The group moved so quickly towards the waiting vehicles that Scamell and Wendall North had to hurry down the steps to avoid being left behind. The American chief of staff supervised the transportation, ushering Aleksandr Okulov and Walter Anandale into the Cadillac, alone but for their interpreters. Anandale and Okulov sat side by side, their translators facing them from the jump seats. Lev Lvov, the Russian presidential protection chief, was crammed into the front seat alongside Jeff Aston, the raised glass partition closing them off from the rear of the vehicle.
Okulov said, “How’s the First Lady?”
“Recovering,” said Anandale. “Thank you.”
“Fully, I hope.”
“There’s still a lot of specialist treatment necessary.”
The armor plating, which extended from the sides down to theunderside of the car, brought its weight up to nine tons but it was still travelling at ninety m.p.h. down the central reservation of the cleared road. There were two ranks of escorting motorcycles, the outer line closing off any space left by the inner. It was impossible to hear the overhead helicopters, through the steel-reinforced roof.
Orkulov said, “I trust all the misunderstandings are resolved between us, over this investigation?”
“I believe they are. But the progress is slow,” said Anandale.
“The Englishman is appearing in court today.”
“Slow in detecting the others with whom he is involved.”
“I understand that immediately prior to the outrage no substantive difficulties remained between our two sides over the missile defense system?”
“There were some. There had been no independently confirmed statistics for nuclear holdings.”
“They have now been exchanged between our foreign minister and your secretary of state.”
“There remain uncertainties with China. And North Korea.”
“Uncertainties that existed-and stayed parallel-before and during our negotiations.”
“According to our intelligence North Korea is increasing its nuclear capacity, with Beijing’s assistance.”
There was a momentary silence. They were entering the city now, along barriered streets this time totally devoid of people apart from regularly distanced uniformed militia officers.
Okulov said, “That is not our information.”
Anandale shrugged. “You’ll accept, of course, that I have to make judgments upon the best advice I receive.”
“An enormous amount of time and even more commitment has gone into bringing our two sides to where we are now. It would be very unfortunate if at this stage it were to fail.”
“My secretary of state has remained in Moscow,” reminded Anandale. “We have publicly travelled into the city together today.”
“Does that mean our negotiations are going to be concluded with the signing of the treaty?” demanded Okulov, directly.
“It means our negotiations are continuing to a hopeful conclusion, that hope being that no unexpected, insurmountable difficultyarises,” said Anandale, as the cavalcade swept across the cleared Red Square for the televised entry into the Kremlin.
American television had a simultaneous feed from the Russian coverage of Anandale, flanked by Scamell and North, solemnly filing past the open coffin of the assassinated Russian president. Aleksandr Okulov was already in place by the time they reached the receiving line, in the center of which stood a black-suited Raisa Yudkin, her two sons either side of her. She smiled at his approach and Anandale leaned forward to kiss her.
“How’s Ruth?” said the woman, her voice heavily accented.
“Getting better.” He gave a slight movement towards the coffin. “I’m so sorry.” He shook the hands of both boys and moved off.
There was a preinterment reception, also televised, in an adjoining state room and Anandale allowed Scamell to steer him into two appropriate groups-German and Italian-before settling briefly with the British. Anandale said he was looking forward to the following day’s working lunch and the prime minister said he was, too.
It was not until they were back in the armored Cadillac, slotting into their prescribed position in the cortege, that Wendall North said, “You happy how it went?”
“Hear for yourself,” invited Anandale. Through the now lowered separating screen he said, “You get it all, Jeff?”
“Loud and clear, Mr. President,” assured the Secret Service chief, slotting the recording of Anandale’s conversation with Okulov into the Cadillac’s cassette deck.
Everyone’s concentration was totally inside the vehicle, oblivious to everyone and everything outside. When the tape snapped off Anandale said, “Well?”
“Couldn’t be better,” said Scamell.
“Thank you, Jeff,” said Anandale, pressing the control to raise the screen. “You know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking that now we’ve got the Texas problem out of the way, we don’t need the goddamned treaty, we’d do better carrying on perfecting the shield technology.”
“Let’s take pause on that, Mr. President,” advised the chief of staff.
“OK,” agreed Anandale. “But carry out some very discreet soundings: see how further developing it plays on the Hill.”
Charlie was able to see the first five minutes of Anandale’s televised arrival at the military airfield before leaving for the hospital and watched with an impression of
Impossible though it was-ridiculous though it was-what if Natalia had been drawn in, not in the actual shootings but in some cover-up afterwards? George Bendall had unchallengably been involved in a murderous conspiracy but they had a guaranteed defense against the murder charge itself, so there was no risk of an innocent man being wrongly convicted. She would be obstructing justice, certainly, but how many times had he done that- and worse-any means always justifying a practical end? A lot, although always with more of an episode resolved and more of the opposition punished. What ever, he had no moral or integrity grounds from which to criticize or question. Which wasn’t his problem, he forced himself to admit. His problem was entirely personal, the thought of her holding a distorting mirror in front of him. Which was the most absurd of all. But not all, he thought on, relentlessly. His doubt wasn’t solely about the investigation: maybe not even a major part of it. He was stirring into the mix all his own uncertainties about himself and Natalia: changing the metaphor, holding up his own distorting mirror in front of himself.
“Charlie!”
He started at her demand, realizing he’d missed a question the first time. “Sorry. What?”
“You think you can keep Bendall quiet?” repeated Anne
“That’s what we’re going to the hospital for, but I don’t have a magic formula.”
“Do you really want to keep him quiet?” she demanded, turning to Charlie in the back of the embasssy car. “He promised sensation, remember? He could unlock everything.”
“I want it for myself first, not for a herd that would include the world’s press,” said Charlie.
Olga, Nicholai Badim and the psychiatrist, Guerguen Agayan, were outside the ward when Charlie and Anne approached after passing through the entrance check, which Charlie noted to be as stringent as it had been on the first day, minus only the disputed body check. The regular three-man team was inside Bendall’s room, but there was a much greater number-a lot in militia uniform-further along the corridor, waiting to escort the man to the court.
Anne said, “We need prehearing consultations.”
“A condition was made, about a protective presence,” said Olga.
“Which you can be,” said Charlie, curtly. “There is no need for the guards within the room or for any medical attendance.”
