The Diplomatic Coup

by Alan Elsner

  “How much later?”

  “Neither Shoresh nor al-Bakr can be seen agreeing too quickly. They both have to demonstrate their toughness, like little boys in the playground. It has to look difficult even if it’s not. They’ll both pretend to be dragged kicking and screaming to the table. So it’s going to take another week or two. But essentially, it’s a done deal.”

  “Is this one of those occasions when it’s an advantage to be a woman?”

  Secretary Dayton thought for a moment. “Interesting question. Perhaps it is. They don’t have to show that their dicks are bigger than mine, the way they would another man.”

  “So what will we do for another week or two while you wait for them to agree?”

  “The Israelis have laid on a chopper tour of the northern border tomorrow. It’s a bore, but it will make Shoresh happy. He loves giving military briefings, waving around his great big phallic pointer; it reminds him of when he was a general, before he got so fat. You should have seen him go at the peanuts yesterday, stuffing them down his throat with both hands.” She chuckled.

  Israel was known for taking important visitors on helicopter tours of the country to demonstrate how small and narrow it was and how vulnerable to its enemies. The country was only nine miles across from the sea to the pre-1967 border at its narrowest point just north of Tel Aviv.

  “Is the media invited?” Delphine asked.

  “Erik?”

  “I guess we’ll take a couple of reporters.”

  “Make sure Delphine is one of them.”

  “Yes Madam Secretary.”

  “After that, we’ll make a tour of the region – Amman, Saudi Arabia, maybe a side trip to the Gulf. It will allow us to catch up on our sleep,” Secretary Dayton said. “I haven’t had more than three or four hours in a row since we left Washington. That will give al-Bakr and Shoresh time to get their people in line. We leave for Jeddah on Sunday.”

  “Can I print that?”

  “Erik, make sure Delphine gets a 10-minute start over her colleagues before you issue the statement on where we’re going. We’re going to look after our girl, aren’t we?”

  “Yes Madam Secretary.”

  “What about going back to Syria?” Delphine asked.

  “Not if I can help it. I’ve heard been lectured by Bashir enough times already. The man actually had the nerve to shout at me last time. That’s not going to happen again.”

  “How much of a problem is this Mark Lazarus and his columns?”

  The furrows on Secretary Dayton’s brow deepened and her voice grew chilly. “He’s just an irritant, like a mosquito you have to slap away. I’ll deal with him once we discover who he is—which we will sooner or later.”

  “But you don’t want American Jews against you.”

  “Screw them, they don’t vote for us anyway.” A pause. “That was off the record.” Secretary Dayton smiled like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.

  “Lazarus seems very well-informed. Do you think he has an inside source?”

  Dayton pursed her lips. “Someone’s talking, that’s for sure. We’re looking into it. Once we find the traitor, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “Do you have any idea who it might be?” Delphine asked.

  “Probably someone in the White House or National Security Council. It’s no secret I have enemies in the administration. They’re all afraid I might run against their boss next year. Again, this is all off the record.”

  Delphine scribbled in her notepad, preparing her next question. “Who did you meet with so secretly the other night?”

  Secretary Dayton grinned wolfishly. “What would you say if I told you it was Abdul Muqtadir? Close your mouth, Delphine.”

  “But he’s a terrorist. Your own State Department says so.”

  “He’s an important leader. He virtually runs the Gaza Strip and he’s never been personally involved in military operations.”

  “That’s not what the Israelis say. They’ve tried to assassinate him more than once. And his Palestinian Martyrs Brigade has taken responsibility for dozens of suicide bombings that have killed hundreds of Israeli civilians.”

  Dayton’s smile grew even wider. “Which is precisely why I went down to Gaza to meet him. It was quite an operation getting down there.”

  “So you’re saying the Israelis knew about this?” This was getting more and more interesting.

