Dobbs,” Strasemeier said. “We’re going to do a couple of TV interviews here on the field, and then it will be just you and Christian Swezey from
GoMids.com
inside.”

Stevie shook hands with Dobbs, who said, “Steve, we met at lunch in Philadelphia—good to see you again.” Stevie remembered reading that Dobbs said he might want to run for president someday. And watching him now, with his light-up-the-world smile, made Stevie think it was possible.

While Dobbs talked to Bret Haber and his crew from
Channel 9, Stevie stood a few yards away watching. When Haber asked about the officiating at Notre Dame, Dobbs had his answer ready.

“We’ve already forgotten about that,” he said. “You can’t dwell on the past; it doesn’t do any good. Plus, we still had chances to win the game and we just didn’t get it done.”

Perfect answer, Stevie thought, except he didn’t believe it for a minute. He remembered Eddie Brennan, the quarterback of the California Dreams, telling him that he remembered every single bad call that had ever been made against one of his teams. “That includes peewee football when I was eight,” he said.

Stevie was making a mental note to ask Dobbs how he
really
felt about the officiating when Christian Swezey walked up and introduced himself. He was tall and had blond curly hair and a friendly smile.

“I just wanted to tell you that I think it’s really awesome that we’re going to interview Dobbs together,” Swezey said. “I just can’t believe the stories you’ve broken and written. You and Susan Carol are absolutely
amazing
.”

“Well, thanks,” Stevie said, liking Swezey right away for obvious reasons.

Dobbs finished his last TV interview—telling Russ Thaler, who worked for the DC-based outlet of Comcast SportsNet, that playing in the Army-Navy game was “an honor for everyone who puts on the uniform.”

That
comment Stevie believed.

Once the TV people were done, Strasemeier got them settled in a small conference room. If there was a time limit, he didn’t say anything about it. Dobbs obviously knew Swezey.

“How’s our lacrosse team going to be, Christian?” he asked, then said to Stevie, “Christian is the man when it comes to lacrosse.”

“He’s exaggerating,” Swezey said. “I just cover it a little bit.”

He then launched into a five-minute breakdown of the Navy lacrosse team position by position that left Stevie feeling a bit dazed. When he paused for breath, Stevie jumped in and said, “Okay, no cameras rolling here, how did you
really
feel about the officiating at Notre Dame?”

Dobbs looked him right in the eye. “You quoting me?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Stevie said. “I’d just like to know what the players really thought.”

“Not to be quoted, they should put those guys in jail,” Dobbs said. “I mean, if stealing is a crime …”

That was all Stevie needed to hear. He was testing his theory more than looking for a story. For the next twenty minutes, they talked about life at Navy, Dobbs’s winning a dance contest the previous year, and his political ambitions.

“I met President Obama when we went to the White House after winning the Commander-in-Chief’s Trophy last year,” Dobbs said. “But it’ll be great to have him at that game, and he’s going to come in the locker room to meet the team with no cameras or anything. That’s what I’m most looking forward to.”

“Does all the extra security with the president coming bother you at all?” Stevie asked.

Dobbs shook his head. “No, not at all. We’re used to security around here. We understand why they have to do it. I’ve heard a couple of guys complain, but they’re guys who voted for Senator McCain.”

“McCain did graduate from Navy,” Swezey said.

“Yes. And he’s a good man,” Dobbs said. “I’ve met him too. He’s a hero. But a few of our guys, to tell you the truth, I think have some trouble with an African American being president.”

That comment surprised Stevie.

“Really?” he said. “Didn’t you get voted team captain this year?”

Dobbs laughed. “Captain of the Navy football team is a little different than president of the United States, isn’t it? Plus, I’m not talking about most of the guys or even some of the guys, I’m talking about a small handful. It’s not a big deal. Arguing politics is a sport of its own here. I enjoy disagreeing with those guys.”

“Even when it’s racial?” Swezey said.

“Racial arguments are nothing new for me,” Dobbs said. “I’m from Georgia. Some guys here grew up in all-white environments and they’re just learning that they don’t live in an all-white world. They’ll come around. I will tell you this, though: you can’t be an African American in this country and not encounter racism.”

He paused for a moment and said, “Don’t quote me on this because I don’t want to make it a bigger deal than it
is, but when we’ve been on the road, I’ve had fans say things to me as we’re coming out of the tunnel. I even had a ref say something.”

“A REF?” Stevie and Swezey both said.

“Yeah. I was arguing a call with a guy—he’d called a chop block, and I was asking him how he could call it when there was only one guy involved and there have to be two for a chop block.

“He looked at me and said, ‘Son, only your captain can talk to the officials.’ I said, ‘I AM the captain,’ and he said, ‘I don’t believe it,’ and walked away.”

“And you thought that he said that because you’re black?” Stevie asked.

“I know he said it because I’m black,” Dobbs said. “I’ve heard that tone enough times in my life to recognize it. Hey, how did we get on this subject?”

“President Obama,” Stevie said.

“Right, I forgot. Bottom line, and I mean this: I think everyone is very psyched about him being there.”

“Everybody?” Stevie asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Everybody.”

They broke up a few minutes later. Stevie walked back outside and found Tamara and Susan Carol waiting for him.

“Where’s Bobby?” he asked.

“Still with Kenny,” Tamara said. “He had to wait
because Kenny had to do all his TV stuff. They’ve been talking a while, though, so I hope he’s getting something.”

“How’d you guys do?” Stevie asked.

“I talked to Chet,” she said. “He said the Secret Service explained they’re going to ratchet up security as a precaution, but as of right now, there’s nothing that will affect what they’re doing this week.”

“And you?” Stevie said, looking at Susan Carol, who seemed subdued.

She sighed. “Just like his brother, Alan Arnott is a smart, good kid. I’ve got a really good feature story on the two brothers but no new information. I wonder if the brothers even know about their father being in that group. It’s really hard to imagine, having met them.”

Stevie filled them in on what Dobbs had said about encountering racism during a game. “Interesting stuff,” Tamara said. “But I don’t think it carries the story any farther.”

“No, but I’d sure like to meet that ref,” Stevie said. “I just can’t believe it. And the fans—how do you go to a football game and yell something at a player from
Navy
?”

“I’m not so shocked,” Susan Carol said. “I hear stuff like that all time where I live. Mostly from older people—not so much with kids my age. But still. It’s out there.”

Kelleher was walking in their direction with Niumatalolo. “So I hear you had great weather at Army yesterday,” Niumatalolo said as he shook hands with everyone.
“Just remember we made arrangements for perfect weather for you here at Navy.”