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  Ken Stratton glanced down the agenda. “That’s fine by me; other than the education bill there doesn’t seem to be a lot that involves you except perhaps candidates for the next election. We’ve all assumed you will be running again for Hartford, unless Harry plans to make a comeback. By the way, how is the old buzzard?”

  “He’s a little better,” said Fletcher. “Restless, interfering, irascible and opinionated.”

  “Not much change then,” said Ken.

  Fletcher considered the agenda. Fund-raising was all he would be missing, and that item had been on every agenda since the day he was elected, and would still be there long after he’d retired.

  As twelve struck, the majority leader called for order and asked Fletcher to present his timetable for the education bill. For the next thirty minutes Fletcher outlined his proposals, going into considerable detail about those clauses he anticipated the Republicans would oppose. After five or six questions from his colleagues, Fletcher realized that it would require all his legal and debating skills if he was to get this piece of legislation through the Senate. The last question predictably came from Jack Swales, the longest-serving member of the Senate. He always asked the last question, which was a sign that it was time to move on to the next item on the agenda.

  “How much is this all going to cost the taxpayer, senator?”

  Other members smiled as Fletcher performed the ritual: “It’s covered in the budget, Jack, and was part of our platform at the last election.”

  Jack smiled and the majority leader said, “Item number two, candidates for the next election.”

  Fletcher had intended to slip out as soon as the discussion got underway, but like everyone else in the room, was taken by surprise when Ken went on to say, “I have to inform my fellow members, with some regret, that I shall not be running at the next election.”

  A half-sleepy group meeting suddenly became a powder keg, with “whys?” and “surely nots” and “who?” until Ken raised a hand. “I don’t have to explain to you why I feel the time has come to retire.”

  Fletcher realized the immediate consequence of Ken’s decision was that he was now the favorite to become majority leader. When his name was called, Fletcher made it clear that he would be running for reelection. He slipped out when Jack Swales began a speech on why he felt it was nothing less than his duty to seek reelection at the age of eighty-two.

  Fletcher drove the half-mile to the hospital, and ran up the stairs to the second floor rather than wait for the elevator. He walked in to find Harry laying down the law on impeachment to an attentive audience of two. Martha and Annie turned to face him as he entered the room.

  “Anything happen at the party caucus that I ought to know about?” Harry asked.

  “Ken Stratton won’t be running at the next election.”

  “That’s no surprise. Ellie’s been ill for some time, and she’s the only thing he loves more than the party. But what it does mean, is that, if we can hold on to the Senate, you could well be the next majority leader.”

  “What about Jack Swales? Won’t he consider it his by right?”

  “In politics, nothing is yours by right,” said Harry. “In any case, my bet is that the other members wouldn’t back him. Now don’t waste any more time talking to me, I know you’ve got to be in Washington for your meeting with Al Brubaker. All I want to know is when you think you’ll be back.”

  “First thing tomorrow morning,” said Fletcher. “We’re only staying overnight.”

  “Then drop in on your way from the airport; I want a blow-by-blow account of why Al wanted to see you, and make sure you give him my regards, because he’s the best chairman the party’s had in years. And ask him if he got my letter.”

  “Your letter?” said Fletcher.

  “Just ask him,” said Harry.

  “I thought he looked a lot better,” said Fletcher as he and Annie drove to the airport.

  “I agree,” said Annie, “and they’ve told Martha that they may even let him go home next week if, and only if, he promises to take things easy.”

  “He’ll promise,” said Fletcher, “but just be thankful the election’s not for another ten months.”

  The shuttle to the capital took off fifteen minutes late, but Fletcher had allowed for that, so when they touched down, he felt confident they would still have enough time to check into the Willard Hotel, shower, and be in Georgetown by eight.

  Their cab pulled up outside the hotel at seven ten. The first thing Fletcher asked the porter was how long it would take to get to Georgetown.

  “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes,” he replied.

  “Then I’d like to book a cab for seven forty-five.”

  Annie somehow managed to shower and change into a cocktail dress, while Fletcher paced around the room looking at his watch every few moments. He opened the cab door for his wife at 7:51.

  “I need to get to 3038 N Street in,” he checked his watch, “nine minutes.”

  “No, you don’t,” said Annie, “if Jenny Brubaker is anything like me, she’ll be grateful if we’re a few minutes late.”

  The cabbie wove his way in and out of the evening traffic and managed to pull up outside the chairman’s house at two minutes past the hour. After all, he knew who would be paying the fare.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Fletcher,” Al Brubaker said as he opened the front door. “And it’s Annie, isn’t it? I don’t think we’ve met, but of course I know about your work for the party.”

  “The party?” said Annie.

  “Don’t you sit on the Hartford school board as well as the hospital committee?”

  “Yes, I do,” said Annie, “but I’ve always looked on that as working for the community.”

  “Just like your father,” said Al. “By the way, how is the old bruiser?”

  “We’ve just left him,” said Fletcher. “He was looking a lot better, and sends his best wishes. By the way, he wanted to know if you received his letter.”

  “Yes I did. He never gives up, does he?” added Brubaker with a smile. “Why don’t we go through to the library and I’ll fix you both a drink. Jenny should be down shortly.”

  “How’s your boy?”

  “He’s fine, thank you, Mr. Goldblatz. His absence turned out to be caused by an affair of the heart.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “A proper age to fall in love. Now, my son, do you have anything to confess?”

  “Yes, father, by this time next week I will be the chairman of the largest bank in the state.”

  “By this time next week, you might not even be the chief executive of one of the smaller banks in the state.”

  “What makes you think that?” asked Nat.

  “Because what might have turned out to be a brilliant coup could have backfired, leaving you overextended. Your brokers must have warned you that there is no chance of your laying your hands on fifty percent of Fairchild’s by Monday morning.”

  “It’s going to be a close-run thing,” said Nat, “and I still believe we can make it.”

  “Thank heavens neither of us is a Catholic, Mr. Cartwright, otherwise you would be blushing, and I would be recommending a penance of three Hail Marys. But fear not, I see redemption for both of us.”

  “Do I need redemption, father?”

  “We both do, which is wh … wh … why I asked to see you. This battle has done neither of us any favors and if it continues beyond Sunday, it will harm both the institutions we serve, and possibly even close yours.”

  Nat wanted to protest, but he knew that Goldblatz was right. “So what form does this redemption take?” he asked.

  “Well, I think I’ve come up with a better solution than three Hail Marys, which may cleanse us both of our sins and might even show us a little profit.”

  “I await your instructions, father.”

  “I’ve watched your career with interest over the years, my son. You’re very bright, extremely diligen