“Then I'll see you later.”
* * *
“HOW MAY I HELP you, Mr. Nakamura?” asked the concierge.
“Our plans have changed. When will Ms. Porter arrive?”
“She's already here. I'll find her for you if you would like to wait at her office.”
“Yes, thank you. I will meet her in half an hour, after I have breakfast.” Nakamura bowed slightly and walked to the dining room.
Ms. Porter greeted her client, who told her he wanted food set up at 7:30 that evening. “We wish privacy. I will notify your staff when you may remove the food. We will serve ourselves.”
When he left, she went to the hotel manager to explain the change in schedule.
“Margaret, this is one of the strangest groups I've seen here. They brought golf clubs and haven't used them. In fact, we've hardly seen them all week.”
“I know. He planned the whole thing before he got here. I scheduled eight people to serve. Now I don't need them. He's spending close to $10,000, and they'll serve themselves?”
“Well, at least we've got his credit card number.”
* * *
“CLASS, KEEP working. I'll be back in a minute.” Susan raised her hand. “I'll talk to you after class, Susan.” He left the room and pulled his phone out of his pocket.
“Mr. President, sorry I'm late on this. I forgot to call.”
“No problem, Fritz. We've been busy too.”
“Sir, when do you want to start the meeting?”
The official start would be at eight o'clock in the Oval Office. But the real beginning would be at six. Food would be sent through the portal at 5:30. The leaders would arrive at the Old Executive Office Building and take the tunnels to the president's office. “At eight, a procession of limousines with imposters will arrive at the North Portico. We're trying to disguise the arrivals, just in case.”
“Milt and the guys are outside now. They'll have to hurry to set up.”
“I'll see you in a couple of hours.”
He returned to his classroom and was struck by the quiet. But all eyes were on him, not the test. “What's up, guys. Are you all done?”
“Mr. R,” said Susan, “I wanted to tell you before. We got a $5,000 donation from the Business Council.”
“And we've collected over $4,000 from ticket sales,” Ron added.
“Mr. R,” Ted said, “we have almost $55,000, and we still have the rest of the tournament.”
“Guys, that's fantastic. You're doing great work. No homework. Now finish your essays.” The class settled back into their answers, and Fritz returned to his yellow pad. He envisioned the crowded section of hallway between the rooms, with no way to get into the rest of the school. The only direction would be into the Oval Office. As he glanced at his students, a face appeared in the window of his door. He waved Tony in, but Tony shook his head. With only five minutes remaining, Fritz told the class to finish up and put their papers on his desk.
“Hi, Tony. What's up?”
“I just talked to Jane. She wants to come home right away. She said she needs some stuff for tonight.”
“As soon as we clear the hallway. We weren't expecting this. Do you know they're starting early?”
“Yeah. Do you have your uniform?”
“He wants me in a uniform? What uniform? What am I going to do?”
“I hope Jane thought about it. You can't be here like this. I hope they figured out how to hide the wires.”
“More to do. Just what I need.”
As the hall began to fill with students and teachers, Fritz grabbed Ashley, told him Jane was coming, and asked him to tell the teachers to remind the kids they wouldn't be able to get into the hallway. Seeing Tony, Tom Jaffrey asked Fritz where he was going.
“Tom, do me a favor and move the kids out. I'll tell you when they're gone.” The Friday afternoon din of shouting students and slamming locker doors rose to a noisy crescendo and quickly subsided.
As quiet returned, Milt Chelton walked toward them, accompanied by Colonel Mitchell, looking every bit the civilian he wasn't. Coming from the opposite direction, Tom Jaffrey arrived and greeted Tony.
“Tom, you're not involved, so I can't say more than there's a meeting. I don't know yet what the president wants to do.”
“Are you talking about the summit?” Tom saw the sideway glances around him. “Wow. That's it, isn't it?” Fritz nodded. “Then I better get going. If you need me, call. I can keep a secret.”
