She stared until he reluctantly moved away and back to the car. Regardless of her orders, he stood outside it. She turned back to the Russian ambassador. “Now, what is all this about?”
“Is it possible that you do not know?” Seeing the incomprehension on her face, he laughed, an unpleasant sound to his voice. “So, the vaunted freedom of the press doesn’t make any difference if no one hears it, does it? You should listen to ACN, Madam.”
“And if I did, what would I hear?” she snapped, losing patience with the entire charade and almost as furious at herself for being caught unawares.
“That your American officers believe that your country may have been the one that hit that cruise ship. Not Russian missiles. American ones.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Ask your gallant aide.”
She turned to look at Brad, who nodded, reluctance on his face. “It’s possible.”
“You have always been a poor liar, Madam Ambassador. Always.”
“Not always.” She said nothing more, simply smiled, her point made. The Russian’s face clouded over. She thought,
Earlier that year, in an effort to discover who had planted a listening device in her office, she had intentionally faked a top secret conference with Brad about shipping Patriot missiles to Taiwan. There had been no such plan, but when the Russians had tried to blackmail her with the information, their perfidy had been exposed.
The Russian stepped closer to her. She could smell him, the rank odor. Brad stepped closer also.
“You know so little about how the world works,” the Russian said. “How your actions affect the rest of the world. How they think of you. Not everything in the world that you dislike can be vetoed, Madam. Sooner or later, you will face reality.”
“We faced reality on September 11,” she snapped. “Don’t talk to me about not understanding the world. What you’d better worry about is whether the world understands
He drew back. “If the World Trade Center taught you anything, it should be that you are not unique. There are not separate rules for Americans. There never were. There never will be.” Before she could frame a reply, the Russian Ambassador stalked off. She slid gratefully into the air-conditioned car.
Either traffic was exceptionally light or both men had been expecting trouble. Probably the latter. Even in the lightest Beltway traffic, it would have been almost impossible for them to arrive at the White House so quickly.
The president had long ago given up apologizing for ruining either man’s evening. It was the price they paid for wielding power. And if you got right down to it, that’s what holding public office was about. Neither the general nor the adviser’s salary would have been sufficient to entice them into the hours they worked. No, it was the ability to control what was happening in the world, the feeling of power, and, in the best cases, the fervent belief that somehow one could make a difference in the world for the better.
“Good evening, Mr. President,” both men murmured as the Secret Service showed them in. The president had elected to receive them in his private quarters, and shoved the dinner tray away. He pointed at the televisions, which were now providing updates on the
“Tell me what I need to know,” he said simply.
The two men had undoubtedly discussed it on their way here because neither bothered to glance at the other. The general began. “I spoke to the skipper of the carrier and the admiral of the battle group on the way over here, Mr. President,” he said. “We were not on a secure line, but I made sure that they would be standing by one later for instructions. From what they could tell me, the reporter — that Winston — ambushed the skipper on the bridge. Sure, maybe he said some things he shouldn’t have, but he thought he was talking to one of his officers. He’s read her the riot act.”
“A woman scorned,” the national security adviser said quietly.
The president shot him a disgusted look. “I don’t care if she’s female, male, or something in between. What matters right now is that the situation is a mess. I need some answers, gentlemen. And I need them now.” He pointed at the general. “Get the facts. You can use the secure phone in the situation room. I want to know everything.” He turned to the national security adviser. “Organize State and the embassies. I want it made clear to Russia right away that we are not certain what happened and intend to investigate fully. If they want to send an observer over, that’s fine.”
The general started to protest, and the president cut him off. “I know about the additional security precautions. I think your people can handle them, don’t you? We don’t admit we’re testing the system, nothing like that.”
“I was just going to suggest, Mr. President,” the general said, “that we have an exchange of observers. Surely the Russian data systems also captured the incident. If they’re coming over to take a look at our data, we should be taking a look at theirs. It seems only fair.”
The president nodded his approval. “I like it. It also shows that we’re not admitting culpability. Okay, let’s make that happen.” He turned back to the adviser. “Any other issues?”
“Just one,” the security adviser said. “It is not too soon to be thinking about our position if we are at fault. Will there be reparations? Exactly how will we handle it? I don’t think I have to tell you that the international repercussions will be severe and far-reaching.”
“You’re correct,” the president said.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll get my people started on—”
The president cut him off. “You are correct that you don’t need to tell me about the international repercussions. For the record, sir, I have every confidence in our people, our training, and our equipment. We were not at fault in this. I don’t know how, but I intend to find out.” He turned to the general, and saw the merest trace of a grim smile on the man’s face. “And pass that on to your people. This isn’t a witch hunt. It’s more like
The ten minutes stretched into fifteen. Solar flare activity, the general said, had disrupted all communications. It took some time to get a clear line to
“It’s just as you thought, sir,” he said. “The admiral swears there’s no way they’re responsible. Yes, there was an anti-missile missile in the air, and yes, it overflew the
“The Russians aren’t agreeing with that, of course,” the security adviser said briskly. “They claim their data shows intentional targeting of the cruise ship.”
“And do they have any explanation for why we would target an American-flagged ship?” the president demanded.
The national security adviser shook his head. “No. They hinted that they believe their ship was the real target, and malfunctions in our own targeting resulted in the incident. But for some reason, they’re not screaming that at the top of their lungs — just whispering it.”
“Why, I wonder?” the president mused. “Any ideas?”
Both men shook their heads. “I didn’t think so,” the president said.
The lighting in the situation room was slightly dimmed, a condition the president found conducive to better briefs. He closed his eyes now, letting the facts tumble through his mind. None of it made any sense, none of it. Why would anyone nail an innocent cruise liner? There was no upside to that.
The president reached a decision. He opened his eyes and said, “I want everything we can get our hands on shipped to NSA for full analysis. General, order all forces to set DEFCON three. I want the Russians to know we’re serious.”
“But the escalation…,” the security adviser began, his tone incredulous. “Mr. President, if you do this, the
