by Alan Elsner
“What about those who were left behind?”
“Our guys on the ground are getting them commercial flights. Hopefully, they’ll join us in Moscow tomorrow.”
“Will the Secretary be back to brief us?”
“Not on this leg, perhaps later. By the way, this is for you,” Bridget said handing Delphine an envelope. She opened it a little later in the privacy of the toilet. It said, “As soon as you’ve checked into the hotel in Moscow, come straight up to my suite. We have a lot to talk about.” She hadn’t bothered signing it but of course Delphine knew who it was from.
After that, it was an uneventful flight. The Air Force served them their greasy meal and Delphine ate her fruit and vegetables. Then, they turned the lights off and everyone went to sleep, even her. She woke up with a stiff neck to find the plane breaking through the clouds on its descent to Shannon Airport where it was mid-morning and raining as usual. The reporters trooped into the terminal while they refueled the plane. Delphine had no story to file so she wandered around and wound up in the food shop, remembering her first encounter there with Jason.
An unwelcome tap on her shoulder interrupted her reverie.
“Oh, Mitchell, it’s you,” Delphine said, her voice perhaps a touch colder than she’d intended.
“Delphane, we need to talk. We have unfinished business.”
She saw from his expression there was no avoiding this. “Well, if we must.”
“I want to know why you’re the way you are with me. I never did anything to you. When you needed my help, I was there. Seems to me you have some explaining to do.”
“I don’t have to explain anything. I don’t owe you anything. Our relations are perfectly correct. What exactly is your complaint?”
“You liked me when we first met. You wanted to go out with me. You kissed me. Then it all changed. What happened?”
Delphine didn’t know what to tell him.
“I want you, Delphane. I keep seeing your face in my head. I think about ways to make you smile, because you don’t smile much. Is that wrong?”
Delphine looked straight into his eyes. “Mitchell, this has to stop. Yes, we shared a brief kiss. So what? There was no commitment on either side. It was just a kiss. I wish you success but we will never be what you want us to be in your fantasies. Please accept this and move on. And leave me alone., otherwise I will need to have words with your supervisor.”
When they re-boarded the plane, Delphine found Todd had taken her seat and was chatting to the comely Robin Browne, no doubt impressing her with his Pulitzers. Delphine took the seat next to Ira and asked how he was doing.
Milstein turned a tortured face to her, speaking so softly she had to lean forward to hear. “Not so great, Frenchy.”
“What’s happened?”
“A few newspaper editors who published Lazarus’s columns have been slapped with Justice Department subpoenas.”
“Demanding what?”
“Demanding that they hand over all the original materials connected with the articles.”
“But the editors will fight, won’t they? Freedom of the press. Sanctity of sources. Surely they won’t allow the government to bully them like that?”
“These are not publications with deep pockets; most of them are small newspapers that barely survive. They don’t have the money to take on the government in court. One editor told me he felt badly about it but he had no choice but to comply.”
“And these documents will lead to you?”
“I filed those columns by e-mail.” He no longer bothered denying it.
“Not from your own account, surely?”
“I made up a different name – but the account’s mine. I’ve never been much with technology.”
“Mon Dieu, Ira!”
“What should I do?”
“I told you once, you have to get out of the arena. It’s your only hope. As soon as we get to Moscow, tell your bosses you don’t feel well and you have to return home immediately to get checked by your doctor. When you get home, announce your retirement without delay. Maybe that will satisfy her and she’ll drop it.” But Delphine wasn’t at all sure. It’s difficult to stop a government investigation once started. She suspected that once the she-lion had her prey in her grasp, she would thoroughly mangle the carcass before letting go.
Ira’s face took on a stubborn look. “I’m not going to quit in the middle of a trip. I’ll finish this assignment. Then I’ll decide. If and when I go, it will be under my terms.”
Delphine shrugged. “Have it your own way. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Night was falling as they landed in Moscow. The motorcade drove through wet streets on one of the massive ring roads that encircle the city. Back home, Washington was enjoying early summer. Here spring was fighting for a foothold. Delphine had never been to Russia before but there wasn’t much to see during the 40-minute drive to the hotel – just a lot of traffic at a standstill while the line of vehicles sped by.
“Ira, don’t you miss the old Soviet days, when there was no food – not even in the fanciest hotel?” asked Todd.
“Food? There wasn’t even toilet paper and I once saw a rat in my room,” said Ira morosely. “But sure, I miss those days. You knew where you stood during the Cold War. We were the good guys, they were the bad guys. It was reassuring.”
“I used to pack crackers and peanut butter and chocolate bars, enough for a week,” Todd said. “And packs of Marlboros to use for money because the ruble wasn’t worth shit. One pack would get you a taxi ride anywhere in the city. Wonderful times!”
“Why the nostalgia? It sounds nasty,” Delphine said.
