The Rivalry (10 page)

W
ith the march-ons complete and the cadets now in their seats engaging in good-natured razzing with the midshipmen, the teams began coming onto the field to warm up.

Stevie noticed they didn’t come out all at once. The kickers came out first, apparently so they could boom kicks all over the field without getting in anybody’s way. Then the rest of the players came out by position: linebackers, defensive backs, linemen. The so-called skill position players—quarterbacks, running backs, and receivers—came last.

Stevie and Susan Carol both saw players they’d gotten to know well, but there was no time for chat—the players were all focused on getting warmed up for their biggest game of the year.

By eleven o’clock, the field was filled with players and
the stands also appeared full. Stevie had no doubt there were still some people trying to get through security, but it looked to him as if most people had heeded all the warnings about arriving early.

Susan Carol saw that the officials were also on the field, warming up. She hadn’t realized when she wrote her story about the officials at Notre Dame that some of them would be working this game as well. She tried to unobtrusively keep Stevie between her and Mike Daniels, and for the first time she found herself wishing that Stevie was taller.

She was glad when Kelleher, Pete Dowling, and Bob Campbell returned after another pregame check—they offered more cover.

“Another hour and we’ll have the president in his seat and be seventy-five percent of the way home,” Dowling said.

“Seventy-five percent?” Susan Carol asked.

“The president has to cross the field at halftime,” Dowling said. “That’s another high-alert moment for us. And then we have to get him home.”

“And still no sign of trouble?” Stevie asked.

“None. The people we’ve been watching are still outside tailgating. Haven’t even made a move to come inside.”

Campbell said, “We had their license plates and knew what parking lot they had a pass for, so their cars were checked thoroughly coming in.”

“And you didn’t find anything?” Susan Carol said.

“Nothing but beer and cameras and extra scarves,” Dowling said.

Susan Carol gave them credit for that. She wished she had an extra scarf about now. Even wearing long underwear, a down coat, a hat, gloves, and a scarf, she was still cold. But the sun was warming things up—it might hit forty by noon.

The PA announcer was telling everyone that the players would be clearing the field by 11:20 so the parachutists could make their jumps into the stadium.

“Marine One doesn’t leave the White House until that’s over,” Dowling explained. “Once the president leaves the ground, the airspace around here is completely locked down until he’s back inside the White House after the game.”

“What about planes heading to National; isn’t this right along their route?” Kelleher asked.

“Sometimes it is, depending on the wind,” Dowling said. “But from eleven fifteen until about four o’clock, they can’t use this flight path. Fortunately, it’s a good-weather day, so they’ve got lots of options. Shouldn’t cause any delays.”

Stevie had a game-day itinerary that was planned right to the minute. The parachutists were supposed to begin landing at 11:26.

And sure enough, when the players had all gone back to their locker rooms, he heard the sound of a plane overhead.

Ninety thousand faces turned up to the sky to watch as
eight specks started falling. Then one by one, eight enormous parachutes unfurled. In the sky they seemed to be gliding slowly and smoothly, but the closer they came to the ground, the more Stevie could see they were moving at an incredible speed. Skydiving—yet another thing he wasn’t eager to try.

The divers left ribbons of red and blue smoke streaming behind them. They must have had some kind of special equipment in their shoes. It was a great effect.

The PA announcer told the divers’ names as they touched down on the field and worked to gather in their still-billowing chutes. Amazingly, the last diver, who was carrying the official game ball, touched down right on the huge Army-Navy game medallion painted at midfield. The referee met him there to accept the ball to great applause.

To Stevie’s surprise, he also heard a smattering of boos. But then he saw they were coming from the Navy side—clearly some people had recognized the referee.

Pete Dowling had one hand on his earpiece. “Marine One is in the air,” he reported. “We’ll have wheels down here at eleven thirty-eight.”

“Everything is on schedule, then,” Susan Carol said.

“So far,” Dowling said. “We all just want to see a good football game and have that be the story of the day.”

