bunch of little kids screaming that the other fella threw the first punch.”
“Including you?”
The President snorted. “Especially me! If I even so much as think about relaxing our tariffs or import quotas, I’m gonna have Congress and big labor jumping down my throat with boots on and fangs out! That’s one reason I sent you over to Paris and Berlin, and not somebody carrying a passport stamped ‘U.S. Government Employee.’ If anybody had raised a stink, you’d have just been some overeager private citizen trying a little private diplomacy.”
Huntington arched an eyebrow. “But you still didn’t expect much from my mission?”
“Not really. The trade war’s gone too far for quiet words behind the scenes to have much effect.” The President jabbed a finger at him. “But I did want you to meet my counterparts. I need your firsthand impressions of these men. And your best guesses as to what their next moves might be.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the kind of shrewd, hard-eyed bastard I can trust to give me the straight scoop… without any punches pulled.” The President frowned. “Look, Ross, every other piece of analysis I get is skewed in some damned way. The CIA hems and haws and tries to cover every base from every angle. State’s too busy crawling on its belly to Congress to give me a clear reading. And the rest of my so-called experts can’t make up their minds about what they want for lunch — let alone where Europe’s headed!”
Huntington nodded slowly. Bureaucracies rarely produced anything more than a muddied consensus. The man sitting across from him wouldn’t be the first American president who’d decided to make an end run around the “normal” channels. Or to use a friend and political advisor to do it, either. Woodrow Wilson’s trust in Colonel Edward House and FDR’s use of Harry Hopkins came immediately to mind.
His thoughts twisted away from the comparison. Despite his years of experience in both the domestic and international business arenas, it seemed presumptuous to equate himself with either man. House and Hopkins had helped mold history during two world wars. He only wanted to help his country muddle through its current economic woes. History could look after itself.
He shrugged. “Guesses are about all I can offer, Mr. President. Where would you like me to start?”
“With France.”
The President’s interest in his French counterpart was very keen. Everything both men knew about the European situation pointed to France emerging as the continent’s leading political power. On the surface that seemed illogical. Germany was richer and had a bigger population. It also had Europe’s most powerful army. But the Germans were still stepping somewhat warily — with their economy and industry still weak, they were reluctant to awaken old memories of German military power. While both had economic problems, France had not had the crushing expense of rebuilding half its industry. Their treasury was in better shape, and their industry better established.
Even more important, the French possessed both a substantial nuclear arsenal and a U.N. Security Council veto. That gave them room to maneuver without much fear of foreign interference. And for the moment, at least, Berlin found itself forced to follow the course charted by Paris.
Huntington summoned up a mental image of the French President as he’d last seen him. “Bonnard’s more a figurehead than anything else. He’s too sick and too old to exercise effective control over his own household officials — let alone the country. They say he’s only made ceremonial appearances for the past several months.” He grimaced. “His aides practically had to read your letter to him three or four times before he understood it all.”
The President seemed surprised. “He’s that bad off? I’d read he’s been ill but I hadn’t heard anything like that before.”
“Not many people have, outside the Elysee.”
“Why?”
“Two reasons. One, most of the government’s scared to death of showing any signs of weakness. They don’t want the opposition calling for new elections — not right now.”
“Understandable.” No politician with the brains God gave a snail would want to campaign behind a sickly, senile old man. Especially not at a time of growing civil unrest. “And the second reason?”
Huntington leaned forward. “Let’s just say that certain cabinet ministers enjoy operating pretty much on their own.”
The President nodded. Again, that made perfect sense. Ever since the time of Louis XIV, the Sun King, the French had shown a taste for being ruled by powerful, domineering men. Even under the republic, its presidents functioned more like elected kings than public servants. He could understand why the ambitious officials who often surrounded such leaders would jump at the chance to run their own ministries without interference. “Which ones?”
Huntington ticked them off on his fingers. “The defense chief, Minister of the Interior, head of intelligence, you name it. Practically everyone who controls a powerful department. Bonnard’s Prime Minister is almost as much a nonentity as he is right now.”
“So who’s top dog now? Or are they all still snarling for the honor?”
“Still snarling mostly.” Huntington laughed briefly at the image conjured up by the President’s choice of words. Then he stopped laughing. “But the word is that the intelligence boss seems to be emerging as the first among equals. A man named Nicolas Desaix.”
He remembered the hushed tones his French friends and former business associates had used when discussing Desaix. Their attitude toward the DGSE director had been a strange mixture of unspoken fear and uncomfortable admiration. And if just half the stories they’d told him were true, the man was charming, intelligent, supremely self-confident, and utterly ruthless.
“Will he replace Bonnard?”
“I doubt it.” Huntington shook his head quickly. Everything he’d heard about Desaix suggested the man enjoyed being the eminence
“Wonderful.” The President looked troubled. “I don’t like the idea of negotiating with somebody I can’t see or talk to directly. Damn it, when I horse-trade with a man, I want to look him right in the eye!”
Huntington agreed with that sentiment. Even in this day of computerized analysis and instantaneous telecommunication, there wasn’t any substitute for the personal touch. Half his success in the business world had come from an ability to size up his competitors, his employees, and his customers: to judge their strengths and weaknesses and to discern their needs and their desires, all in face-to-face meetings.
He rocked back in his chair. “I’d be surprised if Desaix’s interested in real trade talks anyway, Mr. President.”
“Oh?”
“He’s a nationalist to the core. The kind who says ‘France for the French’ and means it. The word is that he’s the driving force behind this crazy foreign worker relocation program of theirs.”
“Great.” The President looked even more worried. News reports from Europe were full of horrific images these days — trainloads of frightened people guarded by soldiers and growling dogs, bloody riots in burning neighborhoods, and all the other warning signs of a rising tide of racism and xenophobia spreading across the continent. Trying to deal with someone who thought all that was a good idea seemed likely to be an exercise in futility.
He glanced out the window toward the White House Rose Garden, almost as though he were seeking solace in its quiet, sun-drenched beauty. Then he sighed heavily and turned back to face his friend. “What about the Germans?”
“Not much better.” Huntington brushed a hand across his overtired eyes and swung into a detailed account of his meetings in Berlin. None had been any more productive than those he’d held in Paris. More of Germany’s business and political leaders wanted an end to the disastrous trade war with the United States, Japan, and Great Britain, but their hands were just as tied by domestic politics and by a need for short-term profits from their captive markets in Eastern Europe. Germany’s eyes and full attention were focused on her growing internal problems, not on the need for fair competition with onetime allies now turned sour trading rivals. Until she could control her massive unemployment, bitter nationalism, and fragmented political spectrum, Germany would be a weak actor on the international stage.
