“patriots” who suspected that the United Nations was in the forefront of a worldwide government, a pawn of the Russians, a front for a military-industrial international conspiracy, and just about any other conspiracy you cared to name. Crackpots, mostly, Wexler thought.
But those crackpots voted. And they were very vocal, communicating their displeasure to their elected representatives. Privately, she believed that they were probably just as suspicious of their elected representatives as they were of the United Nations.
“Who’s behind it?” she asked.
“India, I think,” he said, a thoughtful look on his face. “Although it’s hard to be exactly sure.”
“Why India?”
“Why not?” He shook his head impatiently. “It’s not necessarily India’s idea, you understand. She may be acting as a front.”
“For whom?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He began to regard her with some degree of impatience. “What does matter is that my sources tell me a motion will be brought to remove the United States from the United Nations for nonpayment of dues.”
“Right.” She let the disbelief show in her voice. “It’ll never pass the general assembly. We’re in New York, for god’s sake!”
She hoped she sounded confident. Because she wasn’t. Not at all. She had brought this matter to the president several times, trying to persuade him that at the very minimum they needed a contingency plan. He had yet to give her a date on which the dues would be paid, or to provide her with some justification that would make sense to the rest of the general assembly.
For a moment, she considered the possibility that the United States might well be better off withdrawing from the United Nations. Certainly it would provide some relief to her own military forces. They were stretched thin around the world, so thin. Calling the United States the world’s 911 force was not much of an exaggeration. If they gave up a large part of their peacekeeping responsibilities around the world, then there might be more funds available for research and development. Certainly the military would be a more attractive career if troops spent more time with their families.
She shook her head. There were no easy answers, not at all. Aloud, she said, “When is it going to happen?”
“I don’t know. Before long, I suspect. Getting that particular ball in play before the issue of the
“Have I any reason,” she began slowly, “to doubt that Great Britain would tell me about any such measure?” She kept her gaze locked on him, willing for him to look up, praying she would not see the answer she dreaded in his eyes.
“It is India,” he said simply. “You know our special relationship with that continent. And after the recent election, my own party is finding that there are far more compromises necessary than we would like.”
“Compromises that include deserting us.” She did not bother to keep the sharpness out of her voice.
“Compromises that are necessary for the well-being of my country,” he countered. “Both the United States and India are former colonies. We have much more recent experience with India, and still have generations of Englishmen living there. Then again, there is that special relationship we have with the United States. On balance, I believe that our loyalty to you would win out over our ties to India. But it is not nearly so certain a thing as it has been in the past, Sarah. Not nearly so certain.”
“Then we will veto it ourselves.”
“You might not be able to,” he said, and the last card was finally played face up on the table. “Not unless your dues are paid. You don’t know the rules as well as you ought to.”
“Thank you for the warning,” she said finally. “And your candor.” However much she might dislike what he had to say, she’d rather hear it now than on the floor. Unpleasant truths were still truths, and at least she now had time to prepare her response.
He unfolded himself from the chair, rising to loom over her. “I wish the news could be better. If you can find out what happened with that cruise liner, it might make things easier.”
“If I knew that, none of this would be necessary.” She walked him to the door, letting the conversation slide into polite chitchat. After he’d gone, she retreated to her office. She leaned back in her chair, shut her eyes, and let her mind roam free. What in the world could she possibly do?
She spent perhaps fifteen minutes examining the alternatives, and then picked up the phone. She dialed the number herself. When the president’s chief of staff came on the line, she said, “I have to talk to him. Now.”
Pamela Drake was delighted to learn that Cary Winston was truly ugly when she was angry. Something in the way her face flushed and changed coloration sufficiently to make her appear brittle and artificial. The darker skin color contrasted badly with her blond hair and turned her blue eyes from open and winning to feral and hungry. It was a shocking transformation.
Pamela noted that Jeff was staring at her with a tart expression of professional doubt. He caught Pamela’s glance and shook his head almost imperceptibly. No, Winston would not come across well on the camera. No amount of filtering or soft lens could mask the character now shining out of her face.
It wasn’t that a reporter had to be good-looking. At least, not anymore. Drake knew that now and, looking back over the last few days, felt a surge of quiet pride at her own conduct. Winston might be fifteen years her junior, but she was a century behind Drake in the things that really mattered.
“You can’t get away with this,” Winston stormed. “I won’t let you. The world has a right to know.”
“Not on my ship,” Coyote said coldly.
“Freedom of the press,” Winston began.
“Don’t you talk to me about freedom of the press,” Coyote shouted, pushed beyond all endurance. “It’s your type the causes most of the problems of the world, Winston.”
“You think you can do whatever you want to out here,” Winston snapped, the color rising even more in her face. “But you can’t. I won’t let you.”
Coyote took a step forward. “Why you little—” He cut himself off and stood rigid for a moment. Then he seemed to relax and regain that hard veneer of command. “You are quite mistaken,” he said almost conversationally. “I’m not barring the press at all. Miss Drake is welcome to stay, along with anyone else she is willing to vouch for.
“You, however, are a danger. Not only to my people and my battle group, but to your colleagues as well. God forbid that they should all be tainted by your reputation.”
Just then, Lab Rat’s errant lieutenant stormed into the room waving a piece of paper. “Sir, look at this! I think it was our missile that—”
“Shut up,” Lab Rat snapped, his voice as angry as Drake had ever heard it.
The lieutenant saw Winston then, and his face turned pale. “I thought she left on the COD! Sir, I wouldn’t—” The lieutenant shut up before he could do any more harm.
“Miss Winston was just leaving,” Coyote said, now fully in control of himself. “Now if you will all excuse me?”
The master at arms took Winston by the elbow. “Ma’am?” She struggled briefly and he jerked her out of the
