“There’s a military picture I’m trying to get made that I’d love to talk to you about sometime, Charlie,” Sinatra said. “The air force accidentally drops an A-bomb on North Carolina. B-fifty-two breaks up midair, crew has to ditch the two nukes they’re carrying. One almost detonates nears Goldsboro. Two guys killed in the crash. Big cover-up.” Sinatra looked right at Charlie. “You don’t think it sounds far-fetched, do you, Congressman? I can see it in your eyes. Doesn’t it feel like there’s a part of this government that’s gone off the rails? Like there are people who have no accountability and just do whatever they want? Wiretaps, thuggery, assassinations…”

“Like in Manchurian?” Charlie asked.

“Except real,” said Sinatra.

“And you don’t know the half of it,” Charlie said, thinking about his work on the House Oversight subcommittee. “I’m not even sure what the foreign policy principles are anymore. Bay of Pigs was such a fiasco, it’s hard to understand how the president got talked into it.”

“Yeah,” agreed Sinatra. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—Fidel is a real Commie, not the fake kind you see in Hollywood. Rough stuff. I wouldn’t cry if he slipped in the shower.”

“Of course,” said Charlie. “He’s a monster and he’s in Khrushchev’s pocket. But that’s not the point. It’s what do we do in response.”

“Exactly,” said Sinatra. “It’s who we are, not who they are. You’re like the first sane person I’ve talked to about this. Everyone else is just pro-Jack or pro-Ike, pro-Commie or anti-Commie. No nuance. No conversation.”

“Putting on the team jerseys,” said Charlie.

“Exactly,” Sinatra said again, smiling. He reached out and squeezed Charlie’s shoulder, then gave him a brotherly slap on the back. Charlie felt a little foolish for speaking so candidly with the express purpose of bonding with a celebrity. But what choice did he have? It was either that or let his dying father rot in jail. Either way, Sinatra was right on the issue, and Charlie was pleased to hear a more sophisticated Hollywood take on Cuba than he’d expected.

Charlie looked at Lola. She smiled back patiently. Judy examined her nails.

“Anyway, Charlie,” Sinatra said, “maybe you could read this script I got. It’s similar to the point I was trying to make with the Eddie Slovik script I was working on till Wayne stuck his fat face in.”

“Not the first or the last favor you did for the Kennedys,” Charlie said.