  “Of course they knew. We flew down there in an Israeli helicopter. Shoresh may be fat but he’s not a fool. He know we can’t have a ceasefire without the agreement of the PMB, the most important armed group in the territories. As the all-knowing Todd L. Trautmann never tires of telling us, it wouldn’t be worth the paper it’s written on.”

  “But if it becomes public … The Israeli opposition would go berserk. The Shoresh government would fall apart. There would be months of political chaos.”

  “That’s why it can’t get out. One day, when we have peace in the Middle East, people will understand how important it was to engage people like him, to make him and his movement part of the process. There can’t be a ceasefire without Muqtadir and that’s just a fact. You understand, Delphine, the enormous power I’ve just placed in your hands. That’s how much I believe in you. But if you ever breath a word …” Secretary Dayton’s voice tailed off.

  “Don’t worry,” Delphine assured her. “What did you discuss with him?”

  Secretary Dayton stood, signaling the end of the discussion. “Enough for now. Let’s save those details for another day.”

  Next morning, Delphine was up early for the helicopter tour. Andrew was the other correspondent invited along. As pool reporters, they had to write an account of everything that happened and make it available to the rest of the traveling press as soon as they returned.

  Military helicopters are rattling, uncomfortable conveyances, unpleasantly noisy even with earplugs. But it was a beautiful day and the views were tremendous. The chopper circled the coastline and then swooped low over the Jordan River before heading north to the Golan Heights. In spring, which had come early, the land was lush and green. By May, it would already be parched and yellow.

  Delphine spotted the ruins of the Crusader castle of Belvoir perched on a crag commanding the valley and then they were over the deep blue of the Sea of Galilee. They landed a few minutes later under the brooding shadow of snowcapped Mount Hermon where the disputed borders of Israel, Syria and Lebanon come together. An uneasy quiet had held since the last major cross-border blowup a couple of years before.

  Their hosts had set up a tent with light refreshments in a meadow covered in bright red poppies overlooking the patchwork of fields and orchards in the valley below, a region Israelis call the “Finger of the Galilee.’ Shoresh, vast belly overflowing, shirt buttons popping, stood in front of an easel with a large map of the region, jabbing a wooden pointer at various strategic locations, speaking in his characteristic lisp, so unexpected for a man of his bulk. When he said ‘Syria’ it came out as ‘Thyria.’

  “I served near this place in ’73,” he said. “The enemy launched a surprise attack at dawn on Yom Kippur. They poured down off these heights with hundreds of tanks and almost broke through into the Galilee. We were outnumbered 50 to one but somehow we held them up for almost 48 hours. I saw many brave comrades fall—which is why we need to control this ridge and preserve our strategic depth.”

  He continued in that vein for another 35 minutes.

  Secretary Dayton’s face was frozen in an expression of intense interest but by now Delphine knew her well enough to read her moods. Underneath the mask, she was seething with impatience at having to listen to all this.

  After the briefing, the two leaders took some questions.

  “Madam Secretary, how did this trip impress you?” Andrew asked.

  “It’s always impressive to see what a beautiful
country this is,” she responded diplomatically. “We should always remember the wars that were fought here. We greatly admire General Shoresh’s heroic military service and his pursuit of peace which, frankly, we find equally courageous.”

  That was the most interesting response they got from either leader and the visitors soon boarded their choppers for the return trip to Jerusalem

  Next morning, Secretary Dayton and her entourage flew to Jeddah where they were driven from the airport down a long coastal highway line to a luxurious government-owned guesthouse overlooking the beach.

  The Saudi King, Farouk bin Abdulaziz, preferred to conduct business after dinner and late into the night, so the press had the rest of the day free. A Saudi official dressed in flowing white robes circulated, handing out invitations to a special press banquet that evening.

  “Am I also invited?” Delphine asked, knowing Saudis forbade their own women to drive or to mix with men or even appear in public unless wearing heavy black robes and veiled.

