Edge of Honor

by Richard Herman

  Pontowski remembered the boys’ reaction at the soccer game when Zeth drilled the other cadet with a well-placed kick. “Does this have anything to do with her nailing that cadet in the soccer game?”

  “He was the ringleader,” Sanford answered. “She’s a pretty gutsy girl.”

  “Indeed she is.” Pontowski thought for a moment. “Is my son in any real danger because he’s Brian’s roommate?”

  “We don’t think so,” Sanford answered.

  “Then why am I worried?” Pontowski said.

  “Maybe you should talk to the president about it.” Pontowski gave a little nod and said he would do that. That will be an interesting conversation, Sanford thought.

  Maura O’Keith made the introductions and studied her daughter’s face as she shook hands with Pontowski. She listened as they made small talk about the boys who were still out riding with Zeth. “Sarah,” Maura said, “scat. We need to have a private conversation.”

  “You’re going to talk about Brian,” Sarah said. “Why can’t I stay and defend him?”

  Maddy laughed. “Beat it, Little Miss Jurisprudence.” Sarah flounced out of the room in a huff. “Maura tells me you’re worried about Brian and your son being roommates,” Maddy said.

  “Somewhat,” Pontowski replied. They fell into a relaxed discussion about the hazing incident and he was surprised how easy it was to talk to her. She seemed more like a mother than the president of the United States. He had always thought of her as being bigger. Then it hit him. Hard. Up close and personal, Maddy Turner was a captivating woman, far exceeding her public image. And he liked the way she turned her head to look at him.

  “I can have the Secret Service take a more active role. It won’t happen again.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. Zeth nipped it in the bud before it got started. If we pursue it, General McMasters will have to dismiss the ringleaders. The cadets will see that as punishment for something that didn’t really happen and that will create a backlash in the Corps. I’m not so sure we want that. Little Matt hasn’t mentioned it and he’s on top of the world right now. So no harm, no foul. Besides, Zeth may have solved the problem and that’s what leadership is all about.” He gave Maddy his best lopsided grin. “You should have seen her deck the ringleader in the soccer game.”

  They talked for a few more minutes then Maddy had to end it, pleading the press of other business. Pontowski stood and again, they shook hands. Maura concentrated on her daughter’s face as he left. “Well?” Maura asked.

  “I’m going to make Agent Sanford the lead agent at NMMI and tell him to keep an eye on his son.”

  “Not that,” Maura said. “Him.”

  “Whatever are you talking about, Mother?”

  The boys trailed along with the presidential party as they toured the Amadis Escalante Museum for the Arts prior to the dedication ceremony on Saturday morning. “Hey, Maggot,” Brian muttered, “we gotta get out of here.”

  “With the Trog on duty?” Little Matt replied. “Give it up.” The mention of Zeth was enough to kill any thought of escaping and they hurried to catch up. The dedication ceremony was well organized and only lasted forty minutes for which they were thankful. The discipline of NMMI paid off and the boys had no trouble playing their assigned roles in front of the TV cameras covering the event. Afterward, they marked time at the reception and plotted what they would do at the ranch.

  “Where’s the Trog?” Brian wondered.

  They roamed the room until they found her with Pontowski. When Little Matt saw the woman with them, he started to hurry. Then he stopped and straightened his uniform. “How do I look?” he asked.

  “Locked up,” Brian told him. “What’s the big deal?”

  Little Matt didn’t answer as he marched purposefully toward his father and Samantha Darnell. “Hello, Sam,” he said. Then he was in her arms, no longer the well-turned-out cadet but a fourteen-year-old boy, safe with a woman who loved him.

  Sam held him at arm’s length and took him in. “You’ve changed,” she announced. “You’re not Little Matt anymore.” Matthew Pontowski IV, drew himself up and returned her smile. It was true, he was no longer Little Matt.

  “I call him Maggot,” Brian said, eager to join the conversation.

  Sam laughed. “What a terrible nickname.”

  “I don’t mind,” Matt said. “It seems to fit.”

  Sam extended her hand to Brian. “I’ve heard all about you. I’m Sam Damell.”

  Brian fell back on his training as a cadet and shook hands with her. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” He wanted to say something witty, but words escaped him.

  Across the room, Maddy spoke to Maura and Dennis. “Who’s the woman with Brian and General Pontowski?”

  “She is stunning,” Maura said.

  “That would be Samantha Darnell,” Dennis said. “She’s a director with CNC-TV and is here covering the dedication. At one time she was, you might say, the significant other in General Pontowski’s life. But they’ve been separated for some time now.”

