Martin Powell waved off the server with the sterling silver tray filled with champagne flutes. It simply wasn’t his preference, and certainly not tonight. Bubbles gave him a headache. Along the wall was a full-service bar for those who preferred something harder, and his target just happened to be standing there. It was time to get the show on the road.
“Bourbon, neat.”
“Yes sir,” came the bartender’s reply.
“American liquor, eh?” Andrey Volkov straightened as he turned towards his counterpart. “You should try a nice Russian vodka.”
“Andrey,” Marty said as he extended his hand, “pleased to meet you.”
“Da. It is for me as well.” The Russian chief of staff wrapped his thick hand around Martin’s.
“Doesn’t sit well with me.”
“One day, you will come to my country. I will serve you the best vodka you have ever tasted.”
The American chief lifted his crystal glass, the caramel-colored fluid rocking slowly against the sides.
“One day I hope to take you up on that, Andrey.”
The two glasses met giving the distinctive clink that only expensive crystal could make. Each took a sip as they eyed each other, silently sizing up his counterpart. Martin rested his glass on the bar as Andrey craned an inquisitive eye on his. It only took a second before the Russian drained it, a satisfying look upon his face.
“Das good. Better than I would expect.”
“It likely did come from your country,” Martin noted.
“Kaliningrad, specifically,” the bartender said.
“Really?” That raised the heavy eyebrows of the former Russian general.
“Why is that important?” Marty asked.
“Many vodkas are made for export. Some stay in our country. Those made in Kaliningrad are not for export.” Andrey turned to the bartender. “How would you know of this?”
“Sir, I have worked in the White House for many years.”
“So, you are a CIA spy?” Andrey smiled as he shot a glance towards Marty. “Clever. A bartender always has the ear of his customer.”
“Would that it would be so simple,” Marty laughed in reply. “Andrey, I hope you and I have a chance to speak later tonight.”
“We shall make a point of it.” The two men shook hands again as they parted, each with his own duties to perform as the night went on, but the American’s focus was single-minded.
The head table was placed near the center of the dining section of the hall and not at the end of the room, as POTUS distinctly disliked others staring at him while he ate. The circular table was arrayed with dignitaries and their wives, specifically the Russian president and Johann Sorenson, the Prime Minister of Denmark. Edwin Kiger and Yuri Novichkov sat opposite each other. It was a test of nerves as to who would look away when eye contact was made. The Prime Minister of Denmark was to POTUS’s right. The President of the United States cleared his throat and the table fell silent.
“I would like to thank each of you for this visit tonight. Here’s to smooth sailing.” POTUS lifted his glass, the champagne bubbles filling the crystal flute. Each in turn lifted their own in acknowledgment.
“Mr. Prime Minister, I did not know you would be attending until a few days ago,” Yuri remarked casually.
“I was giving a speech at the United Nations, and President Kiger was gracious enough to extend the invitation.” He extended his arm with a raised glass. “Again, I thank you.” His salute was returned with a raised glass from the president.
“Gentlemen, I would offer a solution to our dialog this evening.”
“Mr. President,” Yuri remarked, “I do not think it wise to discuss too many world events with our guests present.
“I would agree, though I simply meant, it will become laborious if we continue to use each other’s titles as we go forward. I would propose, for tonight, a first name basis should be the norm.”
“I think that is wise, Edwin,” Johann replied with a smile.
“Da, it will be good to be less formal for a time.”
“Then it is settled,” Edwin smiled, “by a vote of three to zero, first names all around.”
The conversation settled in on the mundane workings of their respective homes and how the leaders of the world still answered to their wives. It brought everyone into the conversation, the women often shooting hard stares at their respective husbands. But it made the mood much lighter than POTUS envisioned, and he was glad for it. He knew any hard talks would come at a level lower than chief of state.
Martin Powell’s eye rarely left his counterpart. He watched as Andrey Volkov worked his way about the room. Odd, he thought that the chief of staff would be the one beating the carpet. But how different would that be if the shoe were on the other foot? In a foreign country with few other ranking diplomats, he would likely be doing the same thing. He lifted the glass to his lips and let the bourbon slip into his mouth. He felt the twang as it washed across his tongue. ‘Damn, that was good’, he thought. He watched as Andrey finished his latest conversation and slipped into an anteroom. Martin set his drink on the table beside him and started in that direction.
He followed Andrey from conversation to conversation. It was always prodding toward the same context, the situation in Alaska. What was he trying to find out? What had happened? Surely this was a task for diplomats, not an administrative hack, like himself. Then the thought struck him. ‘An administrative hack who used to be a general in the Russian Air Force. Someone who had influence; knowledge of how to get things done. Someone who was… involved.’
The light went off in Martin’s brain like an explosion.
“…I mean it does get awfully cold up there, especially this time of year.” President Novichkov bristled at the turn the conversation had taken. He had tried to keep the attention away from that part of the world. The ladies hadn’t intended it, he was sure, but there it was. The tension level immediately ratcheted up.
“When things happen in cold weather, they can easily get out of hand quickly if one is not careful,” Johann stated matter-of-factly.
“Well, there it is. We might as well get it out in the open,” POTUS sighed. “Yuri, what the hell were your planes doing so damned close our coast?”
“Truly, Edwin,” he replied. “I have no idea. There is no official, or unofficial orders from my office to intrude on American airspace.”
“I can only hope not,” Johann remarked. “The world has become unstable. Many things are happening; unrest in the Middle East, Ukraine, and now Alaska.”
“I only hope so, Yuri. If the situation escalates, either in Ukraine or at the top of the world, I will not be able to sit quietly on my hands.”
“Is that a threat, Mr. President?”
“I do not threaten, Mr. President,” POTUS replied. “Nor does the government of the United States.” POTUS began to rise from his chair, his hands flat on the table.
“Gentlemen,” Johann, interjected. “We have had such a nice evening up to this point. Let us not ruin this by a volley of words we wish we had never said.” Johann slid his hand over, resting it on POTUS’s arm.
“Agreed.” POTUS eased himself back into his seat and raised his glass one last time. “Gentlemen, in the spirit of détente, let us leave this conversation for another night.” His gesture was returned by the others, the smiles no more than a cardboard facade. The damage was done.
“I told you never to call me on this phone. Yes, yes, but I cannot speak here. There are others about.”
“Andrey? Is something wrong?” Martin pushed the door open slightly and stepped into the small room. Andrey snapped his phone shut and slid it into his pocket. “Is there anything I can help you with?”