Leland led the way into the room and sat down in one of the two easy chairs placed near a window. His staff found seats in the chairs grouped to his side, out of Leland’s line of sight. They were facing a single straight-back chair placed next to the door. Turner swept into the room, alone, and closed the door behind her. “John,” she chimed as the senator stood. “It’s good to see you.”
They exchanged the customary courtesies and sat down. The battle was joined. She let Leland take the conversation where he wanted. “Madam President, my committee is fully aware of developments in the Gulf and your creation of the ExCom to monitor the situation and advise you. What concerns me is the role of the secretary of defense in that process. Mr. Merritt appears to be marginalized and left out of the decision-making process, which is contrary to the intent of the Goldwater-Nichols Act.”
Turner grew very solemn, for Merritt was Leland’s man, a holdover from the Roberts administration whom she kept on board to appease the senator. “I asked him to serve on the ExCom, but he asked for General Wilding to serve in his place. I, of course, honored his request. I’m not sure why, but it’s his choice.”
Her answer seemed to satisfy Leland, and they moved on to her foreign policy agenda. At a critical point one of Leland’s aides jumped in. “Madam President, we are concerned about the deterioration of Franco-American relations. France is one of our oldest allies, and—”
Turner interrupted him. “John, exactly who am I talking to here?” Before Leland could reply, Shaw entered the room and sat in the single chair near the door. The entire constellation of the room changed as Leland’s eight advisers were looking directly at Shaw and Shaw was looking straight back at them. Shaw was carrying a yellow legal pad and made a big show of writing down everyone’s name. He smiled at them. Suddenly the five men and three women wanted out — the quicker the better. It was Washington game playing — trivial, childish, but of consequence. And Shaw was the master.
Leland stammered a reply. “I…we…that is to say…”
Turner reached out and touched his hand. “I, too, am concerned about our relations with France. In fact, the secretary of state is in France speaking to their prime minister with the express goal of improving relations.”
“Madam President,” Leland replied, finally recovering, “I am also totally aware of your concern with the Middle East. But I do believe that our French allies have the matter in the proper perspective and that we should follow their lead in this matter.”
“Really?” Turner said as a secretary entered. The meeting was over.
Shaw chuckled as he followed Maddy into the Oval Office. “Those folks couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”
“Patrick, is there something going on between Leland and the French? He’s never been overly concerned with them before.”
“I’ll check it out.”
Richard Parrish, Maddy’s chief of staff, joined them. “The embassy in Paris is on the phone. It seems the secretary of state is cooling his heels at the Quai d’Orsay waiting to see the prime minister.”
Shaw chuckled at the thought of the cranky Stephan Serick being put on hold by the French. “What’s keeping the chief Frog busy? A late lunch?”
Parrish checked his notes. “It seems Monsieur Cherveaux is meeting with a delegation from Iraq tomorrow, and the French don’t want to send them the wrong message by Monsieur Cherveaux’s being too friendly with us.”
Maddy let her anger show. To treat the president’s official representative in such a cavalier manner was a diplomatic slap in the face. “I thought this was all arranged?”
“Indeed it was,” Parrish replied.
Shaw grunted his disapproval. “Sounds like the Froggies are sending the Iraqis — and us — a message about their priorities.”
Maddy thought for a moment. “I need to send them a message. Tell Stephan to leave immediately and return home. Recall our ambassador for consultations. Also, am I scheduled for anything with the French?”
Parrish checked his calendar. “A dedication ceremony at the French Cultural Center next week.”
“Send my regrets that I cannot attend and have the secretary of state send one of his assistants. The lower the better.”
“Are we overreacting, Madam President?” Parrish asked.
Shaw answered, “Nope, just choosing up sides.”
Six
It only hurts a little, Pontowski thought as he pushed up the low hill. He was careful to favor his right knee and jogged slowly. Even though it was late morning and the heat hadn’t started to build, sweat poured down his face. Give it a rest, he cautioned. He slowed to a walk, and the pain went away. Maybe your running days are over. He hated the thought. He paused at the crest of the hill and took in the view. Low rolling hills stretched out in front of him, and he could see the presidential lodge. Movement in the trees off to his side caught his attention.
A soldier dressed in camouflage fatigues and carrying an M-16 stepped onto the trail. “General Pontowski, the national security adviser is at the lodge. She requests your immediate person.”
What an odd way to say it, Pontowski thought. “Thanks,” he said. He turned and headed for the lodge. His knee felt better after the short rest. Maybe his running days weren’t over.
Mazie was waiting for him on the deck of the big cabin. “Thanks for coming so quickly,” she said. They stretched out in deck chairs, and a steward materialized to ask if he could be of service. Pontowski noticed he also was wired with a whisper mike and a radio. They ordered, and the steward retreated.
“Security seems tighter than usual,” Pontowski ventured.
“Maddy’s arriving later this afternoon,” Mazie said. “She’s taking one day off the campaign trail. By the way, Maura and Sarah are here.” Maura O’Keith was Maddy’s mother and Sarah her precocious fourteen-year-old daughter. “I imagine Sarah will want to know all about Zack.”
Pontowski grinned and shook his head. “Kids.”
Mazie turned to business. “I read your memo on the meeting with Zou.”
“Sorry, but there wasn’t much there. We met for less than five minutes.”
“What was your sense of the man?”
“He’s changed, put on a lot of weight, balding. He keeps a big entourage around him.”
“Do you trust him?”
“I never trusted him.”
“My people tell me he’s leading the moderates in Beijing,” Mazie said. “Zou could be a friend.”
Pontowski shook his head. “It doesn’t matter if he’s a moderate or a hard-liner. They all dislike and distrust the United States. It’s a natural reflex with the Chinese.”
“But Zou’s not a problem right now?”
Pontowski caught the tension in her voice. Something’s going down, he thought. “I can’t say. My sense of the situation says there’s something cooking, but what, I don’t know. Maybe a change in leadership.” Mazie leaned back in her chair as the steward returned with a pitcher of water and one of lemonade. When he was gone, Pontowski took a sip of the lemonade. “I take it there are problems. The Gulf again?”
“What do you know?”
“What everyone can see on TV or read in the newspapers. Iran, Iraq, and Syria making common cause isn’t good, no matter which way you cut it.”
“They’ve joined in a secret alliance called the United Islamic Front,” Mazie said.
“They do hate us.” He thought for a moment. “We’ve underestimated them before. I hope we’re not making that mistake again.”