Free The American Ambassador by Ward Just

now.”
    â€œYou need your sleep.”
    â€œNo shit, Sherlock.”
    â€œWe can talk tomorrow.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with now? You woke me up.”
    â€œWell, I’m tired.”
    â€œThey’re all shit,” the boy said.
    North said nothing.
    â€œSo your kid’s going to be a lawyer.”
    â€œThat’s what he says,” North said. That’s what happened when you told an innocent lie, a story meant less to deceive then to deflect. You got Watergate. It made him uncomfortable, and he wished now that he’d said he wasn’t sure, which, while not precisely truthful, was not a complete lie, either.
    â€œThey’re great, the lawyers. They’re terrific with people, their relatives especially. They’ve got a real human touch. That’s why my old man hasn’t come down to see me, or telephoned either. Probably afraid I’d die of a heart attack if I heard his voice.”
    North said nothing to that.
    â€œHis secretary checks with the doctor every morning, though.”
    â€œWell,” North said.
    â€œBut maybe your kid’ll be different. Maybe he’s a great guy and’ll make a great lawyer.”
    â€œI’m not counting on it.” North said.
    â€œMaybe it’ll be cool,” the boy said.
    â€œMaybe,” North said.
    â€œI suppose he’s telephoned.”
    â€œNo,” North said.
    â€œWell, he’s in the great tradition, then.”
    â€œLook,” North said, then paused.
    â€œSorry,” the boy said, “I didn’t mean to piss you off.”
    â€œHe’s not studying to be a lawyer. He’s in Europe, that’s all.”
    â€œSounds like fun,” the boy said.
    North closed his eyes, feeling drowsy. He knew that sleep was near. “I suppose so,” he said.
    â€œI’ve never been to Europe.”
    â€œWell, you’re young.”
    â€œYou’re sure he isn’t a lawyer?”
    â€œI’m sure,” North said.
    â€œHe sure sounds like one,” the boy said.

3
    T HEY WERE PUNCTUAL , Hartnett and Carruthers, arriving within minutes of each other, cool and tidy from their air-conditioned cars. And they were cordial, shaking hands and talking about Sunday’s game. Carruthers and Hartnett were great football fans; it was only the exhibition season and they were already full of opinions. North introduced them to Richard, Hartnett his personal lawyer, Carruthers a lawyer for the Department of State; Richard nodded his head but did not speak. He was certain to be smiling, though. The most desirable of all of Washington’s locked rooms was RFK Stadium on a Sunday, and the mumbo-jumbo was superb.
    North put on a white terry-cloth robe and slippers and they walked down the hall to the solarium. Two women were leaving as they walked in, and he made way to let them pass; they moved painfully, shuffling, and did not return his smile. There were three empty chairs in the corner and a small table with a child’s checkerboard. Carruthers put the checkerboard to one side and took out a sheaf of papers and began sorting, wetting his thumb to separate the sheets. North and Hartnett said nothing, waiting for Carruthers to begin. It was his meeting, arranged at his request. The call had come that morning, a bit too casual it seemed to North. He had known Carruthers for years, and heard something odd in his tone. Carruthers concluded the conversation by suggesting that Dick Hartnett might join them. Carruthers knew that Hartnett was North’s lawyer and, as it happened, an occasional consultant to the Department of State. This will save time, Carruthers had said.
    â€œSo,” Carruthers said at last. Then, looking around, as if surprised to see where he was, and suddenly remembering. “How’re you feeling, anyway?”
    â€œPaul,” North said.
    â€œJust asking.”
    â€œI’m feeling fine, let’s get on with