“Thanks, Tom. You'll be home tonight and tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I'm reviewing the tournament questions. My team has practice every afternoon until our next game. Good luck.”
MILT SIGNALED to start. A door, gate and frame, and folded cloth led the procession. From the truck, tool boxes and a generator followed. Two men carried the gate to the end of the corridor, and more men with a heavy load appeared at the exit.
“Fritz, which room should we use?” Milt asked.
“Fritz, we need to get Jane,” the colonel interrupted. Fritz started to feel stretched.
“Use Ash's for now. We need to get this figured out.”
With the generator connected and the fake walls being set up crossing the hall from his room to the meeting room, Fritz set the paperclip on the Oval Office brochure and called the president. Almost before the door was open, Jane ran past him, straight to Ashley. All she said was “Let's go.” The president waved Fritz in.
“NSA picked up potential threat warnings, Fritz, but we don't know how serious. We need everything set up when the leaders arrive. The good news is we may have another Caballeros link.”
“That's great, Mr. President. I have a problem, though. I don't have a uniform.”
“It's ready for you. Colonel Mitchell will have one of his guys help you dress.”
Fritz stared and shook his head, “How?”
The president chuckled. “Your shirt and pants labels and a good tailor, sergeant. I'm hoping that Mr. Putin and our Israeli friend don't recognize you. I doubt it, but they won't say anything. Now get going and come back right away. You're the only one who knows if we have a problem.”
Back in the hallway, the colonel touched his arm. “Fritz, we should go.” As they reached the exit, the first fake wall was lifted into place.
Chapter 23
“HI FRITZ. DON'T you look nice?”
“Thanks, Jane. So do you.” Jane had changed into her dress blues, her left jacket pocket covered with ribbons. “So, you know what's happening?” Two curtains blocked any view from the parking lot. “How does it look?”
“It's a perfect disguise. They're finishing up now.”
Milt Chelton and three other men walked through the wall opening. “Hi, Fritz. Come take a look.” They stepped into the fake passage. Milt tapped the opening, and as it clicked, Fritz thought he knew how Alice felt when she arrived in Wonderland.
“We already have the Cheshire Cat, so I must be the Mad Hatter. Jane, that would make you the Queen of Hearts.” He ran his hand over the three-paneled walls on each side. The soles of his patent leather shoes almost slid on the high gloss of the new hardwood floor.
“Where's your cover, Fritz?”
“Huh?”
“Your cover, soldier,” the colonel barked. More gently, he said, “Your hat, Fritz.”
“Oh. In the car.”
“From this point on, you need to be in proper dress, sergeant. Understood?”
“Yeah, sure. Okay.”
“Fritz, you say, 'Yes, sir.' ”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go get it. And give your keys to someone else. You can't jingle here.”
“Ash, get his hat, please,” said Jane.
Fritz tossed him the keys, rattling through the air. “I see what you mean, Colonel.”
Ashley placed the hat in the colonel's outstretched hand. Mitchell put it on Fritz's head, wiggling it to find the proper angle. “We're short on time, Fritz. Do you have a mirror nearby?”
&
nbsp; “Only in the boys' room.” He looked around. “Milt, can we get through the gate for a few minutes.”
Facing the mirror in the bathroom, the colonel said, “Fritz for the next couple of days, you'll need to concentrate. This disguise is pointless if you don't play the part.”
“I know. It's hard.”
“Your answer, soldier, is improper,” yelled the colonel. Fritz jumped and saw a drill sergeant from every movie he remembered.
“Yes, sir.”
“Look at the uniform, look at how the hat sits on your head. When the president comes into the hallway, you'll hear 'ten hut.' Even holding the door, you will stand straight. He won't salute you. He won't want to draw attention to you. When he's gone, someone will say 'at ease' or 'as you were.' If the president comes out of the room, even to talk to you, you are a soldier in the Army. When he approaches, you salute him.”
