“Cheers,” he said, offering his glass for a clink. “You know what’s great about international travel, Dan? Meeting folks from back home. Folks you’d never give a second thought to if you ran into them stateside.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Take us, for example. If we weren’t in this toilet of a country, we’d never be friends. I’m a Nixon Republican, and I’ll bet you voted for McGovern.”

“That’s true, Russ. But I’d rather you didn’t refer to India as a toilet.”

He laughed out loud. “See what I mean? I should’ve known you’d say that. It’s to your credit, Dan. I respect a man who’s not afraid to scold a guy who’s just bought him a quadruple whisky.”

I offered to pay for my own drink. His, too.

“Now you’ve gone and got offended,” he said. “I was only making a little fun. I like you, Dan. I promise not to disparage our hosts.”

“Okay,” I said. “And, yes, I did vote for McGovern. Campaigned for him, as a matter of fact. Canvassed the rich suburbs in Connecticut and phoned about a million voters.”

“And I paid several hundred bucks to eat rubber chicken at more than one Nixon fundraiser.”

Starting to feel the effects of the scotch, I leaned in and smiled at my new acquaintance. “Tell me the truth, Russ. You gotta admit he was a crook, right?”

“Whether or not he was a crook doesn’t matter. For me, Nixon was everything McGovern was not. And that’s what’s important. We take the bad with the good, because we think it’s a lot better than the alternative.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said.

“Really? Would you vote for Teddy Kennedy? After Chappaquiddick?”

“Over Nixon? Yes.”

“You prove my point, Dan.” He raised his glass again. “It ain’t what he did wrong that matters. It’s what he did right.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “But I’m not that cynical yet. And, of course, the tragedy for you guys is that Watergate was unnecessary. Nixon was going to beat McGovern like a rug no matter what. And he did. If they’d been smarter, Tricky Dick would still be in the White House.”

“Doesn’t bother me,” he said. “Ford’ll do. Provided he can get himself reelected next year.”

I pointed out that Ford had never actually been elected president.

“Touché.”

Our conversation turned to less-contentious topics.

“You see that woman over there?” he asked me in a low voice. “At the table by herself. The blonde with the brushed-out hair? Like Farrah Fawcett.”

“The one in the green-flowered dress? She’s the only blonde in here.”

Harlan aimed a long gaze at her. It was as if he was trying to decide whether to answer me or send her a drink.