Politika

Dan eyed someone eating a corned beef sandwich at the next table.

“I want my food,” he said.

“I know,” Gordian said. “I was hoping to take your mind off it.”

Dan shrugged.

“From what I hear from my colleagues in the Senate, Delacroix’s been pressing the themes you’d expect. Talking about the cost of an aid commitment to Russia, pointing out — correctly, I should mention — that the bill for our peacekeeping mission in Bosnia has wound up being five times higher than the early projections. And that the Russian parliament and banking system are largely controlled by organized crime, which means a percentage of any loans we extend will probably be skimmed by corrupt officials.”

Gordian took another drink of beer. “What else?”

“He’s claiming the President’s offer amounts to appeasement… the argument being that he’s trying to buy concessions in the next round of START and nuclear testban talks with candy, rather than score points through hardball negotiations.”

Gordian spotted a waiter moving toward them with a serving tray balanced on his arm.

“Our sirloins are here,” he said.

“Thank God,” Dan said, and snapped open his napkin. “How long we been waiting?”

Gordian checked his watch. “A whopping ten minutes.”

They sat in silence as their plates were set in front of them and the waiter zipped off.

Dan reached for his silverware and attacked his steak.

“Gooood,” he growled, mimicking Boris Karloff in Bride of Frankenstein.

Gordian started on his own lunch, giving Dan a chance to come up for air before resuming their conversation.

“You’ve given me Delacroix’s publicly stated objections to the proposal,” he said. “What about his underlying, politically opportunistic ones?”

Dan looked at him and chewed a slice of meat.

“Nice to know you think so lowly of your elected officials.”

“Present company excepted,” Gordian said.

“You remember when Delacroix led the push for social services reductions a few years ago?” Dan asked.

“Hard to forget,” Gordian said. “Didn’t he spear a giant stuffed pig on the Senate floor or something?”

“Actually, that happened during a more recent session. And it was a pinata.” Dan worked at the steak with his knife and fork. “His prop for the cutback debate was a giant mechanical mouth.”

“At least he consistently thinks big.”

Dan grinned. “The point is, nobody’s forgotten his stance, which was considered bullish and hard-hearted even by conservatives. And now he’s afraid it’ll look bad if he keeps quiet about millions of dollars’ worth of food and financial aid going to foreigners… Russians, no less.”

Gordian shook his head. “The two issues aren’t related. Even if we want to ignore the critical nature of the emergency—”

“Which is being questioned…”

“It still boils down to a matter of strategic importance for our country,” Gordian said.

Dan drained his martini and signaled for another one. “Look, I don’t like having to defend the Louisiana pit bull. But try to imagine what Delacroix’s political opponents will make of his going along with the aid program. The very same people who are in favor of it will accuse him of hypocrisy, and remind the public that he’s the guy who wanted school lunches taken away from American kids.”

Gordian was silent again. He looked down at his plate. Ever since Ashley had instructed their personal chef to omit the red meat from their meals — he couldn’t quite recall if it was the saturated fat content, carcinogenic antibiotics, or steroidal growth additives that bothered her — his steak lunches at the Palm had taken on a rebellious air, become a respite, even an escape, from the healthful monotony of tossed greens and seafood and grilled chicken breast. And to enhance this forbidden pleasure, to experience it in all its cholesterol-soaked fullness, he had gone from having his steaks served medium-rare to a bare, dripping step from raw. Once a month, he broke free of all dietary shackles to become a wolf, a carnivorous alpha male, sinking his fangs into bloody flesh after a successful hunt.

Today, however, he hadn’t been able to muster much of an appetite. His steak looked so neglected he almost wanted to give it an apology.

“A couple of people from my Russian team were in Kaliningrad the other day,” he said. “You remember Vince Scull? I introduced him to you a while back.”

Parker nodded.

“The scenario-planning expert,” he said. “Sharp guy. Kind of struck me as the, uh, moody type, though.”

“I don’t pay him to be adorable. There’s nobody better than Vince at anticipating big bang problems, and he left that city convinced there’ll be food riots throughout Russia within a month.” Gordian paused a moment, caught the waiter’s eye, and motioned at his empty beer mug. “Twenty years ago, when he was working for a Canadian investment firm in Iran, he advised his employers to get their staff out of the country. The company honchos thought his appraisal of the political climate was overly bleak. Six days later, the Ayatollah assumed power and the U.S. embassy staff was taken hostage. Scull stuck around to smuggle out some of the company’s American workers. When the danger to them was past, he resigned, and I snapped him up.”

“What makes him so certain of disaster this time?”

“A lot of things. I can fax you a copy of his report, if you’d like. But his contention’s that Kaliningrad is less reliant on domestic food supplies than other cities, I think because a lot of imported stuff comes through its free trade port. Yet the markets there were dry. If the people in that city are hurting, it’s going to be rougher in places like St. Petersburg, or even the capital.” Gordian’s fresh beer arrived and he took a drink. “I know it’s anecdotal, but Vince even got into a confrontation with some punks who tried running off with an old lady’s grocery bag. This is a half hour after he drove into town.”

“As goes Kaliningrad, so goes the Federation,” Parker said. “That what you’re telling me?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Dan sighed. “Maybe the incident you mentioned clouded up Scull’s crystal ball. Or could be he’s just plain wrong. It happens to the best.”

“So Starinov came here begging for a handout for nothing? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“You ask Bob Delacroix, he’d say the minister’s been exaggerating the severity of the crisis. That he needs a hot-button issue that’ll grab attention away from that Pedachenko character. Make him look like a statesman who can stand among other world leaders.”

Gordian looked at him, his gray eyes firm.

“I’m not talking to Delacroix,” he said. “Dan, I’ve got over a hundred employees in western Russia at this moment. Another eighty or ninety contract workers who’ve been hired to build the ground terminal. Let’s forget my investment a minute. Forget the broader national interest, too. Those people are in vulnerable positions and my main concern is their safety. If the relief agreement is on its way to being scuttled, I’m pulling them out. So tell me how you think it’s going to go.”

Dan listened in silence as Gordian spoke, rotating his martini between his hands, his fingertips leaving faint prints on the chilled surface of the glass. Finally he lifted it to his mouth and drank.

“The President will probably be able to cut a deal, get at least some of the assistance under way,” he said. “With any luck, it’ll be enough.”

“That’s three qualifiers in two sentences,” Gordian said.

Dan looked at him and shrugged. “The toughest thing I learned during my freshman year in Congress was to curb my expectations. It’s also the thing that’s kept me hanging in there.”

“So you’re telling me to sit tight and hope for the best.”

“Yeah.”

Gordian sat back in his chair and sighed, lost in thought.

Dan ogled his plate.

“You gonna finish that steak?” he asked.