“Because foreign policy really mattered then. We really mattered. When Reagan and Gorbachev held their first summit, the entire world held its breath waiting for our reports. The future of the entire planet was at stake,” Todd said.
“They’ll be holding their breath again if Dayton gets a Middle East peace conference going,” Delphine said.
“Not the same,” said Todd.
They checked into a plush Radisson Hotel near the Moskva River. Delphine dumped her suitcase on the bed, splashed some water on her face and took the elevator straight to the penthouse. Bridget was waiting to escort her. The spokeswoman’s eyes were red as if she’d been crying. Delphine was about to ask what was wrong but the door opened and she found herself once again in the Secretary Dayton’s presence.
“Should I stay?” Bridget asked timidly.
“No, give us half an hour,” the Secretary Dayton. “Start drafting a statement. You know what to say – deep sadness, condolences, prayers for recovery, help for the families—all the usual stuff. Keep it short. And for God’s sake, stop sniveling. Try to focus on your job, not your feelings. Now go.”
The door closed. This was the first time Delphine had been alone with Dayton for a while and quite a lot had happened.
“Do you miss Erik, Madam Secretary?” Delphine asked.
Secretary Dayton gave her a sharp glance. “It’s always tragic losing a colleague. But Bridget’s improving by the day. At least I know she’s loyal. Drink?”
“Please.”
“Vodka?”
“Perhaps a little, with orange juice if you have it.” Secretary Dayton snorted, but fixed the drink and a large slug for herself. Delphine caught a flash on her ring finger and noticed she wasn’t wearing her usual giant amber. She had replaced it with a new ring. They sat down on either side of the coffee table.
“Don’t you need a tough, well-informed spokesperson to deal with tough, well-informed reporters?” Delphine asked.
“Which reporters would those be?”
“Stewart Wentworth, Todd Trautmann, Andrew Cushing, Ira Milstein.”
“Ira Milstein. Ha!” she said, knocking back her drink in one gulp. “His ass is grass. Finish
up, Delphine. We’re in Russia now. You have to know how to drink. I’ll be doing plenty of it the next couple of days. By the way, I have a personal request for you.”
“Of course. I’m already in your debt for the book contract. And I want you to know I’ll write the best book I possibly can.”
“That’s why I chose you,” Dayton said, pouring another shot.
“What you’re doing, it’s so inspiring, so necessary for the whole world.” Was Delphine laying it on too thick? No, Secretary Dayton’s face was rapt with pleasure. She leaned forward, waving her left hand in front of Delphine’s face.
“I have some thrilling news, Delphine honey, and I wanted you to be one of the first to know. Elton proposed two days ago. Isn’t the ring gorgeous? He has such wonderful style. The three stones represent our past, present and future. And by the way, you can call me Julia when we’re alone together. Just not in front of other people.”
“It’s a lovely ring.” Delphine suppressed a shudder. Modest it wasn’t.
“I’d like you to help my plan my wedding.”
You could have driven a Citroën sedan into Delphine’s open mouth. “Me? Why me?” she heard herself asking.
“Because I like you and trust you, because we’re partners and because you have such impeccable taste. I’ve never been married before. Who else can I trust to help me choose the right gown?”
“What about the woman who buys your clothes?”
“She’s just for business. There’s nothing personal between us. I thought this would be fun; it would help us bond.”
“But Madam…”
“I told you, call me Julia.”
“But … Julia …” The name felt like a piece of gristle she could neither chew nor swallow.
“Better.”
“But … Julia, we are professional associates. It’s not appropriate. As a journalist and author, I have to write about you.”
“We’re no longer just professional associates. We’re partners at the very least and I would have thought also friends.”
“I … I suppose. But planning your wedding – surely that’s something only for family, for the closest, the most intimate people in your life.”
“Don’t you see, I don’t have family or intimate friends. It’s lonely climbing the political ladder and very cold and friendless as you approach the top. I want to be liked – maybe even loved—as well as feared. I’ve given up so much – so many things you can’t even imagine.”
“You mean like a family, children?”
“All of that. I have allies, supporters, advisers, strategists, subordinates – but friends?” Dayton shook her head. “There’s not a single person I can ask except you. At least promise me you’ll consider it. You don’t have to answer right now.”
It was hard to imagine Secretary Dayton as a blushing bride decked out in white with a veil and a train and bridesmaids.
“What happened to your family?” Delphine asked.
“My parents died long ago.”
“Mine too.” The word slipped out before Delphine could stop them.
“I was barely out of college. I was an only child. I’ve always been alone when you come down to it. Were you also an only child?”
Delphine hesitated. “I was. Am.”
“You see, we’re alike. I never had a daughter and you lost your mother. We both have that gap in our lives. If I’d have had a daughter, she would have been exactly your age by now.” Dayton leaned forward and gently stroked Delphine’s cheek. The young reporter held herself rigid. She had nothing in common with this woman who felt sorry for herself because her parents died when she was already a young adult, well able to look after herself.
