Never, p.29
Never, page 29
“True.”
“My idea is a twenty-kilometer-wide demilitarized zone along the border.”
“Excellent idea.”
“I believe the Egyptians and the Sudanese will agree to keep their forces ten kilometers from the border if you and I do the same.”
There was a pause. Georges was no pushover and now, as she had anticipated, he was making unsentimental calculations. “On the face of it that sounds like a good idea,” he said.
Pauline waited for him to say but.
However, he did not. Instead he said: “Let me run it past the military.”
“I’m sure they’ll approve,” Pauline said. “They won’t want an unnecessary war.”
“You may well be right.”
“One other thing,” Pauline said.
“Ah.”
“We have to go first.”
“You mean we impose a limit on ourselves before the Egyptians agree to do the same?”
“I think they will probably agree in principle but will not actually make the commitment until they have seen us do it.”
“The snag.”
“But your troops are nowhere near the border right now, so you merely need to announce that you’re going to observe the demilitarized zone as a gesture of goodwill, in the firm hope that the other side will reciprocate. You will look like the sensible peacemaker, which of course you are. Then you can see what happens. If the other side doesn’t do their bit, then you can move your troops to the border any time you like.”
“My dear Pauline, you’re very persuasive.”
“I hate to blight your evening, Georges, but could you talk to the military right away? Perhaps even before dinner?” It was a bold request, but she hated delay: an hour turned into a day, and a day turned into a week, and bright ideas died from lack of oxygen. “If you could give me an okay before you retire for the night, I could progress this with the Egyptians, and you might wake up to a safer world in the morning.”
He laughed. “I like you, Pauline. You have something. There’s a Yiddish word. Chutzpah.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is. You will hear from me this evening.”
“I really appreciate that, Georges.”
“You’re welcome.”
They both hung up.
Chess said: “Let me tell you something, Madam President. You’re very good. Incredibly good.”
“Let’s see if it works,” said Pauline.
* * *
She had a similar conversation with the president of Egypt. It was not as warm, but the result was the same: a favorable response without definite agreement.
That evening Pauline had to make a speech at the Diplomats’ Ball, an annual shindig organized by a committee of ambassadors to raise funds for literacy charities. Big companies doing business overseas bought tables to gain access to important envoys.
The dress code was black tie. The clothes Pauline had chosen earlier had been put out by the Residence staff, a Nile-green dress with a wrap in dark green velvet. She added an emerald teardrop pendant with matching earrings while Gerry put cuff links in his shirt.
Much of the evening’s conversation would be small talk, but a few powerful people would be among the guests, and Pauline intended to progress her plan for Chad and Sudan. In her experience, real decisions were made at events such as this just as often as in formal meetings around conference tables. The relaxed atmosphere, the booze, the sexy clothes, and the rich food all made people ease up and put them in a compliant frame of mind.
She would circulate during the predinner cocktails, chatting to as many people as possible, then make a speech and leave before the meal, sticking to her principle of not wasting time eating with strangers.
On the way out she was intercepted by Sandip. “Something you might like to know before you get to the ball,” he said. “James Moore has spoken again about Chad.”
Pauline sighed. “He may be relied upon to be unhelpful. What has he said?”
“I guess he’s responding to our statement that we already have troops in Chad. Anyway, he’s said they should be withdrawn, to make sure they don’t get involved in a war that has nothing to do with America.”
“So we would no longer be part of the struggle against ISGS?”
“That’s the implication, but he didn’t mention ISGS.”
“Okay, Sandip, thanks for the heads-up.”
“Thank you, Madam President.”
She got into the tall black car with the armored doors and inch-thick bulletproof windows. In front was an identical car with Secret Service bodyguards; behind was another with White House staffers. As the convoy pulled away she controlled her irritation. While she was urgently pushing forward a peace plan, Moore was giving Americans the impression that she was thoughtlessly drifting into another foreign war. There was a saying: A lie goes halfway round the world while the truth is getting its boots on. It was infuriating that her efforts could be so easily undermined by a blowhard such as Moore.
Motorcycle police held up the traffic for her at every road junction, and it took only a few minutes to get to Georgetown.
As they drew up to the entrance to the hotel she said to Gerry: “We’ll separate soon after we walk in, as usual, if that’s okay with you.”
“Sure,” he said. “That way, some of the people who are disappointed that they didn’t get to speak to you can have the consolation prize of a conversation with me.” But he smiled as he said it, so she felt he did not really mind.
The hotel manager met her at the door and led her downstairs, preceded and followed by members of her Secret Service detail. A roar of conversation came from the ballroom. She was pleased to see the broad-shouldered figure of Gus waiting at the foot of the stairs, looking devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo. “Just so you know,” he murmured, “James Moore showed up.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with him if I run into him. What about Prince Faisal?”
“He’s here.”
“Bring him to me if you get a chance.”
“Leave it to me.”
