The Run Around

thought.

At the Andrews base the boarding procedures were reversed. They had to wait until Anderson and his wife arrived and boarded Air Force One first, again surrounded by cameras, this time those of the journalists actually travelling with them to Europe. There was still some camera sound when Bell and his wife followed and the television lights stayed on but Martha guessed the coverage to be less than it had been leaving the White House.

The interior of Air Force One is quite unlike that of a normal airliner. The rear has seats set out in the customary design, for the support staffs and a few selected journalists elevated from the accompanying press plane but there is a division a little over halfway along the fuselage beyond which the layout is that of a set of luxury hotel suites. Couches line the bulkhead in an outer room, where there are television sets that work through satellite connection. The telephone and communication apparatus operate also through a satellite, facility, although separate from that to which the televisions are aligned. The President’s private quarters include a sitting room and dining area, with couches and easy chairs, a full-sized bed with an adjoining bathroom and a kitchen in which food is individually prepared. At Anderson’s insistence some of the kitchen space had been modified to accommodate additional wine and alcohol: before take-off Dom Perignon champagne was being served with the caviar boats and Bell caught his wife’s eye and smiled, knowing she would be pleased that every fantasy was being fulfilled.

Anderson was the consummate political communicator. He disdained the caution of seatbelts at take-off and carried his glass to the rear of the aircraft, thanking the support staff for being with him, as if they had any choice in the matter, and arranging off-the-record background briefings for the political correspondents of the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, Newsweek and NBC. The pilot was identifying Chesapeake down to their left when Anderson wandered back, empty glass in hand, gazing expectantly for it to be refilled, which it was. ‘Been keeping the natives happy,’ he announced, to the Secretary of State. ‘We got things to talk about, Jim?’

‘I think so, Mr President.’

Anderson led the way further forward, to his inner sanctum, throwing off his jacket and sitting feet outstretched behind the desk. ‘Isn’t this the damnedest way to travel!’ he said.

‘Martha enjoys it,’ admitted the Secretary of State.

‘Janet, too,’ said Anderson. ‘Martha looks very striking today, incidentally. Janet remarked on it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Bell. He hoped the President’s wife didn’t feel upstaged.

‘What’s on the agenda, then?’

‘The British warning in Geneva hasn’t been resolved,’ said Bell.

‘You said—’ The President stopped, snapping his fingers for recollection. ‘Giles,’ he remembered. ‘You said Giles was on top of it.’

‘Which is why I’m raising it now,’ said Bell. ‘Seems the Englishman there wants to make the running.’

‘The guy that screwed our people?’

‘Yes.’

‘You asked London what the hell they think they’re doing, involving that son of a bitch in the first place?’

‘I think Langley have,’ said the Secretary of State.

‘You should do it too,’ decided Anderson. ‘What’s come up, new?’

It did not take Bell long to outline the few developments and the President said: ‘That all!’

‘So far.’

‘What about beyond Geneva?’ demanded Anderson. ‘Have the CIA thrown out all the nets?’

‘Everywhere they could think of,’ assured Bell.

‘And?’

‘Not a whisper of confirmation from anywhere that Geneva is the target: not even a suggestion that Moscow are mounting an operation.’

‘Would they have expected to get one?’

‘They think so.’

‘And they haven’t?’ insisted Anderson.

‘Not a thing.’

‘So what have we got that’s positive?’ demanded the President, rhetorically. ‘Something that can’t be checked out, from a Soviet defector to the British. And the pickup, from a Soviet drop in London. That’s all I can see. From then on we spin off into the circumstantial. The sighting aboard the Swissair plane could be wrong, with no connection whatsoever with London. And the mysterious Herr Schmidt at the Bellevue Hotel could be any sort of nickel and dime crook living in a dream world of false identities.’

‘What about the logged sighting at the Bern embassy?’ asked the Secretary of State, dogmatically.

‘What about it?’ came back the President. ‘Again what provably connects it to anything going on in London?’

It was inconclusive, conceded Bell: circumstantial, just like the President said. Yet Bell was concerned that Anderson was being overly dismissive. He said: ‘That embassy sighting might have been more worthwhile if the Swiss had accepted our help.’

‘National pride, Jim,’ reminded Anderson. ‘Would we have accepted Swiss volunteers in Washington in a similar situation?’

‘I would have expected us to do better in a similar situation,’ said the Secretary of State.

‘What’s the Englishman suggesting?’

‘What he suggested before: publication of the photograph.’

‘Within an hour of which everyone would be running so fast from Geneva, whether with good reason or not, that there would be scorch marks on the ground behind them,’ said Anderson.

‘I don’t imagine it would be possible to continue with the conference,’ agreed Bell.

‘Then no,’ decided Anderson, positively, ‘If the evidence were stronger then we’d have to take it more seriously but I don’t think it is strong.’ The man paused and said: ‘What do you think, Jim? Don’t take any sort of lead from me: your honest opinion.’

The Secretary of State did not hurry with his reply. At last he said: ‘I think you’re right, Mr President. I don’t think the evidence is convincing enough.’

Anderson smiled, pleased at his friend’s support. He said: ‘And we’ve already recognized how we can’t lose if something happens, haven’t we?’

‘I guess we have,’ said Bell.

‘Tell the British to go and suck ass,’ said Anderson. He allowed a long pause and said: ‘If I were a suspicious man, which I am not, I could almost be persuaded into thinking that their interfering in Geneva is nothing more than mischief-making. Every time I’ve met them I’ve pegged them as people pissed off at being the world’s doorman rather than its policeman.’

‘I’ll let them know how you feel,’ promised Bell.

Anderson pulled himself heavily from the chair. ‘Let’s go back and join the ladies,’ he said. ‘Have a few drinks: this is a triumphal tour, after all!’

It was thirty minutes in the larger, outer cabin before Martha Beil could be sure of talking to her husband without being overheard. She said: ‘We saw the departure on television: the White House as well as Andrews! We were on both times!’

‘Great,’ said Bell. Although he had committed himself to the President’s opinion back there he was not completely convinced that the warning should not at least be extended.

‘This outfit looked fantastic!’ Martha enthused. ‘Janet was hardly given any air time.’

Reminded, Bell said: ‘You did check about clothes with her secretary, didn’t you?’

‘Of course I did,’ assured the woman. ‘Why did you ask?’

‘Just wanted to be sure,’ said the Secretary of State.

‘Darling!’ said Martha. ‘You don’t think I’d do anything to embarrass you, do you?’

‘No,’ said Bell. ‘I don’t think that.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy!’ she said.

The luncheon hors d’oeuvres were being served aboard Air Force One when Barbara Giles disembarked at Washington Dulles airport from the courtesy bus upon which she had travelled from the city terminal. She wore jeans and a workshirt but checked three cases holding her good clothes, because she wanted to look wonderful