She shook her head, tired of it all. The job at the Red Cross was looking more appealing by the minute. “We can’t continue like this,” she said slowly. “I should be very sad to lose you, Brad. But I must know that your sole and complete loyalty is to me — to this office.”
“I understand.” He stood, and made as if to leave. She ignored him. “For that reason, I shall require an immediate meeting between the three of us — you, me, and the head of the FBI. If you’re both agreeable, we’ll hammer out a working arrangement. I will insist that he sign documents indicating that my wishes take preference over his.” Seeing his look of protest, she continued, “But I shall also make every effort to develop a close professional working relationship with them. Keep in mind that I do not agree with your assumption that the lines between diplomacy and intelligence are quite so vague. Indeed, I feel it is our obligation to maintain those boundaries. How are our allies and the unaligned nations to deal with us if they suspect that every casual conversation goes immediately into intelligence files?”
“Every other nation operates in that fashion,” he said quietly. “It is the American naivete — and most of them find it very foolish — this dream that men and women of goodwill can find solutions to the world’s problems in an aboveboard and honest fashion. You will not find that feeling shared anywhere else.”
“I serve the president,” she said. “Of course I shall discuss this with him — he knows about it, doesn’t he?” she asked with a sudden flash of insight.
Of course he does. He had to have known — known and approved the arrangement. She felt a wave of disappointment that he felt that was necessary, that he could not have come to her directly. “Don’t answer that — I’ll asked the president myself.”
“The question is, do you wish to continue as my aide? And,” she said, “with a collateral duty as my liaison to the intelligence community.”
“How can you doubt that I would want to stay? It’s taken me years to learn how to brew tea properly — I’m not about to teach someone else how to do it. Besides, it’s not such a transferable skill within the intelligence community — there’s very little call for it.”
“Well, then.” She moved her feet down to the floor, suddenly feeling refreshed. “The question is what do we do now. So tell me — who was behind this afternoon?”
“As near as we can tell, it was Iran,” he said immediately. “Our sources inside the country — and no, I can’t tell you anything about them — indicate that the government is becoming increasingly uncomfortable with having to deal with a woman. They made this point forcefully to the president two weeks ago, and his reaction was about what you’d expect: He rebuffed them completely. Since then, agitators have been stirring things up, calling you, and I quote, an abomination. I’m certain that the government itself will take the same stance on this that they did on the attack on the cruiser if the connection is ever revealed. ‘A violent separatist group, not acting on behalf of the government,’ they’ll say. How much we believe of that is up to us.”
“There’s more, isn’t there?” she asked. He nodded.
“They are especially uneasy because of your relationship with the Chinese ambassador. Inside Iran, within the inner circles, they make jokes about it. Obscene jokes. And yet they are concerned that this signifies a plot between the U.S. and China to force additional economic measures on the Middle East. And they’re not the only ones.” Seeing her look of surprise, he shrugged. “You wouldn’t expect it, but the British are concerned as well. For decades China was her own private preserve, and they have never really gotten over the dissolution of the British Empire.”
“Ambassador Wells?” she asked.
He nodded. “His roots go back decades in China, for generations of his family. It was thought that if anyone could glean insights into your relationship with T’ing, as well as perhaps sabotage it, he would be the one. In fact, at one time, it was suggested that he attempt to replace the Chinese ambassador in your affections.” Seeing her look, he had the decency to blush. He held up one hand in protest. “Don’t shoot the messenger — I’m just telling you what I know.”
Sarah Wexler laughed out loud. “They told the British ambassador to seduce me?”
“In so many words.”
She leaned forward, too amused by the idea to be angry. “Oh, this is just too delicious. Please tell me how he was to accomplish this.” And as Brad continued his story, she felt her spirits growing increasingly light. She had never known that intelligence work could be quite so much fun.
Wexler saw Wells when she was still forty feet away from him. Accompanied by her security man on one side and Brad on the other, she moved quickly to catch up with him.
“Ambassador Wells,” she called out, her voice high and girlish. “Please, wait up.”
The British ambassador turn to face her and she saw a puzzled look on his face, replaced immediately by warm smile. “Why, Ambassador Wexler. How pleasant to see you.”
She hurried up to him and caught his elbow. “I was wondering if you might be free for dinner this evening — in the executive dining room, of course. It’s so much more secure, isn’t it?”
“Of course, of course. I must say, my dear woman, we were all terribly horrified by your adventure yesterday. That a member of the diplomatic corps should be subjected to such things… well, it simply boggles the imagination, does it not?”
“It certainly does,” she agreed. “A simply horrifying experience, I assure you. But it’s over now, and I have decided to follow your example,” she said, cutting her eyes toward Brad and the security man. “So intrusive, but the things we do for our nations… Of course, you would know more about that than I would.”
She felt him stiffen slightly. “Of course, there are certain sacrifices that must be made,” he agreed. “But you seem to have something specific in mind, madam.”
Wexler laughed. “Oh, come now, my friend. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I must say, I’m flattered, and indeed, I was tempted to simply say nothing and see how matters progressed.” She leaned toward him until her chest brushed against his arm, her voice low, “The rumors I hear about you are simply astounding. In this country, we’d call you a stud. Actually, I was rather looking forward to—”
Ambassador Wells pulled away. “Madam! I certainly don’t know what has gotten into you today.”
She sniggered. “The question is what hasn’t gotten into me, I suspect.” She smiled, and ran her tongue over her lips in a deliberately erotic manner. Brad and her security guard pretended not notice, but she could see the ambassador’s men were just as stunned as he was. “As you said, the sacrifices one makes for one’s nation.”
The British ambassador turned a brilliant shade of red. He drew himself up to his full height, and threw a foul glance at Brad. Did everyone in the world know more about her aide than she did?
Suddenly, Wexler dropped all pretext. “Get rid of your people for a few moments, Wells. We’re safe here — they can go play patty-cake with mine for all I care.” There was a note of tempered steel in her voice as well as in the glare she leveled at him.
Drawing on some inner resource, the British ambassador composed himself, as British aristocracy had been able to do for centuries. He made a short, dismissive gesture with his hand, and his men drew back. “Now. Exactly what is this about?” All traces of the bumbling fool were gone, and she faced a man who had the blood of kings and queens running in his veins.