“Got it. Oops. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“I know this is an adjustment, Fritz. When we leave this room, you are on duty. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Atten-hut.” The colonel laughed. “Fritz, this will be the shortest basic training in history. Put your heels together, knees locked, chin up, stand straight.” Colonel Mitchell laughed again. “I hope you don't pop any buttons.”
“Yes, sir.”
The colonel took a couple of steps back and looked at Fritz from head to toe. “Good. Let's go back.”
“Yes, sir!” The colonel smiled.
Chapter 24
FRITZ FELT HIS PHONE vibrate. “Yes, Mr. President.”
“We're ready to set up, Fritz. Tell the colonel and open up.”
“Yes, sir.”
The doorknob buzzed. Ten soldiers wearing white jackets, black pants, white shirts, and black ties marched into the Oval Office. Moments later, they returned carrying trays and pushing carts filled with covered containers. Plates, silverware, and glassware were set on the conference table. Colonel Mitchell had changed into waiter's livery, except for a slight bulge under his left arm.
The president walked into the hallway. “Atten-hut” flew to Fritz's ears. With the president staring straight at him, Fritz saluted. “Well, this is a little different, huh, Fritz?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, still saluting. The president returned the salute.
“Fritz, you end the salute once he has saluted,” said the colonel.
“Yes, sir.”
“At ease, Sergeant Russell. A word, if I might.”
“Yes, sir.”
The president put his hand on Fritz's shoulder. “We're not using the trophy case tonight,” he said. “Here are floor plans for all of their homes. We'll try a couple tonight. The ones who object the most. I won't know until we start. They'll be arriving in a couple of minutes, but they'll all come together through the tunnel. We'll have a formal picture taken. That's all set. No press. Then I'll call. Open up right away.”
MAJOR BARCLAY was speaking with Colonel Mitchell as they walked around the raised platform. The room had been decorated in keeping with White House style, complete with drapes covering artificial windowsills. Fritz felt the tension of previous missions replace the pressure of his snug attire. Jane placed packets at each place. She and the colonel stepped off the platform to the food carts. She pointed to a waiter's visible bulge and he adjusted his jacket. Fritz stepped back and looked through the opening of the false wall.
“Everything okay, Tony?”
“Ready to go, Fritz.”
He looked at the soldiers in their dress uniforms. “Who's in charge here?”
“I am, sergeant,” said a captain, who winked at Fritz. “How much time left?”
Fritz looked at his watch and told him any second. Fritz saluted, and said, “I think you should line up.”
Fritz checked for Tony's thumbs-up, and Milt closed the panel. When the phone rang, Fritz said, “Here we go,” as the president said, “Open it.”
* * *
WITH THE EVENING festivities arranged, Margaret Porter sat back and sighed. Two hours before, Mr. Nakamura had told her he wanted to inspect the roof top. He was concerned about his guests being injured when they went out to see the view. Although she assured him that railings, chest-high fences, and a reinforced ceiling below would protect his guests, he had insisted on a personal inspection. They walked around the roof. Mr. Nakamura checked the doors to the roof and wrote some notes that he slipped into his pocket. Before they returned to the lobby, he stood at the front and looked across Lafayette Square at the White House.
* * *
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” said the president. “We will keep this evening informal. I have asked our waiters and servers to leave us so we can speak openly and frankly. In front of you is a proposal to end the fighting in the Middle East, to establish economic and social well-being for us all, and to bring an end to the terrorist acts which have plagued the world. We will discuss the concepts and your countries' roles, and I expect that we will find agreement.”
“Mr. President,” said the Saudi king, “even if I were to agree, I must discuss this with my advisors.”
“Your highness, let's not start with disagreement. You know as well as I that your opinion will be the final decision, so allow me to continue, please. When I've told you what we propose, I will show you how we will succeed.” The president made a small check mark on a sheet in front of him. “You will understand why I believe you will see this my way.” A subtle smile appeared on the Israeli Prime Minister's face.
