we operate on the assumption that he’s not a fool, then there was a reason for it. In their way, the British are just as devious as the Chinese.”
“So what do we do?” the president asked.
“Nothing. We file information away, and look for some later relevance. But I would never recommend slowing down or even canceling the project based on Britain’s position, either official or unofficial.”
“Of course not,” the president said. “Are they after something else, though? A quid pro quo for not making an issue of the carrier?”
“If they are, we’ll hear about it soon enough,” Wexler said. “I’ll keep you posted, sir.”
“Do that.” And with that, the ambassador rang off.
The president glanced down at his schedule, and saw that he had an unexpected free fifteen minutes. And just how had that happened?
No matter — he leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk. He shut his eyes for moment, and thought about the wheat farmers.
In her office, Ambassador Wexler was doing much the same, but in her case it involved kicking off her high heels, putting her feet up on a small, embroidered stool, and having a freshly brewed cup of orange oolong tea. Just as she was thinking how nice a cup might be, it had materialized at her elbow, brought in by Brad, her aide, so quietly that she had almost missed his entrance. She murmured her thanks, and cradled the hot cup in her hands, letting the warmth sink into her bones. Outside, it might be a sultry, humid day, but in here the air-conditioning was working overtime.
“Anything I can help with?” Brad asked.
She shook her head. “This is enough,” she said, raising the cup in salute. “There are those days…” She let her voice trail off.
“There are, indeed.” Brad stood in the doorway for moment, and she had the feeling there was something on his mind. It wasn’t like him to wait to be asked, though; things that he thought she needed to know, he brought to her attention — even if she didn’t know at the moment she would need the information.
“What is it?” she asked, smiling a bit as he had the good grace to look abashed. “You don’t hang on my doorjamb like that unless something is on your mind.”
“Every day, there are new security notices coming out,” he began. He paused, waiting for her protest. They had had this conversation many times before.
Wexler sighed. “What this time?”
“Just a feeling,” he said, surprising her. Normally during these discussions of her personal security, Brad would brandish a specific memo warning U.N. personnel to be careful. This time, however, he looked more serious than ever. “I want your permission to put together some contingency plans, Ambassador,” he said, a note of formality in his voice. “You’ve made clear your personal preferences, and I respect that. God knows we could do with more people with your personal courage. But, if you would allow me, I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t ask for this. Nothing that will affect you on a day-to-day basis, you understand. But in case we ever needed certain arrangements, it would be too late to put them in place when we needed them.”
Wexler leaned back in her chair and tried to will the tension out of her shoulders. “Seriously, now… do you really think the threat has changed any over the last several years?”
“Yes, I do,” he answered immediately. “Look at what we’re seeing now — terrorist acts inside the United States, including acts of violence by domestic terrorist groups. We can’t ignore the fact that this is no longer the Bastion America, that no one would dare to act on our soil for fear of bringing down the full force of our military might on them. I know what you would like to believe,” he said, his voice gentler now, “but it simply isn’t true. The fact that you refuse all personal security has operated in your favor until now, as your colleagues have taken it as a mark of personal courage. But it’s time to start being realistic.”
“Oh, bosh. I simply don’t like being followed around, that’s all.” In truth, she had never felt in danger as ambassador. Perhaps it was because she never took herself as seriously as other people seemed to.
“And if word got out that we were increasing my personal security, it could send the wrong signal,” she continued. “It’s more of the challenge, you know — to prove that you can break through anything. But what glory is there in coming after me while I’m alone? None. Indeed, if anything, they’d look foolish attacking a defenseless woman.”
“Just contingencies, Ambassador,” Brad continued doggedly. “That’s all.”
She eyed him for a moment, and then said warily, “And what would it involve in terms of my personal freedom?”
“Nothing. I need a small operating budget, probably from petty cash, to make certain arrangements. I would ask you to memorize a couple of code words and one or two safe locations. That’s it — that’s all.”
“That’s all?” She laughed. “Code words and safe houses to memorize… nothing like having to learn by heart an entire welcoming address in Arabic.” And to this day, she had no idea what she had truly said to the League of Arab Women that had held its international convention there in New York. Whatever it had been, it had been received favorably.
“That’s all, I promise you.” There was a new look of fervor in his eyes. “I would hold myself personally responsible if anything ever happened to you. You do realize that, don’t you?”
Wexler studied him for a moment. “Low blow, Brad. You knew that would get me.”
“Nevertheless, it’s true. And you know it.”
Suddenly weary of the discussion, and tired of going over the issue again and again, she waved him off. “Okay, you’ve worn me down. Make your arrangements. I’ll be a good, obedient ambassador and cooperate.” She gave him a sideways look, and said, “As long as it doesn’t involve cameras and two-way mirrors in the bathroom, okay? I draw the line at that.”
A look of relief crossed Brad’ face. “Thank you, Ambassador.”
She waved him off. “Oh, posh. All you people fussing about me — I guess the only way to get you to stop is to give in.”
FIVE
CVIC was located perhaps a hundred feet astern of TFCC, but the distance between the two was more than merely a matter of hatches and knee-knockers. As Lab Rat walked down the passageway and moved from the highly polished white tile, through the blue plastic curtain and into the blue-tiled flag spaces, he wondered how many times he had made this trip.
And every time he walked through that blue plastic curtain, he shifted hats from his role as part of ship’s company to his role in the battle group. On the ship’s side of the blue curtain, the primary considerations were internal: the care and feeding of the air wing on board, the machinery that kept the carrier cruising safely through the water, self defense against sea-skimming missiles, and station-keeping with the other ships in the battle group.
But once you crossed over into the blue-tiled passageway, you were in a different ballgame. No longer were the concerns merely about the carrier. No, Admiral Wayne commanded the entire battle group from this passageway, and that staff dealt with far-reaching strategic objectives: the safety and well-being of every ship, aircraft, submarine, and support service in the theater. Their concerns were global, not limited to the area around the aircraft carrier. They maintained a broader perspective, a higher level of focus.
But knowing the different orientation of the battle group staff didn’t mean that Lab Rat’s role in CVIC was any less important. Without a coordinated intelligence picture, the battle group staff could not function effectively. Yet it was interesting that the primary intelligence coordination organization within the battle group was housed in ships spaces rather then along the blue-tiled corridor.
Perhaps, Lab Rat thought, as he pushed aside the blue plastic curtain, it was more a matter of how easy it
