“I’ll get her off the ship,” Drake said, desperate to redeem herself and the rest of the media. “We know she was out of line — I’ve never done anything like that to you. Don’t punish all of us for her screw-up.”
The two senior officers regarded her blandly. “Punish? What an absurd idea,” the admiral said fondly.
Both senior officers left, met up with Tombstone farther down the passageway, and then disappeared into the side passageway that housed the ladder leading up to the flight deck. Drake started to follow, but then stopped. It was no use. It would take months, maybe even years, before this could be repaired. She turned on Winston, intending to blast her, but instead of a cowed reporter she saw Winston’s eyes gleaming again.
“Now this is a good story,” Winston said. “We’ll call it ‘Censored!’ ”
FOURTEEN
Wexler noticed the difference the moment she entered the United Nations building. After seven years of service, sometimes it seemed as though her own nervous system was irreversibly hardwired to the mortar and bricks of the structure. It was not something she could define precisely, more a tingling along the periphery of her nerves, warning her of danger. Was it some intuitive deduction from the angle at which the members’ cars were parked, indicating agitation. A sense of a few more guards on duty than normal? Something about the way people moved?
She didn’t know. All she knew was that she could feel trouble brewing.
Her suspicions were confirmed as soon as she entered her suite of offices. The British ambassador was sitting in a chair, having tea and chatting with her receptionist.
After they exchanged their customary greetings, she said, “So what brings you here this early today?” Her British colleague was not known for keeping early hours.
He drained his cup of tea and set it gently on the table before speaking. “Trouble, I’m afraid. From the usual sources.”
“So what else is new,” she said. “The president briefed me last night. I’m afraid the Russian ambassador saw me leaving the party early and drew his own conclusions.”
“Yes, rather.” For once, he seemed at a loss for words.
Wexler and the British ambassador had had an unusual relationship. He had originally been posted to the UN with instructions to get close to her and interrupt her growing friendship with the Chinese. He had played the fool for several months in an attempt to win her friendship. It was only after she had confronted him that he finally dropped his irritating mannerisms. Since then, they had become close friends.
“Out with it,” she said, not unkindly. The British tendency to beat around the bush and cloak matters in polite circumvention she understood. Indeed, on many occasions she appreciated it, but this was not one of those times.
“There is some talk,” he began slowly, “of the role the United States plays in the United Nations.”
“Is it the world police bit again?”
He shook his head. “No, and it’s a bit more than rhetoric this time. The issue is the status of the United States’ payment of dues.”
It was Wexler’s turn to be reluctant to speak. Not because she did not know what to say — but because this issue had haunted her nightmares for longer than she cared to think.
America covered a large portion of the operating costs of the United Nations. Currently, she was eighty million dollars behind on her payments. The amount had been appropriated in Congress, but the necessary funding bill was constantly bogged down with other issues. Additionally, there were constant protests from right-wing “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.
And so it comes to this.
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.
But what will the world look like if we cannot intervene? Who will stop the next Hitler or Bin Laden? Can we really let the rest of the world go to hell while we hide behind a missile defense shield?
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 Montego Bay comes up would be a smart move. Things might move very quickly from this point on down.” He drained the last of his tea and carefully positioned the cup on its saucer, avoiding her eyes. “I would have a serious chat with your president. You must be prepared to move on this immediately, Sarah. Immediately.”
“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.”