“The first map shows current political borders and the second shows how much of the region remains undeveloped after thousands of years. The next chart outlines water and oil resources. You will note their wide disparity across nations. The third map presents average incomes as well as the range of wealth in the top ten percent of each population.”
“Mr. President, that gap is certainly visible in your country, as well. What point is there in assigning blame?” said the Bahraini.
“Mr. Prime Minister, this is not about blame. You are viewing data provided by your governments. Unless it is incorrect, a marked chasm has grown between your wealthy and the rest of your citizens.
“As is yours, Mr. President.”
“Mr. Prime Minister, I assure you, of that I am well aware. But again, that is not our current topic. The fourth map shows the new Palestine.” The president pushed a button and a larger projection appeared on a screen disguised as a wall panel. The room began to rumble as if a storm were on the way.
The Palestinian president said, “We did not know that we would be present as you dissect the Middle East. What I see is you have taken territory from us, but not from Israel.”
The president looked hard at the Israeli Prime Minister, the power of his glance stopping a response. Touching his chest, he said, “Mr. President, as of right now, your people live where others in this room allow. You, more than anyone, should accept that this proposal provides a permanent home that will be called the State of Palestine. Your own land.”
“There are no resources. Water is scarce. We gain nothing.”
“Mr. President, have you read the proposal? Have you glanced even a bit?” said the President of the United Arab Emirates. “I have looked at some of it, and although I do not agree with much of what I have read, you should see what we are asked to forfeit to give you a new address.”
The Emirati smiled at his host. “Thank you, Mr. President,” said the man who had called them together. “I hope you will find more agreement as I continue.”
In Ashley's classroom down the hall, Jane took notes. The soldiers in the white jackets sat quietly, and Colonel Mitchell stared at the blackboard.
The president moved to the economic plan that Jane had prepared. To irrigate the desert, desalination plants would be constructed on the Mediterranean and pipelines would be connected to water storage facilities. Public works projects for roads, bridges, housing, schools, and hospitals addressed the need for temporary employment,
putting disposable income in the hands of people living at a subsistence level. That would jump start the economies that needed the push. A deep-water harbor would be constructed in southern Gaza to provide access to shipping. The president discussed the need for educating young and old to meet their countries' needs.
“You need to bring your people into this century. We will begin by training your brightest to teach the rest. You will be able to build a middle class and make upward mobility possible.”
“This is a very American plan, Mr. President, quite similar to your Marshall plan,” said the King of Jordan.
“And you know, Your Highness, that the Marshall Plan succeeded in rebuilding all of western Europe,” said the German Prime Minister.
“That is all well and good, but our societal structures are dissimilar and are not addressed.”
“Your Highness, they are integral. I am not proposing changes to your society. I hope you will see the benefits for yourself, but a section further on discusses those issues. They apply not just to Palestine but to the entire region.”
“He's on an island by himself,” said Fritz.
“He's been there a lot, Fritz. He's doing fine. So far, no one has tried to leave.
“What's next?”
“The fun part. Paying for it.”
* * *
HE IS ONE COLD, unfriendly SOB, Margaret Porter thought.
At 7:15, two men entered the hotel lobby. One, in a well-tailored blue pinstripe suit, had the patrician look of a diplomat. His companion, an Asian, stood behind, not moving. The concierge pointed to the express elevator to the roof.
At 7:30, the hotel wait staff arrived on the top floor with carts filled with a variety of hot, aromatic foods. Nakamura was alone except for the two men who had just arrived. More carts arrived, with plates and silverware. The man in the pinstripe suit noted the efficiency and glanced at his watch. Their tasks completed, the hotel staff left.
Nakamura followed the second hand of his watch and then nodded to his first guests. The Asian walked to the stairway exit and held the door. Nakamura's companions, carrying their golf bags, went straight to the roof. The older gentleman followed and stood looking down at the White House. A parade of limousines discharged their passengers and quickly moved away.
Storm Unleashed (Quantum Touch Book 4) Page 13