She entered the ballroom and declined a glass of champagne. There was an atmosphere of warm bodies, fishy canapés, and empty wine bottles. She was welcomed by the chair of one of the charities, a millionaire’s wife in a turquoise silk sheath and impossibly high heels. Then Pauline was on the merry-go-round. She asked bright questions about literacy and showed interest in the answers. She was introduced to the main sponsor of the ball, the CEO of a huge paper-manufacturing company, and she asked how the business was doing. The Bosnian ambassador buttonholed her and begged for help dealing with unexploded land mines, of which his country had eighty thousand. Pauline was sympathetic, but the land mines had not been put there by Americans and she did not plan to spend taxpayers’ money removing them. She was not a Republican for nothing.
She was charming and interested with everyone, and managed to conceal how impatient she was to get on with her priorities.
She was approached by the French ambassador, Giselle de Perrin, a thin woman of sixty-something in a black dress. What would the news from Paris be? President Pelletier could make or break this deal.
Madame de Perrin shook Pauline’s hand and said: “Madam President, I spoke to Monsieur Pelletier an hour ago. He asked me to give you this.” She took a folded paper from her clutch bag. “He said you would be pleased.”
Pauline eagerly unfolded the single sheet. It was a press release from the Élysée Palace, with one paragraph highlighted and translated into English. “The government of France, concerned about tensions on the Chad-Sudan border, will immediately send 1,000 troops to Chad to reinforce its existing mission there. Initially at least, French forces will remain at least ten kilometers from the border, hoping that forces on the other side will reciprocate, thereby creating a twenty-kilometer separation between the armies, for the avoidance of accidental provocation.”
Pauline was delighted. “Thank you for this, Ambassador,” she said. “It’s very helpful.”
“You’re welcome,” the ambassador said. “France is always pleased to assist our American allies.”
That wasn’t true, Pauline thought, but she kept smiling.
Her attention was drawn away as Milton Lapierre appeared. Oh, shit, she thought, I don’t need this now. She had not expected him to be here—there was no reason for it. He had resigned, and Pauline had nominated a replacement vice president, who was now going through the process of being approved by both houses of Congress. But the story of his affair with sixteen-year-old Rita Cross had not yet hit the media, and she guessed he was trying to maintain a pretense that everything was all right.
Milt did not look good. He had a whisky glass in his hand and he seemed to have sipped quite a lot from it. His tuxedo was expensive, but his cummerbund was slipping and his bow tie was loose.
Pauline’s bodyguards came closer.
Pauline had learned early in her career to remain cool during embarrassing encounters. “Good evening, Milt,” she said. She recalled that he had been made a director of a lobbying firm, and she said: “Congratulations on your appointment to the board of Riley Hobcraft Partners.”
“Thank you, Madam President. You did your best to ruin my life, but you didn’t quite succeed.”
Pauline was startled by the intensity of his hatred. “Ruin your life?” she said with what she hoped was a friendly smile. “Better people than you and me have been fired and gotten over it.”
He lowered his voice. “She left me,” he said.
Pauline could not feel sorry for him. “It’s for the best,” she said. “Best for her and best for you.”
“You know nothing about it,” he hissed.
Gus stepped in and put a protective arm between Pauline and Milt. “Here’s His Excellency Prince Faisal,” he said, and with a light touch he turned her around so that her back was to Milt. She heard one of her bodyguards distracting Milt by saying pleasantly: “Good to see you again, Mr. Vice President, I hope you’re well.”
Pauline smiled at Faisal, a middle-aged man with a gray beard and a wary expression. “Good evening, Prince Faisal,” she said. “I talked to the president of Egypt, but he wouldn’t make any promises.”
“That’s what they said to us. Our foreign minister likes the idea of a demilitarized zone between Chad and Sudan, and he immediately called Cairo. But the Egyptians only said they would think about it.”
Pauline had the French note in her hand. “Look at this,” she said.
Faisal read it quickly. “This might make a difference,” he said.
Her spirits rose again. “Why don’t you show it to your friend the Egyptian ambassador?”
“That’s just what I was thinking.”
“Please do.”
Gus touched her arm and eased her toward the podium. It was almost time for her speech. One television crew had been allowed in to film her speaking. A script about literacy would be displayed for her on screens that could not be seen by the audience. However, she was thinking of diverting from the script, or at least adding to it, with a few remarks about Chad. She just wished she had some concrete good news to report, instead of mere hopes.
She had brief exchanges with people as the Secret Service men made a way for her through the crowd. Just before she reached the short flight of steps, James Moore greeted her.
She spoke politely but kept her face expressionless. “Good evening, James, and thank you for the interest you’re taking in Chad.” She felt she was close to the line where courtesy turned into hypocrisy.
Moore said: “It’s a dangerous situation.”
“Of course, and the last thing we want to do is get American troops involved.”
“Then you should bring them home.”
Pauline smiled thinly. “I think we can do better than that.”
Moore was puzzled. “Better?”
He did not have the brains to entertain several options and weigh their pros and cons. All he could do was think of something aggressive and then say it.
