"It's classified, Craig," Roberts repeated.

"This place is probably more secure than the Situation Room in the White House," Lowell said. "Full of clever little gadgets that detect monitoring devices." "Your participation in the Eagle flight program was considered, Craig," Bob Bellmon said, "and decided against. And I think we should change the subject."

"What's the Eagle flight program?" Barbara asked.

"We're sending aircraft and three hundred pilots to Vietnam," Lowell told her. "And I am not on the list."

"That was a flagrant breech of security," Bellmon said. "Do you realize that?"

"Come on, Bob," Lowell said. "Don't evade the issue by starting that."

Bellmon glowered at him.

"That major of yours, what's-his-name? Brokenhanmier?" Lowell said to Bill Roberts. "The one who's always sucking on a noisy pipe?"

"Brochhamrner," General Roberts corrected him automatically.

"Brochhammer, then. There's no reason he can't do what you've got me doing. He can do it better."

Roberts did not reply.

"Phil Parker's going," Lowell said.

"You saw the list?" Bellmon asked.

"Sure, I saw the list," Lowell said.

"I'd love to know who showed it to you," Bellmon said angrily.

"Somebody who was as surprised as I am that I'm not on it," Lowell said.

"I told you the decision has been made," Bellmon said.

"I think I'm entitled to an explanation," Lowell said.

"What gives you that idea?" Bellmon said. "Entitled'!"

Barbara was now alarmed. The situation was on the edge of getting out of control.

"Craig," General Roberts said, "if it will bring this awkward situation to an end, I'll give you an explanation."

"Okay," Lowell said.

"There is reason to believe that both you and Jim Brochhammer are very shortly going to be involved in something in which the both of you can make a greater contribution than you could flying in Indochina."

"Doing what?" Lowell asked. "Shuffling more paper?"

Roberts was about to reply when there was the sound of a key in the door. Roberts stopped, mouth open and looked at the door.

A stocky, well-dressed man in his forties pushed the door open. He was having trouble getting the key out of the lock, and it was a moment before he realized there were people in the room: A look of annoyance flickered across his face, quickly replaced by a forced smile.

He was Porter Craig, Craig Lowell's cousin, the chairman of the board and chief executive officer of Craig, Powell, Kenyon and Dawes, 13 Wall Street.

"Good evening," he said.

"Your timing, Porter," Craig Lowell said sharply, "is superb."

"I would say, Colonel," General Bellmon said, "that he got here just in time. Hello, Porter."

"Did I interrupt anything?"

"Did you ever," Barbara said.

"Come in and choke yourself on a toothpick, Porter," Lowell said.

"Where the hell have you been?" Porter Craig asked as he absently went to the man and woman and shook their hands.

Lowell didn't reply.

"When I finally found where you were supposed to be in the Pentagon, they said you were at home; so I called here, and there was never an answer."

"That may be because I disconnected the phone," Lowell said. "I was working here."

"Is it connected now?" Porter Craig asked, alarmed. "I've got calls in to both senators, and they'll call me here."

"It's connected," Lowell said. "What's going on?"

"The army has Geoff in jail at Fort Jackson," Porter Craig said.

"That was quick," Lowell said, amused. "He's only been in two months."

"It's not funny, goddamn you," Porter said. "He's facing twenty years in Leavenworth."

"What did he do?" Barbara Bellmon asked.

She got a withering look from her husband. She understood it. He was afraid that he would become involved in whatever difficulty Geoffrey Craig was in at Fort Jackson. Porter Craig did not understand the army: A general officer could not intercede on behalf of an enlisted man.

"There's half a dozen charges," Porter said, "the significant one being assault on a noncommissioned officer."

"He slugged a sergeant," Lowell translated. "I didn't think hehaditinhim." "Craig!" Sharon said.

"I had to call Dorothy's doctor for her," Porter Craig said. "She's hysterical."

"You shouldn't have told her," Craig Lowell said. "You're pretty hysterical yourself. It was obviously contagious."

"Goddamn, if it was your son... !" Porter Craig said.

"Have a little champagne," Lowell said. "Better yet, have a drink. Calm down and then start at the beginning."

"I don't want a goddamned drink!" Porter Craig said.

"Have one anyway," Lowell said, and went to a bar and returned with a glass half full of Scotch. "Drink it, Porter," he said. "If you want to help Geoff, you're going to have to calm down. You've already done one damned dumb thing."

Porter took a swallow of the whiskey.

"What was that?"

"If you want the brass at Jackson to stick it in Geoff, have your senators put their two cents in," Lowell said. "I hope you haven't been able to get through to them."