That sounded good to Susan Carol. And just about perfect to Stevie. He hadn’t really fully appreciated how hard the Secret Service’s job was until a small incident had set off fireworks at the Army-Navy lunch.

S
tevie walked into Lincoln Financial Field on a blustery Tuesday afternoon. The mild weather from the weekend was long gone, replaced by the kind of windy, cold day you would expect in Philadelphia two days before Thanksgiving.

Kelleher had left his name on the list at the door and, for once, no one asked him what a fourteen-year-old was doing on a media list. The way Kelleher had described the traditional Army-Navy lunch made it sound a lot like a press conference—in other words, boring. On the plus side, it was lunch—which made the assignment a lot more palatable to Stevie.

He was surprised by how much security there was when he walked inside. There were two men—clearly Secret Service—posted at the door to the lobby. They asked him why he was there, and when he said, “The Army-Navy
lunch,” they nodded and let him inside. Even though no one questioned his presence on the list, he had to show ID, get a pass, and then go through a metal detector before he could proceed to the elevators.

Worried he was now late, Stevie waited impatiently for the elevator. But then coach Ken Niumatalolo, accompanied by two young men in snappy blue uniforms and another man in a suit, joined him.

“Coach Niumatalolo, my name is Steve Thomas,” he said, putting out a hand. “I think you met my friend Susan Carol Anderson at Notre Dame.”

Niumatalolo smiled. “Yes! Susan Carol’s become very popular on the Yard. The team really appreciated her story on the officials—she could say a lot of things we couldn’t.” He turned to the two guys in uniform. “Steve, these are our captains, Ricky Dobbs and Wyatt Middleton. And this is Scott Strasemeier, our sports information director.”

Stevie shook hands all around. He was familiar with Dobbs, who had been mentioned as a Heisman Trophy candidate during the season.

“Thank her for us, will you?” Dobbs said.

“She’ll be glad to know you liked it.”

“Is Susan Carol really just a freshman in high school?” Middleton asked.

Stevie nodded. “People think she’s older all the time,” he said. “It’s because she’s so tall.”

When the elevator finally arrived and they all filed in, Stevie said, “So, was there enough security for you out there?”

“They told us Vice President Biden may be coming,” Niumatalolo said. “If you think this is bad, wait until the game when he
and
the president are both there.”

Stevie knew he wasn’t kidding.

There were people waiting once they got off the elevators to whisk the Navy guys inside. Stevie had to stop again so the Secret Service could check the name on his credential against their list. Once he had passed that test, he went into a large dining room that was set up with a podium up front and a buffet—as yet untouched—in the back. Pete Dowling was standing off to the side with another agent.

Dowling waved him over when he saw him. “Steve, I want you to meet my partner, Bob Campbell.”

Stevie knew the name right away. “My friend Susan Carol was impressed with the way you handled Coach Kelly’s over-vigilant security guard at Notre Dame.”

Campbell shook his head. “I wish Susan Carol hadn’t seen that,” he said. “I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but in our business there’s nothing worse than dealing with amateurs.”

Dowling laughed. “We’ve got a lot of that ahead the next couple weeks,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Stevie asked.

“We need so many people that we bring in guys from out-of-town police departments,” Dowling said. “Not that they’re amateurs. I was a cop once. But we try to keep them on the routine stuff, like checking people through security.”

“What about today?” Stevie asked. “Is all of this because Biden’s coming?”

Dowling shot him a look. “How’d you know that?”

“I rode the elevator with Coach Niumatalolo,” Stevie said.

Dowling shook his head. “You
are
a good reporter. Two minutes in an elevator and you already know more about what’s happening than I’d like. Yes, this is all for the vice president.”

“Anything happen so far that makes you nervous?” Stevie asked.

Dowling smiled. “Nothing I’d mention.”

Fair enough, Stevie thought. He’d try a different tack. “Has there
ever
been a problem at an Army-Navy game in the past?”

He was surprised when Dowling laughed. “Not really a problem,” he said. “But someone you know almost didn’t get into the game a couple years ago because he was considered a security risk.”

“Who?” Stevie asked.

