I was glad it was dark beyond the range of the lamp. My face was red. "Thank you, Mr. President."
"I like it better, Pete, because from this day on, Pete, you and I and all of us know that you, and you alone, are going to have a mighty hard row to hoe." That's right; he was a farmer once. "Hard in this respect—you understand, I know, that for the rest of your natural life you must and shall be guarded with all the alert fervor that national security demands. Does that sound too much like a jail sentence?"
It did, but I lied. I said, "Not exactly, Mr. President. Whatever you say is all right with me."
He smiled. "Thank you, Pete.... Guarded as well and as closely as—the question is, where?"
I didn't know I'd had a choice. The Old Man had talked to me before on that.
"Not exactly, Pete. This is what I mean: General Buckley and General Hayes feel that you will be safest on the mainland somewhere in the Continental United States. Admirals Lacey and Jessop, on the other hand, feel that the everpresent risk of espionage can be controlled only by isolation, perhaps on some island where the personnel can be exclusively either military or naval."
I grinned inwardly. I knew this was going to happen.
"Mr. Hoover concedes that both possible places have inherent advantages and disadvantages," the President went on. "He feels, however, that protection should be provided by a staff specially trained in law-enforcement and counter-espionage."
So where did that leave me? I didn't say it quite that way, but I put across the idea.