Mordal shrugged. "Okay, granted, the Germans like the Ukrainians. But the Germans are our allies. They have been for more than fifty years. Given a choice, who do you think they're going to side with?"
Jan straightened up as she continued to look at Mordal. He really didn't understand. She was about to remind him that the Germans had been reluctant allies from the start, and had been pushing to get U.S. forces out of Central Europe since the unification of East and West, when an assistant editor came running up to Mordal's desk. "Gee, Charley, I hate to bother you and Jan, but we just got word that the President will be making an announcement at noon."
Looking over to the bank of clocks on the wall, then at his own wristwatch, Mordal mumbled, "Well, that's just great! Just outstanding! Thirty-five minutes to airtime and everything goes into the shitter." Standing up, he looked at Jan. At least, he thought, this gave him a great way to end a conversation that he really wasn't interested in. "Look, Jan dear. You may have a wonderful story line there. But right now we have thirty or so minutes to rearrange everything. We'll talk about this later." Motioning to several technicians and assistant editors, Mordal turned his attention to his new problem. "Once we got a handle on this, Jan, I'll get back to you. For now, plan on introducing your program at noon like normal. Then announce that we'll cut to the White House briefing room. Jimmy will take it from there. And hang on to that script just in case this falls through or the President's announcement is mercifully short. I'll have Debbie display any changes on the TelePrompTer."
Though she wasn't pleased that she had failed to make her point, Jan nodded and got up off of Mordal's desk. News, after all, was news. And while she truly believed that she had a good story line that needed to be pursued, this was not the time to do it. "Okay, Charley, I'll go get myself ready and leave you to deal with the alligators."
As President Wilson's entourage entered the small room off to the side of the press briefing room, a technician signaled one of the aides attending the President. Walking over, the technician whispered, "The President's secretary is on the line. She says that the German Chancellor is on the line requesting to speak directly to President Wilson."
Wilson's aide frowned. "How much time do we have before we go on?"
The technician looked at his watch, then at a wall clock. "Three minutes."
Tilting his head down, the aide thought a moment. Then, making a decision that he thought was best but one which was well beyond his pay grade, the aide spoke with an assumed air of authority. "Tell the President's secretary to contact Secretary Soares's office at the State Department and have the Chancellor's call transferred over to him." Without any further thought, and not wanting to clutter the President's mind with any thoughts other than what she was about to tell the American public, the aide let the technician and in turn a secretary handle the German Chancellor's call.
The aide, unfortunately, had forgotten that Secretary Soares was in the middle of a meeting with the members of the UN Security Council in New York at the moment. Soares's secretary, knowing that the meeting at the UN was important, didn't want to forward the call to New York for fear of interfering with it. She therefore recommended that the call be transferred to the next man in Wilson's inner circle, the Secretary of Defense.
While Chancellor Ruff of Germany was being kept on hold and aides and secretaries across Washington, D.C., were passing his call about like a football, Wilson's press secretary came up to her side. "Here's the revised script as it will appear on the TelePrompTer, Madam President."
Wilson, oblivious to the fumbling of her staff and the staff's of her cabinet, prepared herself for the press. Taking the script in her right hand, Wilson reached across with her left hand and put it on her press secretary's arm. "Please do me a favor, Maggie, and don't make a face this time if I stray from your prepared text. You know how I love to play the room."
"Oh, no problem, Madam President, you go right ahead and improvise all you want. You know you're at your best when you do that."
Yes, Wilson thought. She always did her best when she trusted her instincts. As she watched the big hand of the clock inch toward twelve, she regretted that she hadn't trusted her instincts on this current issue. While Pete Soares was a great political advisor and Terry Rothenberg was a shrewd lawyer, they needed to think more on their own and not take as gospel everything their advisors in the State Department and the Pentagon fed them. They had made too many mistakes on this one and needed to make sure that didn't happen again, provided, of course, she could pull their collective chestnuts out of this fire.
"One minute, Madam President."
Drawing two deep breaths, Wilson flashed her best campaign smile and prepared to step into the lions' den.
"Damn them. DAMN THEM TO HELL!" Lunging forward over his desk, Chancellor Ruff thrust his finger at his military aide. "You go and find the lowest bathroom attendant in this building. Have him get on the phone and tell that little fat Jew Secretary of Defense that if I wanted to talk to him, I would have called him." Pushing himself away from his desk, Ruff looked at Colonel Hans Kasper for a moment. "Who does that whore think she is dealing with? Does she believe that Germany is still a vassal state, to be dealt with at her convenience?"
Kasper did not flinch. He had no intention of finding a bathroom attendant, since there were none in the building, and, more importantly, Ruff's comment was simply part of an elaborate play being enacted for the benefit of members of the cabinet who were not privy to the script. Ignoring Ruff's last comment, Kasper excused himself, playing his role to the hilt. "I will personally tend to the call immediately, Herr Chancellor." Pivoting smartly on his heel, he left the room to Ruff and the cabinet members that had assembled in his office.
When the door was closed and he had regained his composure after his well-controlled outburst, Ruff turned to the members of his cabinet. Though he had no idea of the folly in Washington that had resulted in what Ruff considered an insult, the timing of it couldn't have been any better for Ruff. "That, my friends, is what the Americans think of us. That is why it is time, in my opinion, to bring this unnatural state of affairs to an end. We no longer need an army of occupation to remind us that they defeated us. We no longer need to have foreigners rub our noses in the sins of our fathers. The past is over." Ruff pounded his fist on the desk to emphasize his point. "OVER! OVER! It is time that WE made the Americans understand that."
Across from him, the members of his cabinet listened to him in silence. Some showed their agreement with a simple nod or a gesture. Others, uncomfortable with Ruff's manner and what they believed his line of thinking, grimaced or shifted restlessly in their chairs. This did not surprise Ruff. He already knew who could be trusted and who needed to be kept in the dark. In time, everyone, even the dullest idiot, would come to understand what he was after. But he expected by then to have presented the German people a fait accompli, one which, when they came to understand what was at stake, they would support. Until then Ruff had to ensure that they continued to pretend that they were what his Foreign Minister, Bruno Rooks, called the innocent rape victim.