Delphine was about to ask Dayton if she’d ever considered having a child. She stopped herself just in time. The question was too dangerous.
The Secretary sighed; then sat up straight, squaring her shoulders. “So let me bring you up to speed on the peace process.” It was back to business. A relieved Delphine switched on her tape recorder and took out her notebook.
“Since we last spoke, I’ve sent envoys to the region to speak to all the parties and everyone is on board,” Dayton said. “We’re going to have a one-day conference in Washington chaired by the United States and Russia but that will be strictly symbolic to kick off the negotiations. Immediately after that, we’ll bring the Israelis and Palestinians together somewhere private and keep them there for as long as it takes. I’m not going to let those folks leave until they’ve agreed to make peace.”
“When will this happen?”
“Within the next few weeks. We’re flying to Jerusalem the day after tomorrow to nail down the exact dates.”
“Can I report any of this?”
Dayton thought about it. “As long as you don’t quote me directly. Attribute it to a senior State Department official. Just be careful what you write. I don’t want you saying the peace conference is definitely going to happen. That would be disrespectful before the parties have formally agreed to attend. You should say something like, ‘Senior U.S. officials hope to convene a Middle East peace conference next month to be followed by intense face-to-face negotiations between Israel and the Palestinians’.”
“Where will you hold these talks?”
“Back off the record, we’re looking at Wye Plantation in Maryland. Do you know it? It’s been used before for negotiations. It’s a secluded estate on the shore of Chesapeake Bay, quiet and private and close to D.C. I want the leaders eating and relaxing together – you know, bonding. They can go for walks, enjoy nature—all that kind of bullshit.”
“And that will help?”
“Can’t hurt.”
Delphine switched tacks. “These reports that Stewart Wentworth has been doing about arms shipments to the Palestinian Martyrs Brigade – how much of a problem are they for you?”
Secretary Dayton’s face darkened. She sat twiddling her engagement ring back and forth on her bony finger for a few seconds, then leaned forward and turned off Delphine’s tape recorder.
“I wouldn’t call it a big problem,” she said carefully. “But it’s definitely something that needed to be handled.”
“Can’t you tell more? I mean for the book, not for reporting now.”
Dayton’s folded arms formed a barrier over her chest. “You’re persistent. I like that,” she said in a voice that told Delphine not to push any further. “But there are some things I can’t tell even you, not now, maybe not ever. It’s one of the disadvantages of you being foreign and not having a security clearance.”
“Like for instance?”
She laughed without humor. “Nice try. OK, let me ask you a question: why do you think the region has been so calm recently? No suicide attacks, no bombings of Israeli restaurants or buses, no cross-border rockets, nothing.”
“You negotiated a ceasefire and it’s succeeding.”
“Muqtadir and the extremists weren’t a party to the ceasefire. What’s keeping them quiet?”
Delphine was beginning to understand. “So you’ve been buying off Muqtadir with arms shipments? Isn’t that storing up trouble for the future? Who’s he going to use these weapons against? The Israelis or al-Bakr—maybe both. Won’t that just create a new source of instability?”
“Now you’re putting words in my mouth. I never said we were sending anything to anyone. For the record, the United States government is doing no such thing. As to the future, first let’s get the peace treaty signed. After that, we can worry about how stable it is. I’m a practical woman. I believe in taking one step at a time, solving problems as they arise. The deep strategic thinking I leave to intellectuals like Todd L. Trautmann.” She stood up. But Delphine still had questions.
“What about the fact that Elton Schuyler owns the shipping company that carried the weapons the Israelis intercepted?”
She returned to her room feeling vaguely disquieted. Once again, she’d been given a nice scoop. Jean-Luc would be pleased and her colleagues in the press corps furious to be beaten once again. So why wasn’t she happier? Delphine had a nagging feeling she’d missed something important. But there was no time to think about it; she had to start writing.
She’d gotten the first five paragraphs down when the phone rang. She picked up and was surprised to hear Jason’s voice.
“I called to see how you’re handling everything. I was worried.”
“Jason, not now, I’m working. It’s urgent. We’ll speak tomorrow.”
“But …”
“I appreciate you calling from Washington but this is not a good time. I’m sorry.”
He tried to say something else but Delphine cut him off and went back to her story. Two minutes later the phone rang again. “What?” she shouted.
“A few of us are meeting in the bar for a drink,” Todd said. “It’s what they’d have wanted.”
“I’m busy. Maybe I’ll join you later.”
“Boy, you’re really cold, you know that? You’re just a cold, cold person.”
Delphine was surprised and hurt and then, a second later, angry. What gave him the right to say such a thing?
“Oh go to hell,” she shouted and slammed down the phone. Eventually she got the story done and filed it to the bureau. The other reporters’ phones would all start ringing as soon as news of the upcoming Middle East peace conference hit the wire. Even Two-Time Todd with his Pulitzers would have to scramble to match her story.