“That fuss?” Hugo sat back. “It’s a pile of rocks in the Atlantic, I don’t get why anyone cares.”
“People care, don’t you worry.”
“How much? Are the French planning to invade or something? Are we?”
“Invade?” Taylor sipped his coffee. “Can’t imagine anyone’s that upset about the place.”
“I know, but the whole thing reminds me of the Falkland Islands debacle. You know, a few sheep-strewn rocks nearer to Argentina than England, but somehow English territory. The Argentineans invaded and the Brits invaded back. Same here, Guadeloupe is closer to the United States than to France, and yet is somehow French, so I wondered if the troops were massing.”
“Guadeloupe has pineapples, not sheep.”
“We wouldn’t fight over pineapples?”
“We only fight over oil,” Taylor said. “Nevertheless, the fact that Guadeloupe’s inhabitants have petitioned to become part of the United States has strained relations with our French friends.”
“I expect it has, but I don’t see how that’s our fault.”
“We’re Americans, everything’s our fault, especially where the French are concerned. Actually, I agree with you but as far as I can tell fault doesn’t matter in politics, it’s the appearance of fault that carries weight. Either way, I’ll worry about Guadeloupe, you worry about Lake.”
“What is there to worry about?”
“Well, for one thing, he wasn’t supposed to be coming. Head of the Foreign Relations Committee Jonty Railton was the original choice.”
“Oh, yes, I remember reading something about his tires getting slashed.”
“Yeah, and not known to the public were some fairly specific messages he was getting. Threats, to be precise, telling him to stay out of France.”
“From?”
“No one knows. Anyway, he’s one of our more spineless politicians, which is saying something, and he has decided to do as those anonymous notes told him.”
“So he chickened out and we get Lake instead.”
“I don’t like the guy, but he has a decent ‘fuck-you’ attitude, and he’s not likely to be bullied.”
“Yeah, I gather he’s a handful. If the newspapers are to be believed.”
“Twenty years ago the guy was probably wearing a white hood and burning crosses. His current incarnation is as our nation’s leading isolationist. He’s free-market, anti-government, and anti-foreigner.”
“A lot of people are. You think he has a real chance to be president?”
“Yes, otherwise I wouldn’t be so upset.” The ambassador leaned forward. “He’s very smart and comes across like a nice, all-American guy. I think he’s done a good job burying his true feelings and beliefs, although,” Taylor smiled wryly, “there’s an outside chance I’m making him sound worse than he is. Maybe he just rubs me the wrong way.”
“Politicians can do that.”
“Damn right. But for crying out loud, the guy has even made fun of the British. The British. Who doesn’t like them? They’ve been our allies in every war, economic crisis, and trouble spot since we gave them the boot three hundred years ago.”
“What’s his problem with them?”
“Again, trying to be fair, I think it comes down to the monarchy, the idea that someone can be born into royalty and have all those trappings for life, no matter what.”
Hugo shrugged. “He has a point.”
“Maybe he does, and he’s also been very critical of the class structure back home, the sons and nephews of our nation’s leaders stepping into their fathers’ and uncles’ shoes, and not making it through their own merit.”
“The more you talk, the more I like him. And he can’t be such an outlier to have gotten this far.”
“Maybe he’s not such an outlier, is all I can think. And he has this, ‘I am who I am’ shtick going. Doesn’t try to please everyone all of the time and seems to relish finding his foot in his mouth, just says that people need to take him at face value as a man who doesn’t play the Washington games other politicians play.”
“If he means it, I’ll give him credit for that, too.”
Taylor narrowed his eyes. “You a secret Lake supporter or something?”
“Don’t know the man,” Hugo said. “We can discuss after I’ve met him. I just know that sometimes you get a bee in your bonnet about things and people—”
“He’s a hypocrite, too,” Taylor interrupted, sounding a little like a pouty child.
Hugo tried not to smile but said, “Fine, I’ll indulge you. Why is he a hypocrite, Mr. Ambassador?”
“Because he’s just like any other politician. He has his cadre of rich backers, a half-dozen or so, who’ve latched onto his isolationist claptrap for their own purposes and he’s happy as can be to take their money while acting like he’s his own man.”
“You know, it is possible to take someone’s money and not be at their beck and call, to have a mind of your own.”
“Not in Washington it’s not.”
“Maybe. But to get this far, he must have some redeeming qualities. He grow roses for old people or play with kittens a lot?”
Ambassador Taylor grimaced. “He does have a certain … charm, I suppose.” He waved a hand. “Ah, you’ll see for yourself, you can make up your own mind.”
“Why thank you.” Hugo frowned. “I guess my main question is, if he’s such a—”
“Xenophobe?” Taylor offered.
“—isolationist, I was going to say. What’s he doing in our fair city? What’s his stake in the Guadeloupe business?”
“Trying to establish some foreign policy credentials. Other than, you know, ‘screw the outside world.’ People in Washington know he’s on the way up so he’s been given a chance to dial back his anti-Franco image and solve a massively unimportant crisis.”
“I’m so glad I never went into politics,” Hugo said. “I’ll never understand who gets to do what, or why.”
“Count yourself lucky. My guess is that as many people are waiting for him to screw it up as solve it. From here, though, it’s a little hard to tell who’s on whose side.” The ambassador rose. “And sometimes I like it that way. Well, have fun with it, his schedule’s on your desk. Excuse the footprints, and thanks for the coffee.” He turned to leave but stopped at Hugo’s question.
“Hang on, when’s he coming in?”
“Oh, right. There’s a dinner tomorrow night at a chateau just outside Paris, where the talks will be held. Fancy bash for those involved in the negotiations, you know, French foreign ministers and bureaucrats. You’ll be driving him there. And dining.”
Hugo raised an eyebrow. “Tomorrow?”
“Told you it was a surprise.”
“You did, but how can I prepare a safe itinerary in less than a day?”
“You can’t.” Taylor smiled. “Remember, you’re not security, you’re the babysitter.”
Three
Several times a year, Hugo woke up between three thirty and four in the morning and knew immediately he wouldn’t be going back to sleep. It was an affliction that began at his first post in London and continued ever after. He’d fought it the first few times, tossing and turning for hours only to fall out of bed at six o’clock rumpled and grumpy. For the past couple of years, though, he’d embraced it. Perhaps it was Taylor’s promise of spending the next few days with a blowhard politician that did it, but the day after their meeting, Hugo woke on the dot of three thirty and knew that his night was done.
He rolled out of bed and dressed slowly, opening the large window looking over Rue Jacob to test the air. Cool and a little breezy, but the autumn hadn’t swept away the summer entirely; a perfect morning for a walk.
He checked his watch as he closed the door behind him. He had a good two hours until he needed to be back, and the best bit: at least one hour before the rest of the city started waking up.