Private Wars

Riess nodded.

“Chuck,” Garret said. “You dog.”

Riess actually thought he might blush, tried to think of something to say, and realized that everything he was coming up with would sound like a double entendre. Finally, he managed, “It wasn’t planned.”

“No, it wouldn’t have been.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“About Tower? Not much you can do. There was always a risk of this, Charles. He’ll check your story, and when he finds the holes in it—and he will find the holes in it—he’ll want to talk to you again.”

“What do I tell him?”

Garret looked out the window of his office into the garden, not speaking for a very long time, so long that Riess began to wonder if the Ambassador had heard him or not.

“That’s your choice, Charles,” Garret said at length, softly. “This thing with Ruslan—if it doesn’t work, my career is shot. I knew that going into it. I’ve got thirty years in, and there are worse ways to leave than being forced into a quiet retirement.”

“I’m not going to betray you, sir. I won’t do that.”

Garret turned from the window, then pulled out the paternal smile. “If Tower already knows, it’s not a betrayal, Charles. And if he already knows, you’ll have to decide what’s best for yourself. I’m not going to hold that decision against you.”

Riess shook his head, confused. “Has something happened?”

“Not yet.”

“Then you’ll forgive me for saying that I think this discussion is premature, sir. Carlisle hasn’t even had a chance to lift them yet.”

“Lifting them is only half the battle. Getting Ruslan back into play, with support, that’s the other half.”

“You said there was British support.”

Garret nodded. “But that doesn’t mean there is British support.”

“Why else would Carlisle be here?”

“Hell if I know.” The Ambassador stared at him a moment longer, then moved to his chair, settling himself behind his desk. “Go back to McColl before he finds more ways to make your life miserable.”

The confusion he was feeling became more acute, and for a second Riess didn’t move. Then, almost resigned, he left the office, making his way back through the Embassy to his desk, wondering what was best for himself, and just how long it would take Aaron Tower to find all of the holes in his story about his night with Tracy Carlisle.

As it turned out, it didn’t take Tower long at all.

Riess had been home for twenty minutes, long enough to change out of his suit and into jeans and a Virginia Tech sweatshirt, and to brew up a cup of coffee from the beans a friend at home had sent in his last care package. He made the coffee a cup at a time, rationing the beans, and he’d just poured when there was a knock at the door.

He wasn’t surprised to find Aaron Tower waiting outside when he opened it.

“Mind if I come in?” Tower asked.

Riess shrugged, turned away, heading back into the kitchen. “You want a cup of coffee? It’s good stuff. A friend in California sends the beans to me every so often. Better than the local brew or that nightmare we get at the Embassy.”

He heard the door close. “Can’t,” Tower said. “Blood pressure, remember?”

“Right, sorry.” Riess stuck his head back out of the kitchen, saw that Tower was standing in the open living room, taking in the space. “Tea, then? I think I’ve got a peppermint.”

“Sure.”

Riess turned to the stove, set up the kettle. He was pulling a mug down when Tower entered and propped himself just inside the doorway, leaning against the side of the refrigerator, watching as Riess went about preparing the cup.

“I’ve got some cookies,” Riess said.

Tower shook his head.

Riess shrugged a second time, set the mug beside the stovetop. “So what can I do for you, sir?”

Tower didn’t speak and didn’t move, fixing him with a vaguely expectant stare. Riess understood the reason for it, and that, more than anything, made the purpose of Tower’s visit crystal clear. He turned away, putting his attention back on the kettle, waiting for it to boil.

The water took a very long time to come to a boil.

Tower didn’t say a word.

Riess took the kettle off the heat, filled the mug, watching as the steam rippled off the water, rising toward him, and thinking about the Ambassador, what he had said. He understood now more than he had then, and the feeling of betrayal, of guilt that now settled in his breast was achingly heavy. He hadn’t said anything, and he knew that by staying silent, he’d already said far too much. Standing in the kitchen, six and a half thousand miles from home, he felt very much alone.

He handed the mug to Tower, who took it, then said, “She didn’t go to Virginia Tech.”

Riess picked up his coffee, tasted it. It had gone tepid.

“She’s not a friend from college. She’s not here working for some agro firm interested in cotton production. She’s not a tourist. And her name isn’t Tracy Carlisle.” Tower toyed with the tea bag, feigning interest in its buoyancy. “You remember who you work for, don’t you, Chuck?”

“Of course I remember who I fucking work for.” Riess dumped the remainder of his coffee into the sink, suddenly angry. The liquid splashed against the side, slopped out onto the counter. He put his cup down hard, hard enough that he was afraid it might shatter. It didn’t.

“I don’t think you do,” Tower said, quietly. “I think that you think you work for the Ambassador. And you don’t. You work for the Secretary of State, who works for the President, who works for the American People. So you work for the American People, and those people have elected a leader they believe will make the right decisions for them. And that leader has selected a Secretary of State who will pursue his agenda. And your job is to support that agenda, regardless of whether or not you agree with it.”

“Sevara is as bad as her father. If not worse.”

“Grow the fuck up. Of course she’s worse. I can think of half a dozen ways that she’s worse. That’s not the fucking point. You think anyone back in Washington likes the way she—or her father—goes about running a country? You think anyone’s happy that we’re in bed with a kleptocrat despot who thinks the words ‘secret police’ and ‘freedom’ aren’t mutually exclusive? But we need Uzbekistan, and right now, we have to take what we can get.”

“I’m so fucking sick and tired of the Kissinger Doctrine!” Riess kicked the cabinet beneath the sink, splintering the door. “I’m fucking sick and tired of expediency instead of doing the right thing! Fucking Dar es Salaam was expedient, and people died, dammit!”

“But you, you know what the right thing is, is that it? You and the Ambassador?”

“Maybe not, but it sure as hell isn’t a monster like Sevara.”

Tower set his mug down on the counter, the tea untasted. “So you and the Ambassador plan a coup to put Ruslan in power instead?”

Riess didn’t answer.

“You even think about that? How the fuck is that going to come off, Chuck? We’ve got troops in this country, they’re stationed here. Ruslan gets himself some guns, tries to seize the Presidential Palace, you think that’s going to solve your fucking problem? It’s not going to solve the problem. It’s going to destabilize the whole fucking country!”

“Not if we support him!”

“We’re not going to support him, dammit! Don’t you get it? Sevara is anointed, she’s got the blessing, she’s kissed the ring! It’s hers for the taking. As soon as Malikov kicks it, she gets the crown. It’s a done fucking deal.”