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mom both worked for General Motors.”
    Dewey didn’t say anything as he pulled out a pair of ancient CCM Super Tacks, the blades partially covered in rust.
    “My God, those are old,” said Dellenbaugh. “I’m going to buy you a new pair as a wedding present. Speaking of which, congratulations.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I asked Jessica where you popped the question. She wouldn’t tell me.”
    Dewey smiled but said nothing. He pulled his laces tight, tied them, then reached into the bag for his helmet.
    “So you’re not going to tell me?” asked Dellenbaugh.
    “No.”
    Dewey pulled out an old, bright yellow Jofa helmet. Before he put it on his head, he looked inside. He reached down and removed a layer of cobwebs.
    “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” said Dellenbaugh. “That is one nasty-looking helmet. I’m starting to worry about you, Dewey. When was the last time you played?”
    Dewey laughed at Dellenbaugh’s ribbing.
    “Twenty years ago,” said Dewey.
    “It’s pretty mellow out there,” said Dellenbaugh. “I don’t want you getting hurt. I promised your fiancée I’d return you without any major injuries.”
    Dewey stood up and pulled his helmet on.
    “I’ll see you out there, Mr. President.”
    “I’m right behind you,” said Dellenbaugh. “Hey DiNovi, did you bring me a Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, like you said you would?”
    “Yes, Mr. President,” said DiNovi, who was pulling his right skate on. “Decaf, right?”
    “Wise ass. If it’s decaf, I’m going to veto any piece of legislation with your name on it for the next year.”
    Outside the locker room, Dewey walked on the rubber mat to the rink door. The stands were empty except for a dozen or so Secret Service agents, spread out around the bleachers. Agents stood at both entrances; each man held what looked like a laptop bag across their torsos, one hand concealed. Inside were submachine guns.
    Several players were already on the ice, skating in circles to warm up. Dewey stepped onto the ice and proceeded to go flying onto his butt. He slowly got to his knees, then stood. He began a slow circle around the rink. His skates, though rusty, were sharp. Still, it had been almost two decades since he’d skated and he was rusty. He watched as an older player, perhaps in his fifties, went flying by him. Then he caught Dellenbaugh, climbing onto the ice. The president quickly leapt into a full sprint around the outer edge of the ice, his skates making sharp cutting noises as he moved gracefully around the rink. Dellenbaugh was a sight to behold, his strides smooth, with tremendous speed. He circled twice, then came over to Dewey, slowing down alongside him.
    “How you feeling?” he asked.
    “Not bad,” said Dewey.
    “You’re on D, next to me. Stay away from Tom DeGray.”
    “Which one is he?”
    “He’s the guy with the red helmet,” said Dellenbaugh, nodding at a player stretching next to the boards. “Congressman from Chicago. He can’t skate for shit, but he can hit and he plays dirty. More to the point, he used to have a thing for Jessica.”
    “A thing?”
    “They went out to dinner. That’s all I know. Just keep an eye out. He’s the vengeful type.”
    Dewey skated along next to Dellenbaugh for a few minutes, working hard just to keep up. Even relaxing, Dellenbaugh moved with a speed that, at least to Dewey, was stunning, barely pushing his legs, yet flying along.
    Dellenbaugh gathered everyone at center ice. He and DiNovi picked teams. Even though Dewey was clearly one of the worst players on the ice, Dellenbaugh picked him first. Each team had ten players, enough for two lines and a goalie. Hastings, chief justice of the Supreme Court, was one of the goalies; the other was a staffer from the White House Communications Office named Gus Edwards, who had played at Williams. When a young White House intern named Pitchess finally showed up, he was handed a striped jacket and told to referee.
    The game started with Pitchess dropping