  “Do not worry Mademoiselle,” the official said. “You won’t be leaving this facility during your stay and for the purposes of this dinner we shall regard you as an honorary man.” He leaned toward her and added quietly, “Mademoiselle, to avoid embarrassment, I would ask you please not to use the gym or the swimming pool and to dress modestly at all times.”

  After sending out her laundry, Delphine slumped back on the bed, pleased for once to have nowhere to go and nothing to do, just enjoying the feel of the lovely, soft sheets. Outside the window, she could hear people splashing in the Olympic-sized swimming pool. It would have been nice to join them but she wasn’t about to make a fuss. Instead, she closed her eyes and amused herself trying to identify the different voices … and woke up to find Jason leaning over, nuzzling her earlobe, smelling quite delicious.

  “I must have dozed off,” she murmured. “Mmm, do that some more, it feels good.” Then, she sat up. “How did you get in here?”

  “Does it matter? I’m here now.” Delphine didn’t pursue it since Jason had already turned his attention to other parts of her anatomy. This time, he was slow and tender, which only confused her. Was he developing ‘feelings’ for her? Was she for him?

  “Did you know the Saudis regard me as an honorary man?” Delphine said as they lay in the afterglow.

  “Doesn’t bother me,” he answered lazily, eyes closed. “I’m an equal opportunity lover.”

  “So tell me, what exactly is your relationship with Madam Dayton? Is massaging her part of your duties? Or does it go further than that?”

  “Are you jealous?”

  “Part of my job is to observe her and collect information.”

  “Right!”

  “Answer the question.”

  “OK, OK, stop tickling! I’ll talk.”

  Delphine stopped.

  “Secretary Dayton and I have a purely professional relationship,” he said. “My job is to keep her safe—and that’s all.”

  “So neck rubs aren’t in the job description?”

  “That was one time. I’m sorry you saw it. It made me feel like crap. There used to be someone else for that kind of stuff – but she dumped him.”

  “Ooh gossip. Who was it?”

  “You’re the investigative journalist. I’ve already said too much.”

  “So you got the job of chief masseur?”

  He rolled over to avoid having to look at me. “I told you it was just one time, a mistake that won’t happen again.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “That’s why she’s so pissed at me and I’m in the doghouse.”

  “What will she do?”

  “I guess find someone else to rub her down. Shouldn’t be hard. Mitch Webb is only too anxious to perform any little services she requires. But enough about her. Tell me about yourself, Delphine. I don’t know anything about you.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Where you were born, where you grew up – that’ll do for starters.”

  Delphine did not like people prying into her life, disturbing all kinds of painful feelings that she had tried for much of her life to bury, but some kind of candor was clearly required in this case.

  “I’m from a village called St. Brisson sur Loire. It’s very pretty and historic and has crumbling stone houses and lovely views of the Loire River. There are several famous chateaux and the remains of medieval fortresses within easy reach. It’s known for its medieval chapel and its ancient bridge.”

  “You sound like a guidebook,” Jason said.

  “Also its wonderful wine and goat’s cheese which tastes of the fresh grasses and herbs the animals eat in the meadows, not at all like your American cheesy whiz,” Delphine continued.

  “Are your parents still there?”

  “Not any more.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “They moved to fresh pastures. What about you? How did you get into the security business?” Delphine asked, changing the subject from her past to his.

  “Family tradition. My dad and uncle were cops, my brother’s in the FBI. I always knew I’d be in law enforcement—but I also wanted to travel.”

  “You and your brother are close?”

  “We’re twins. We share an apartment on Capitol Hill; we’ve always done everything together although our characters are quite different. I’ll introduce you to him when we get home. You’ll really like each other.”

  Delphine became aware of someone softly tapping on the door.

  “It’s OK, I’ll get it,” Jason said, donning a white, terrycloth bathrobe. A uniformed waiter entered, wheeling a tray on which perched a magnificent fruit platter. Jason slipped him a banknote and the man withdrew, pointedly avoiding looking in Delphine’s direction.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t get any champagne. Saudi Arabia’s completely dry,” Jason said, pouring a glass of chilled mango juice from a large silver jug.

