chairs, five to a side. No windows. The same gray synthetic carpet underfoot and the same white acoustic tile overhead. The same bright halogen light. There was a low cabinet against one wall. It had closed doors and three telephones on it. Two were white and one was red. Stuyvesant sat down and waved to the chairs on the other side of the table. Reacher glanced at a huge notice board full of memos labeled confidential.
"I'm going to be uncharacteristically frank," Stuyvesant said. "Just temporarily, you understand, because I think we owe you an explanation, and because Froelich involved you with my initial approval, and because Joe Reacher's brother is family, so to speak, and therefore his colleague is too."
"We worked together in the military," Neagley said.
Stuyvesant nodded, like that was an inference he had drawn long ago.
"Let's talk about baseball," he said. "You follow the game?"
They all waited.
"The Washington Senators had already gone when I hit town," he said. "So I've had to make do with the Baltimore Orioles, which has been a mixed bag in terms of fun. But do you understand what's unique about the game?"
"The length of the season," Reacher said. "The win percentages."
Stuyvesant smiled, like he was conferring praise.
"Maybe you're better than half as smart," he said. "The thing about baseball is that the regular season is one hundred sixty-two games long. Way, way longer than any other sport. Any other sport has about half as many games as baseball. Basketball, hockey, football, soccer, anything. Any other sport, the players can start out thinking they can win every single game all season long. It's just about a realistic motivational goal. It's even been achieved, here and there, now and then. But it's impossible in baseball. The very best teams, the greatest champions, they all lose around a third of their games. They lose fifty or sixty times a year, at least. Imagine what that feels like, from a psychological perspective. You're a superb athlete, you're fanatically competitive, but you know for sure you're going to lose repeatedly. You have to make mental adjustments, or you couldn't cope with it. And presidential protection is exactly the same thing. That's my point. We can't win every day. So we get used to it."
"You only lost once," Neagley said. "Back in 1963."
"No," Stuyvesant said. "We lose repeatedly. But not every loss is significant. Just like baseball. Not every hit they get produces a run against you, not every defeat they inflict loses you the World Series. And with us, not every mistake kills our guy."
"So what are you saying?" Neagley asked.
Stuyvesant sat forward. "I'm saying despite what your audit might have revealed you should still have considerable faith in us. Not every error costs us a run. Now, I completely understand that kind of so-what self-confidence must seem very offhand to an outsider. But you must understand we're forced to think that way. Your audit showed up a few holes, and what we have to do now is judge whether it's possible to fill them. Whether it's reasonable. I'm going to leave that to Froelich's own judgment. It's her show. But what I'm suggesting is that you get rid of any sense of doubt you're feeling about us. As private citizens. Any sense of our failure. Because we're not failing. There are always going to be holes. Part of the job. This is a democracy. Get used to it."
Then he sat back, like he was finished.
"What about this specific threat?" Reacher asked him.
Stuyvesant paused, and then he shook his head. His face had changed. The mood in the whole room had changed.
"That's precisely where I stop being frank," he said. "I told you it was a temporary indulgence. And it was a very serious lapse on Froelich's part to reveal the existence of any threat at all. All I'm prepared to say is we intercept a lot of threats. Then we deal with them. How we deal with them is entirely confidential. Therefore I would ask you to understand you are now under an absolute obligation never to mention this situation to anybody after you leave here tonight. Or any aspect of our procedures. That obligation is rooted in federal statute. There are sanctions available to me."
There was silence. Reacher said nothing. Neagley sat quiet. Froelich looked upset. Stuyvesant ignored her completely and gazed hard at Reacher and Neagley, at first hostile, and then suddenly pensive. He started thinking hard again. He stood up and walked over to