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"Excuse me, Mr. Beaseley, but about lunch?" He looked at his watch. "I'm dreadfully sorry. I paid no attention to the time. Will you allow me to make that dinner?"
"I gratefully accept," sighed Miss Gosset.
They were signing out when Beaseley suddenly turned to the commissionaire.
"I'd like to examine the official secrets vault," he said. "My clearance allows me entry."
"But not the young lady," said the uniformed commissionaire, smiling politely. ""Her pass only covers the library."
Beaseley patted Miss Gosset on the shoulder. "Please be patient a little longer. This shouldn't take but a few minutes."
He followed the commissionaire down three flights of stairs to the basement and up to a large iron door in a concrete wall. He watched as a pair of heavy brass keys turned the oiled tumblers of two immense antique padlocks without the least sound. The commissionaire pushed the door open and stood aside.
"I'll have to lock you in, sir," he said, parroting the book of regulations. "There is a telephone on the wall.
Just ring three two when you wish to leave."
"I'm aware of the procedure, thank you."
The file containing classified matter from the spring of 1914 was only forty pages thick and held no earth-shattering revelations. Beaseley was reinserting it in its slot when he noticed something odd.
Several of the files on each side protruded nearly half an inch from the rest of the neatly spaced row. He pulled them out.
Another file had somehow been shoved behind the others, keeping them from fitting evenly. He opened the cover. Across the title page of what looked to be a report were the words "North American Treaty."
He sat down at a metal table and began to read.
Ten minutes later, Beaseley had the look of a man who had been tapped on the shoulder in a cemetery at midnight. His trembling hands could scarcely punch out the correct telephone call buttons.
Heidi checked her boarding pass and looked up at the television monitor displaying the departure time of her flight.
"Another forty minutes to kill," she said.
"Time enough for a farewell drink" Pitt replied.
He steered her across the busy lobby of Dulles Airport to the cocktail lounge. Businessmen with loosened collars and wrinkled suits packed every corner. Pitt scrounged a small table and ordered from a passing waitress. "I wish I could stay," she said wistfully.
"What's to stop you?"
"The navy frowns on officers who jump ship."
"When is your leave up?"
"I have to report to the Naval Communications Station in San Diego by noon tomorrow for assignment to sea duty."
He looked into her eyes. "It seems our romance is a victim of geography."
"We didn't give it much chance, did we?"
"Perhaps it was never meant to be," said Pitt.
Heidi stared at him. "That's what he said!"
"Who?"
"President Wilson in a letter."
Pitt laughed. "I'm afraid you've lost me."