  “How do you get this kind of treatment?” she asked, biting into a peach, letting its juice run down her chin. He sucked her fingers and offered her a slice of pear. Eating fruit can be a bit like making love, Delphine reflected.

  “It’s my business to make friends in every hotel we stay in, especially the kitchen staff. Don’t worry, they won’t tell anyone. They’re very discreet.”

  “They may be but you’re not. If you wanted to keep our liaison secret, you’ve already failed. Mark Lazarus saw you the other morning in Jerusalem sneaking out of my room before sunrise.”

  “Who?”

  “What did I say? I mean Ira Milstein.”

  “Will he talk?”

  “I hope not. On the other hand, neither of us is married and we’re both consenting adults so we’re not breaking any laws.”

  “I just didn’t want it to complicate either of our lives. I work for a very possessive woman who’s already giving me a tough time. You’re not even an American. You may be a foreign agent out to seduce me.”

  “I might indeed,” Delphine murmured. Then, wishing to end this conversation, she put her chain of press passes around her neck; the sight of them against her naked skin inflamed Jason into action once again.

  After he left, Delphine showered and got dressed for the evening banquet. Not having anticipated formal occasions, she hadn’t brought anything particularly glamorous. The best she could do was a merino wool sweater-dress she’d picked up on sale at Victoria’s Secret. It was chic but not overly sexy, which was a good thing because the last thing she wanted was a bunch of middle aged men, either Arab or American, drooling over her.

  Delphine was the last to enter the banquet room where she found her colleagues mingling with mid-level Saudis clutching glasses of fruit juice and alcohol-free cocktails. A long table was set with name cards. There were no other women. Delphine had been hoping they’d invite Bridget Daly, the
deputy spokesperson, but she wasn’t there. She was such a self-effacing creature they’d probably forgotten her existence.

  “We tossed coins to see who’d get to sit next to you and I won,” said Don Masters materializing at her shoulder, resplendent in a black jacket that matched his improbably lush hair. “They originally had us all seated in alphabetical order. You would have been stuck next to Ira. Aren’t you glad I spared you that?”

  Delphine smiled neutrally while sighing inwardly.

  They sat down to eat. “Do you miss your wife a lot on these trips?” Delphine asked, a preemptive strike designed to stop unwanted advances.

  “God yes, and my kids.”

  “You have children?”

  “Two,” he said, pulling a wallet open and flipping it over to reveal a pair of childish, smiling faces, both with shiny black hair just like their father. “This is Madison, she’s seven. And this little guy is Donald Junior, he’s five.”

  “Nice looking kids.”

  “They’re growing up real fast and I hate that I’m missing so much of their childhood. That’s the downside of this job. Don’t get me wrong, I love to jet around the world covering great stories, earning really good money—but half the time I’m not there for my kids. Madison has a big soccer game this weekend; I ought to be cheering for her. I always bring back gifts but it’s not the same. Take a look at this,” he said, fishing a small plastic bag from his breast pocket. It contained two tiny pearl earrings.

  “Adorable; she’ll love them.”

  “Yeah, she’s quite the little lady already. You want kids some day?”

  “Maybe someday. What about a gift for the little boy?”

  “I thought I’d get him one of those little wooden carved camels from the Old City next week when we’re back in Jerusalem.”

  Having done her duty by Don, Delphine turned to the Saudi diplomat seated on her other side, a pleasant man with a British accent who offered to give her his Rolex watch when she admired it. He’d spent time in France and they cheerfully reminisced about some of their favorite places. Delphine was happy to let him do most of the talking, nodding from time to time to show she was paying attention. As the waiters cleared up dessert, she concluded that she had more than fulfilled her social obligations and stood to leave. It was then that she noticed Don slumped over his plate of mousse au chocolat. At first she thought it was a gag and tapped him gently on the shoulder. He didn’t stir.