“Well, to use the name that came up on his FBI file, Robert Wilson Kelleher,” Dowling said.

“Bobby?” Stevie was shocked. “A security risk?”

Dowling shrugged. “He had written a column saying President Bush had no business coming to the Army-Navy game since he had already put players who had graduated from both schools in harm’s way in Iraq and was continuing to do so even though the war was a debacle. The column raised some eyebrows.”

“So what happened?”

“I intervened. I told them I’d known Bobby for years and that being a liberal didn’t make him a threat. Even so, they combed through his past pretty carefully before they cleared him.”

“Wow,” Stevie said, reverting to his favorite word.

Stevie saw his pal Dick Jerardi approaching.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here, Stevie,” Jerardi said. “No school today?”

Stevie explained that it was a half day before the Thanksgiving holiday and introduced Jerardi to Dowling and Campbell.

Jerardi shook hands with both men. “Lotta security for lunch—all for Biden?”

Dowling groaned. “Does
everyone
know about Biden coming?”

“One of the Philly cops I know told me,” Jerardi said.

“Everyone likes to run their mouth,” Dowling said.

Stevie saw several people putting hot food out on the buffet. That was good news. “When do we eat?” he asked Jerardi.

“As soon as the mayor, the governor, and the vice president get here,” Jerardi said.

“The mayor and the governor are coming too?” Stevie said, surprised.

“Yup,” Jerardi said. “Governor Rendell played a big role in making sure the game stayed in Philadelphia most of the time when he was mayor. And Mayor Nutter wants
to be sure everyone remembers the game is back here the next three years. Plus, you think either one is going to pass up a chance for a photo op with the VP?”

Dowling was about to say something, but his cell phone started to chirp.

“What’s up, Mike?” he said, putting his phone to his left ear. He had a wire of some kind, Stevie noticed, in his right ear.

As he listened, his smile disappeared. “Got it,” he said. He snapped the phone shut and then, just like Stevie had seen in the movies and on TV, he put his arm up to his mouth and started talking into his wrist.

“Crash the stadium,” he said very quietly. “Two non-cleareds through the gate, location unknown.”

He pushed Campbell in the direction of the door. “Get the elevators shut down, Bob,” he said. He began waving his arms to get people’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen,
please
, I need your attention right now.”

The room quieted quickly. “My name is Special Agent Peter Dowling. I’m with the Secret Service, and we have a situation. There’s a possibility that this is a false alarm, and I do not believe that you are in danger. But for now, I need everyone to stay in this room and to
please
turn off your cell phones. I’m sure we’ll have this resolved shortly, but I’m asking you to bear with us for a few moments.”

“What’s going on?” Stevie asked.

Dowling seemed focused on making sure cell phones
got turned off. “I can’t give you details,” he said. “In fact, I don’t have many details. But two guys came into the building who raised suspicions.”

“How?” Stevie asked.

Dowling looked around for a second as if making sure no one else was listening.
“Off the record,”
he said. “They checked in under the names Michael Barkann and Brian Schiff.”

“From Comcast SportsNet,” Stevie said. “I know them both.”

“So do I,” Dowling said. “But the people in the lobby didn’t. They just checked their names off and must not have looked very closely at their IDs and their faces. That’s what I was just talking about with amateurs—they’re either obnoxiously careful or too lax. The two guys cleared the metal detectors, but then they didn’t get on the elevator to come up here.”

“How do you know that?”

“There’s a surveillance camera in the elevator waiting area. They walked past the elevators and into the stadium.”

Stevie felt a slight chill go through him.

Dowling held up his hand as Stevie started to ask another question. Then he talked into his wrist again. “Mike, hold them in the limos. If we don’t resolve this in five minutes, I want them out of here.”

“Who?” Stevie asked.

“The mayor and the governor,” Dowling said. “We’re holding them outside. The VP is five minutes out. If we
don’t find these guys before he gets here, we’re going to turn him around.”

“That might be tough in a stadium this big,” Stevie said.

“Exactly,” Dowling said. “I have to get going.”

Stevie noticed that police officers had appeared at all the exits.