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He shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs. "I'm sorry, but I warned you I'd be poor company."
"Your mind is seemly something, a thousand miles away."
He reached across the table almost shyly and held her hand.
"For the rest of the evening, I'll focus my thoughts entirely on you. I promise."
"Women are suckers for little boys who need mothering. And you are the most pathetic little boy I've ever seen."
"Mind your language, woman. Admirals do not take kindly to being referred to as pathetic little boys."
"All right, John Paul Jones, then how about a bite for a starving deckhand?"
"Anything to prevent a mutiny," he said, smiling for the first time that evening.
He recklessly ordered champagne and the most expensive seafood delicacies on the menu, as though it might be his last opportunity. He asked Bonnie about the cases she was involved with and masked his lack of interest as she relayed the latest gossip about the Supreme Court and legal maneuverings of Congress.
They finished the entree and were attacking the pears poached in red wine when a man with the build of a Denver Bronco linebacker entered the foyer, stared around and, recognizing Sandecker, made his way over to the table.
He flashed a smile at Bonnie. "My apologies, ma'am, for the intrusion." Then he spoke softly into Sandecker's ear.
The admiral nodded and looked sadly across the table. "Please forgive me, but I must go."
"Government business?"
He nodded silently.
"Oh, well," she said resignedly. "At least I had you all to myself until dessert."
He came over and gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek. "We'll do it again."
Then he paid the bill, asked the maitre d' to call Bonnie a cab and left the restaurant.
The admiral's car rolled to a stop at the special tunnel entrance to the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. The door was opened by a sober-faced man wearing a formal black suit.
"If you will please follow me, sir."
"Secret Service?"
"Yes, sir."
Sandecker asked no more questions. He stepped out of the car and trailed the agent down a carpeted corridor to an elevator.
When the doors parted, he was led along the tier level behind the box seats of the opera house to a small meeting room.
Daniel Fawcett, his expression the consistency of marble, simply waved an offhand greeting.
"Sorry to break up your date, Admiral."
"The message emphasized 'urgent."' "I've just received another report from Kodiak. The situation has worsened."
"Does the President know?"
"Not yet," answered Fawcett. "Best to wait until the intermission. If he suddenly left his box during the second act of Rigoletto, it might fuel too many suspicious minds."
A Kennedy Center staff member entered the room carrying a tray of coffee. Sandecker helped himself while Fawcett inaly paced the floor.
The admiral fought off an overwhelming desire to light a cigar.