Porter Craig shook his head. "One of them is unavailable at the moment." I suppose that means he's fallen down drunk again. And the other one is going to dinner and then some goddamned play. My secretary is trying to run them down."

"Well, if she does find them, and they call here, tell them you just wanted to say hello," Lowell said.

Did you hear what I said? Geoff's facing twenty years in prison."

"Tell me how you heard about all this? Did Geoff call up and tell you all this?"

"Geoff hasn't said a word," Porter Craig said. "And when I called down there, they wouldn't even let me talk to him."

"What do you know for sure," Lowell asked, "and how do you know it?"

"Geoff wrote a check to a lawyer down there. Fifteen hundred dollars," Porter Craig said. "They thought it was unusual and showed it to me. So I tried to call Geoff, and I got some sergeant on the line who told me he was confined' and that I couldn't talk to him. An4 then I got the runaround and wound up talking to some lieutenant colonel, who said that he couldn't discuss the case with me. Finally I called the lawyer, who's from Columbia, and he gave me the runaround. But finally he told me what was going on. At that point I tried to call you, but you had unplugged the telephone."

Barbara felt sorry for him.

"Perhaps it's not as bad as it looks," she said.

"There's one way to find out," Lowell said. He sat down on the couch and pulled the telephone on the coffee table to him.

"What are you doing?" General Bellmon asked.

"I'm calling Jackson," Lowell said as he dialed for the operator.

Porter Craig sat beside him.

"I think maybe we should call this evening off," General Bellmon said softly to General Roberts.

"Don't be silly," Lowell said. "You didn't slug a sergeant. Eat an oyster or something; this won't take long."

Barbara BeIlmon went to the table, placed half a dozen of the tiny sandwiches on a plate, and carried them to Porter Craig. He shook his head. "You haven't had anything to eat," she said. "And you've had the whiskey."

"Bring me a couple of those, will you, please?" Lowell said. And then to the telephone: "Fort Jackson, South Carolina, station to station," he said.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Bob Bellmon said.

"Nobody asked you," Barbara said to him. They locked eyes for a moment, and then he shrugged and went to the buffet and helped himself to cherrystone clams.

"Post stockade, please," Lowell said.... "Put the duty officer on, please, Sergeant," he said.... "Lieutenant, this is Colonel Lowell. You have a prisoner in there named Craig, Geoffrey, H. What's he charged with?... Of course, you can tell me, Lieutenant. It's not classified information.... Thank you, Lieutenant."

He hung the telephone up.

"He is to be tried before a general court on several charges,"

he said, as much to Btllmon and Roberts as to Porter Craig, "the most significant of which is that he committed an assault upon a noncommissioned officer in the execution of his office." "A general court?" General Roberts asked. There are three levels of army courts-martial: summary, special, and general. General courts-martial are those empowered to impose the most severe penalties.

"They're apparently trying to sock it to him," Lowell said. He heard what he said. "No pun intended."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I better go do wit there," Lowell said." Roberts began, and then stopped.

"Duty first, General," Lowell said. "I know." "I... uh... don't like "

"Aircraft Procurement Projections Through Fiscal 1965," Lowell said, "classified secret, in quintuplicate, are in my safe."

"You're finished?" Roberts asked, genuinely surprised.

"And you didn't believe me, did you, when I said I could work more efficiently here?"

"I'm surprised," Roberts said. Even as a rush-rush job, he had not expected the report for another three or four days.

"I'm sorry," Lowell said. "What?"

"If I had known my paper-shuffling skill would keep me from flying like an eagle, General, I would have been far, far less dedicated."

"You're thinking of going there tonight?" Bellmon asked.

It was more of an accusation.

"If I'm there first thing in the morning," Lowell said. "I can be back here by 1300, maybe a little later. That will give your Major Brokenhammer all morning to find fault with Projections Through 65."

"Brochhammer," Roberts comected him again automatically.

"You've been drinking," Bellmon said. "You shouldn't fly."

"I'll get a pilot from Butler Aviation," Lowell said. "There's always somebody over there who wants to pick up the time."

He looked at Porter Craig.

"You'll get the bill for that, Porter. And you can ride out to the airport with me and catch the shuttle back to New York."

"Thank you, Craig," Porter said.

"Before you get all wet-eyed, Porter," Lowell said, "if Geoff is guilty as charged, he's probably going to go to jail. And I won't do anything about that. What I'll do is go down there and make sure he's not being crapped on. But that's all I'll do." "He's just a kid, for Christ's sake, Craig."

"When he came in the army, they read him the rules," Lowell said. "High on the list of no-no's is beating up your sergeant."

"How do you know he did that?"