He phoned Meade. “You did what you had to do, man. Great job. I sure didn’t tell you all this, so you went to the right sources for the filler.” “Glad you’re pleased. I decided not to include that incident I saw tucked on a back page of The Washington Post.” His name hadn’t appeared in connection with that article, and he wondered if Meade was fishing for news. “How’d you figure out it involved me?” “Wasn’t difficult. The child’s last name was the clue. I gather he loves to identify himself as Ricky Wainwright. That seemed to amuse the Post’s reporter.” He let himself relax. “Are you planning to do anything with that information?” “Nah, man. I sense that’s an NSS matter, and it probably shouldn’t have been reported in the first place. I would like to meet that kid, though. He’s a clever one.” He didn’t know a lot of reporters whose company he enjoyed, but he wouldn’t mind getting to know a man who’d made himself a legend both as a football player and as a journalist.
