“There you are,” the Chairman said, rising and setting his napkin on the table.
The suits both stepped forward and intercepted her as she approached, patting her down.
They’re gonna find the drugs or the knife, she thought with a burst of terror.
“Please, gentlemen,” the Chairman said. “You have to treat a woman with respect, not paw her like a common criminal.” He turned to Diane. “I’m so sorry.”
She nodded, unsure if she could bring herself to speak.
“Come,” he said, motioning to the booth. The table was set with fine china and wine glasses.
As she slid into her seat, the men who’d tried searching her stepped back into the shadows.
“Something to drink?” the Chairman asked. “It’s so hard to find good wine in this tiny backwater of a town. Washington’s positively brimming with them, but with so much power and corruption concentrated in one place that’s hardly a surprise, is it?”
Diane smiled, her mind going to the paper pouch. “I’d love a drink, Mr. Chairman,” she told him.
“Please, call me Charles.” He opened a hundred-and-fifty-dollar bottle of Leoville Barton and filled her glass till it was three-quarters full. He was trying to get her drunk, of course, and she would need to play along until she had an opportunity to do what the resistance had asked of her.
“Such nice plates,” she commented. “Are they antiques?”
“Seventeenth-century Chinese porcelain, donated by the former mayor of Oneida after his imprisonment.”
Or more like stolen, she thought, but didn’t say.
“You certainly have fine tastes,” Diane said.
His eyes narrowed and held hers for a moment. “I know what I like,” he told her, before breaking away to fill his own glass. Once done, he raised it.
“A toast,” he said. “To new beginnings and second chances.”
When they chimed, she noticed his wrist was bandaged.
“I hope I didn’t hurt you,” she lied.
“Oh, this? No, not at all. It’s more of a fashion statement.”
He giggled and Diane joined in, hoping she sounded genuine.
“You’re nervous,” he observed. “I can feel your leg bobbing under the table.”
“Wouldn’t any girl be?” she asked, laying a hand on her knee to keep it from moving. “I mean, you practically own the town.”
The Chairman grinned the way rich men did when their egos were being stroked. “I wouldn’t say own. I’m running it at the behest of the president. We’re living in dark times, Diane, and I’m not just making a bad pun here. I’m doing my duty as any American would. Someday soon I may be asked to relinquish my position as Chairman and a civilian mayor will once again be elected. At the present, it’s my job to restore order. Not a responsibility I enjoy, but one I’m compelled by my patriotism to fulfill. You see, I don’t like punishing people. At heart, I’m really a lover.”
“So you’re not a military man then?” she asked, probing for information. She took a sip of wine in an effort to encourage him to do the same. No one liked to drink alone and she wanted him to feel relaxed and maybe soon enough a little drunk.
The Chairman tilted his glass back and drew in a mouthful of wine, seeming to savor the taste. “You’re attracted to men in the armed forces, are you?”
She nodded. “Who isn’t?”
“How do you feel about the Marines?”
“You’ve got my attention.”
“Good, because I was a medic with the 1st Battalion 2nd Marines before being honorably discharged and joining the diplomatic corps. I told you I was a lover.”
Diane smiled, trying to hide her concern. One of the details in the Chairman’s story was setting off alarm bells in her head. The Marines didn’t use the term medic. That was the army. In the Marines, the men and women who provided medical treatment on the battlefield were called Corpsmen.
“Fascinating,” she said. “Where did you grow up?”
The Chairman took another long sip of wine. “A small town outside of Philadelphia. My mother worked fourteen-hour shifts in a factory making children’s bicycles. My father was a butcher and dedicated his entire life to the state.”
“State? You mean Pennsylvania?”
The Chairman stammered and ushered the awkward silence away with more wine for both of them. “Yes, he was a patriotic man, but he was from another generation. Back during a time when the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. Now, everyone wants nothing more than fifteen minutes of fame and easy money.”
“So why would the president send a diplomat to run a small town?”
“Ah, a question built on several assumptions.” The Chairman’s words were sticking together in the most subtle way. A clear sign the alcohol was starting to hit him. “First of all, I’m not the only one. The president sent hundreds of men and woman just like me all over the country.” Diane wasn’t understanding and, seeing that, the Chairman paused. “Do you remember Paul Bremer?”
“The head of the provisional government in Iraq after the war? Of course.”
The Chairman clapped his hands together. “Paul was a special envoy sent over to lead as Director of the Office for Reconstruction and Humanitarian Assistance. He was a diplomat, sent as a special envoy.”
“To a Third World country,” Diane countered. She’d come out of character as the sweet, easy conversationalist she’d been playing and hoped she hadn’t blown her cover.
The Chairman’s eyes became glassy. “What kind of a country do you think you’re in now, darling? America’s now part of the Third World.”
Diane smiled sheepishly, pretending to be a weak woman who’d been put in her place. She was appealing to the Chairman’s oversized ego. Her eyes then rose to the Secret Service types standing a few paces behind him.
“Is there any way we can be alone?” she asked, biting her lip.
The Chairman’s gaze shifted between his men and Diane. “Give us a moment, will you?” he told them.
The smaller white one didn’t look so sure.
“Stay in the kitchen if you must, but I’ll be fine.”
Reluctantly, they turned and shuffled through the swinging door into the diner’s kitchen area. Diane spotted a handful of other figures back there, working by candlelight.
“What’s going on in there?” she asked.
The Chairman laughed at the foolishness of the question. “How else do you expect to eat?”
The sight of pampering and opulence in a world where so many were struggling to scrape by made her sick, but Diane had to swallow it down and play the part.
Over by the counter, next to an empty cake fridge, was an antique gramophone.
“Oh, wow,” she said with genuine surprise. When she’d entered the diner, her gaze had been pulled toward the candlelight and she hadn’t noticed the giant horn-shaped device sitting on the counter. “My great-granny used to have one of those. Oh, it’s been years.”
“And months probably since you heard any music, am I right?”
“You’ve thought of everything, Charles. Would you play me a song?” she asked, summoning the sweetest voice she could and batting the doe eyes that always seemed to work on John.
The Chairman grinned, his teeth stained red from the wine. “I thought you’d never ask.” Depositing his napkin on the table, the Chairman rose, then braced himself for a second when the alcohol hit home.
“Someone tell the captain the ship is bobbing,” he said, letting out giddy laughter.
“Be careful,” Diane said, noting another instance where a supposed Marine forgot the proper terminology. Perhaps this was why the resistance wanted so badly to get a hold of his presidential papers.