TWENTY

Deborah Jordan beamed. “Wow, this is awesome. My dad’s going to receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom!”

Joshua had the electronic draft of the letter from the White House in his hand. He turned to his son, Cal, who was standing to one side. “Well, first of all, I’m only one of eight recipients. And second, Cal, you actually deserve the credit for this.”

Cal shook his head and stumbled for a response. “No way, Dad …”

“Read the letter.” Joshua handed it to Cal. “It mentions my helping in the ‘terrorist’ incident in Grand Central Station. That was you, right in the middle of it. Or don’t you remember …”

Cal laughed. “Oh yeah, I remember all right.”

“Well, your mom and I have to leave today for Washington. I just got the call from my office last night. This thing really came in the bottom of the ninth. The Rose Garden ceremony is day after tomorrow. For some reason my office folks didn’t see the letter until yesterday.”

Abigail sauntered over and planted a big kiss on his lips. “Ninth inning or not, you deserve it, darling. They should have given it to you after the Korean incident. But … better late than never.”

As Abigail, Deborah, and Ethan moved into the big knotty pine-paneled kitchen for lunch, Cal hung back to talk with his father.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Right. Absolutely. What’s up?”

“I’ve been thinking …”

When Cal paused, Joshua chimed in. “I’m all ears.”

“Well, here’s the deal. I’ve dropped my art major. I’m going into poli-sci.”

“That’s quite a change. You sure about this?”

“Been thinking about it for a while. It sort of crystallized for me up in Boston.”

“I’m sorry, Cal, that Mom and I couldn’t be there. You know the story about our travel problems …”

“Yeah. No big deal. Mom explained.”

“Anyway, having your art show in a prestigious gallery … that’s a real honor. You clearly have talent.”

“Thanks.”

“Why political science?”

“I guess I realized after the Grand Central Station incident … that, well, there are important things I want to be part of. There’s bad stuff happening out there. I’d like to make a difference, be part of the ‘salt and light.’ ”

Joshua recognized the reference. He’d heard Abby quote that New Testament phrase more times than he could count. That had always been Abby’s thing. It was even Cal’s thing, and Deb’s as well. But not his. He was the religious holdout, even in the face of the near-miraculous rescue of his son. The stumbling, frantic prayer for help that he had uttered — that was answered. God had been there, he was sure of it. Still, the encounter with Christ that the rest of his family had experienced and talked about, he didn’t have that. He’d stopped — right at the one-yard line.

“You know what I mean, Dad …”

Joshua broke out of his thoughts. “Yeah, I do. Making a difference. Your mom and I believe in that. You know that.”

“One more thing.”

“Sure.”

“About the Roundtable group.”

“What about it?”

“Well, you and Mom are in it.”

“Right.”

“I’d like to be involved somehow.”

“What do you know about our group?”

“Not a lot. Just tidbits. Helping the country. Protecting it. Defending it. Filling in the gaps where things have fallen apart …”

“That’s a good description.”

“I think I could help. If I could just get a chance — ”

“Cal, your enthusiasm is great. Really. And I’m impressed that you’re so interested in what your mom and I do. It’s just that, the Roundtable … that’s not something that you can be part of.”

“Why not? I’m not talking about wanting to be a big shot, a decision maker. I’d be willing just to be a low-level assistant of some kind.”

“Look, Cal. I’m serious when I say this: I’m keeping you out of the Roundtable for your own good. We’re into some pretty heavy stuff, and if things go wrong, it could be very bad for your mom and me. You know about the controversial things we’ve been doing. People out there are gunning for us. That’s fine. We’re willing to accept that. But I don’t want that for you.”

Cal gave him a perplexed look. He wasn’t going to let it go that easily. “If this country’s really in the kind of bad shape we think it is, then why keep me out?”

“For your protection.”

“Yeah, and if this was the Revolutionary War and the British were coming up the driveway, then what? You’d toss me a mussel-loaded rifle and tell me to shoot straight, that’s what.”

“So, just like that, you’re talking like a soldier rather than an artist?”

“Oh, so soldiering is okay for Deb but not for me. Right?”