But Pauline did not have an alternative to his proposal, she only had the hope of one. “You’ll see,” she said with more confidence than she felt, and she moved on.
As she reached the steps she met Lateef Salah, the Egyptian ambassador, a small man with bright eyes and a black mustache. He was not much taller than Pauline. In his tuxedo he made her think of a chirpy blackbird. She liked his energy. “Faisal showed me the French announcement,” he said without preamble. “This is an important step.”
“I agree,” Pauline said.
“It’s very late in Cairo now, but the foreign minister is still awake, and I talked to him a few moments ago.” He looked pleased with himself.
“Good for you! What did the foreign minister say?”
“We will agree to the demilitarized zone. We were only waiting for French confirmation.”
Pauline hid her exultation. She wanted to kiss Lateef. “That’s wonderful news, Ambassador. Thank you for letting me know so quickly. I may mention your announcement in my speech, if you don’t mind.”
“We would be glad, thank you, Madam President.”
The millionaire’s wife in the turquoise silk caught her eye. Pauline nodded to indicate that she was ready. The woman made a short speech of welcome, then introduced her, and Pauline moved to the lectern as the audience applauded. She took a printed copy of her speech from her clutch bag and unfolded it, not because she needed it, but so that she could do something theatrical with it later.
She spoke about the achievements of the literacy charities and the work that remained to be done by them and the federal government, but at the back of her mind was Chad. She wanted to trumpet her achievement, acknowledge the role played by ambassadors, and put James Moore down without seeming vindictive. She would have liked an hour to work on the speech, but this was too good an opportunity to miss, so she would improvise.
She said everything necessary about literacy, then spoke about the diplomats. At this point she ostentatiously folded up her speech and put it away, so that they knew she was going off script. She leaned forward, lowered her voice, and spoke in a more intimate tone, and the place went quiet. “I want to tell you about something important, an agreement that will save lives, that was achieved today by the Washington diplomatic corps, in fact by some of the people in this room. You’ve heard on the news about border tensions between Chad and Sudan, you know there has already been loss of life, and you’re aware of the danger that escalation will draw the armies of other nations into the conflict. But today our French and Egyptian friends, with help and encouragement from the Saudis and from the White House, have agreed on a demilitarized zone twenty kilometers wide along the border, in a first step toward easing the tension and reducing the risk of further casualties.”
She paused to let them digest that, then went on: “This is how we work for a peaceful world.” She tried a little joke. “Diplomats do it quietly.” There was a small appreciative laugh. “Our weapons are forethought and sincerity. And so to finish, as well as thanking our wonderful literacy charities, I’d like to ask you to thank the Washington diplomats, the quiet negotiators who save lives. Let’s give them a round of applause.”
A great cheer went up. Pauline clapped and the audience followed suit. She looked around, catching the eyes of one ambassador after another, nodding special acknowledgment to Lateef and Giselle and Faisal; then she came down from the podium and was escorted by the Secret Service through the crowd, getting out of the door before the applause began to fade.
Gus was right behind her. “Brilliant,” he enthused. “I’ll call Sandip and give him the details, if you like. He should press-release this right away.”
“Good. Do it, please.”
“I have to go back inside,” Gus said ruefully. “Only the privileged few get to avoid the chili-glazed salmon. But I’ll drop by the Oval Office later, if that’s okay?”
“Of course.”
When she got into the car Gerry was already there. “Well done,” he said. “It went well.”
“The DMZ should be on tomorrow’s front pages.”
“And people will realize that while Moore is shooting off his mouth, you’re actually solving problems.”
She smiled ruefully. “That might be too much to hope for.”
At the White House they went straight to the Residence and entered the Dining Room. Pippa was already at the table. Looking at their clothes she said: “They was no need to dress formally just for me, but all the same I appreciate the gesture.”
Pauline laughed happily. This was the Pippa she liked best, smart-funny rather than smart-sulky. They ate steak with a rocket salad and had a lighthearted conversation. Then Pippa returned to her homework, Gerry went to watch golf on TV, and Pauline asked for her coffee to be served in the small study next to the Oval Office.
This was a more private space, and people did not walk in without permission. For the next two hours Pauline was mostly undisturbed. She worked her way through a stack of reports and memoranda. Gus came in at ten thirty, having escaped from the ball. He had changed out of his tux, and looked relaxed and almost cuddly in a dark blue cashmere sweater and jeans. She pushed aside her briefings with relief, glad to have someone with whom to chew over the day’s events. “How was the rest of the ball?” she said.
“The auction did well,” Gus said. “Someone paid twenty-five thousand dollars for a bottle of wine.”
She smiled. “Who could ever drink it?”
“They loved your speech—they talked about it all evening.”
“Good.” Pauline was glad, but she had been preaching to the saved. Few of the people at the Diplomats’ Ball would vote for James Moore. His supporters belonged in a different stratum of American society. “Let’s see how it plays in the tabloids.” She turned on the TV. “In a few minutes there’ll be reviews of the first editions on the news channels.” She muted a sports report.