“She chose the Army life, Cal. You didn’t.”

“Mom’s a lawyer, not a soldier, but she’s involved. I want to study politics, make a change, just like you and Mom. I think I’ve earned this. I was the guy at Grand Central Station who almost got blown up by a terrorist …” Cal’s face changed a little. He had painfully overplayed his hand and knew it. His father had been right there with him that day, in the thick of it, and his dad had willingly risked death, just to save Cal.

Joshua clenched his jaw. “I’m trying to protect you, Cal. Just like that day in New York. It’s too bad you can’t see that. You have no idea how dangerous this might get for Mom and me, for all of us in the group. But not for you. You’re staying out of it. Understood?”

The last question hung in the air. It was rhetorical but had the tone of a military order.

His father tried to wrap his arm around him, but Cal stood frozen where he was. His father said, “Let’s get some grub. Carletta has fixed some awesome stuff for lunch.”

After the meal, everyone scattered. Abigail went to the master bedroom to pack. Deborah huddled in a corner of the kitchen, laughing with Ethan March. Joshua asked Deborah if he could talk with Ethan, alone. Joshua led Ethan into the big living room.

Before he could speak, however, Ethan blurted out, “I want to congratulate you, sir, on the Medal of Freedom. You’re an amazing man, if I can say that.”

Joshua gave him a matter-of-fact nod. “Thanks. But frankly, Ethan, I’m a realist. It’s an election year. Most likely, the White House is giving me the medal as a way to pick up votes. Don’t get me wrong. I’m humbled and honored, but I’m cautious too.”

“Cautious?”

Jordan avoided going down that road. “Ethan, are you thinking about staying in defense contracting?”

“Yes, sir. I did well at Raytheon before I got laid off. You’ve actually been an inspiration for me. Air Force flier. Then into defense engineering.”

“Okay, then send me your résumé. I’ll take a look. Who knows, maybe we have an opening at Jordan Technology.”

“Outstanding, sir. I’ll shoot that out to you right away.”

Ethan reached out and patted Joshua on the side of the shoulder. “So, you do remember me from our stint together at McGill Air Base?”

Joshua’s expression changed. “I remember that you set some flying records.”

Ethan’s grin got bigger.

“And I recall your getting reprimanded on two occasions for taking joyrides with experimental aircraft without authorization …”

Ethan’s smile faded. “I can explain that sir …”

“And reprimands in your file about getting into a couple of fights.”

“You know about that?”

“I make it a habit of knowing about the men under me. The main thing I recall from your file, Ethan, is that you had difficulty taking orders when you disagreed with them.”

Ethan’s bravado disappeared. He looked down for an instant but then looked up, straight into Joshua’s eyes and said, “With all due respect, sir, I admit my faults … all of them. But I also recall a story about a decorated flying ace, doing surveillance over Iran’s nuclear facilities. When the Iranian radar painted him, and enemy ground-to-air missiles were about to be launched right up his tail, command signaled him to abort. The flier refused and kept his heading. He got the spy shots from the camera in that U-2X ultrasonic jet and returned to base without a scratch. Mission complete. That was one gutsy move that you did, sir, if I may say so. And that flight of yours over Iran is a legend among my flying buddies.”

Joshua was suddenly taken aback by Ethan’s account. But he also remembered what he learned at his briefing later at the Pentagon about that flight. Something he hadn’t told anyone since. There was a reason he hadn’t been blown right out of the sky. Somebody else had his back. In fact, a guy on the ground had sacrificed his life to insure that didn’t happen.

He looked at Ethan. Young. Talented. Overly eager. Way too cocky. But Joshua saw the potential — and the need for Ethan March to have somebody watch his back.

“Send me that résumé,” Joshua said. “But no promises.” Then he shook Ethan’s hand.

Cal was cutting through the big living room, with its mammoth fieldstone fireplace and bear rug on the wall. He glanced over just as Ethan was thanking Joshua for something and the two were shaking hands. Cal stopped, struck by what he saw. His face tightened. When his father caught him out of the corner of his eye, Cal continued walking, through the room, out the front door, and down the front-porch steps without stopping.