  “Oh, I see.” Maddy turned to meet more local dignitaries.

  Sarah tugged at her grandmother’s hand. “What’s the matter with Mom?”

  “Nothing, Little Miss Nosy.”

  “Why am I always Little Miss this or that?”

  “Because you’re growing up too fast.”

  Maura O’Keith was coming out of the ladies’ room when she saw Zeth watching TV in the museum’s visitors’ lounge. The sound of a reporter’s voice carried across the small room describing the dedication ceremony. TV coverage was so much a part of Maura’s life that, normally, she paid it no attention. But judging by Zeth’s reaction, something was wrong. She sat down beside the girl and watched the news clip. It was good coverage and Maddy was at her best. But Zeth was clearly upset. “Did I miss something?” Maura asked.

  Zeth shook her head, on the verge of tears. “I saw myself on TV. I am a trog.”

  Maura examined the girl’s face and turned her chin from side to side, examining her hair. She loosened Zeth’s French braid and let her hair fall. “Is a trog some new word or just how you feel about yourself?” Zeth didn’t answer. “Stand up. Let me look at you.” Zeth did as she ordered. “Yes,” Maura murmured, examining her uniform and lack of makeup. Then, “Would you like to go shopping with me this afternoon?”

  “I don’t have any money,” Zeth answered.

  “Not to worry,” Maura answered. “Do you mind if Sarah comes along?”

  Brian and Matt were wearing blue blazers and dark gray trousers for the dinner that culminated Saturday’s activities. Since it was a political fund-raiser where the guests paid $500 a plate for the privilege of eating with the president, they were not in uniform. “Hey, Maggot,” Brian asked, “where’s the Trog? I haven’t seen her since lunch.”

  “I think she went shopping with your grandmother and Sarah,” Matt replied. They wandered outside to wait for everyone to gather for the trip to the Ruidoso Downs Jockey Club where the dinner would be held.

  Pontowski joined them, also wearing a blue blazer and gray slacks. “It looks like we all have the same uniform,” he said. “Wow,” he muttered, looking over their heads. The boys turned and were speechless. Zeth stood in the doorway. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders and shimmered in the soft light. Maura had applied a light makeup so skillfully that it blended perfectly with her smooth complexion and gave her a radiant glow. She was wearing a simple dress with spaghetti straps and full skirt that ended just above her knees. A white shawl was draped over her bare shoulders.

  “Trog?” Brian and Matt said in unison, not believing what they were seeing.

  “If you snooze, you loose,” Pontowski murmured. He stepped around the boys and extended an arm. “May I?” She took his arm and he escorted her down the walk to the waiting cars.

  The boys were still in a confused state when they returned from dinner at the Jockey Club. They had been pushed aside as every young man, and
a few not so young, clustered around Zeth at the reception. One young man, a tall cadet from the Air Force Academy, had talked to the boys and quizzed them about her. Then, using his inside knowledge, he moved in. Within a very short time, he had totally captured her attention. She was still glowing from all the attention when she joined them. “Okay, wussies,” she said, deciding to let them back into her good graces. “It’s poker time. I’ll find some cards and chips. Meet me in the kitchen.”

  “I don’t know how to play poker,” Matt protested.

  “It’s about time you learned,” Pontowski said.

  “Great,” Brian moaned. “Now she’s a card shark.”

  “Can I play too?” Sarah asked.

  “Until your bedtime,” Maura replied, checking her watch. She stood up. “I’ll keep things under control.” She walked after the kids, leaving Pontowski and Maddy alone.

  Pontowski settled into a leather easy chair near the fire. “Is it like this every day?” he asked. Maddy gave a little laugh, low and musical, and sank into the chair next to him. She kicked off her shoes and stretched her legs to the fire.

  “This was an easy one,” she replied. “Probably because it was something I wanted to do.” She turned to look at him and as before, the way she did it captured him. “I was fifteen when I met Amadis,” she explained. She looked into the fire and remembered. “She had painted a portrait of an old woman. I thought the model had to be at least eighty years old. Amadis said she was only forty-seven. Can you believe that? I’m forty-seven now. That painting really touched me.”

  “I think,” Pontowski said very slowly, “that it’s hanging in my room.”

  “It can’t be.”

  “It’s an easy thing to check.” Without a word, Maddy stood and, without bothering to put on her shoes, they walked into the cool night air.

  A Secret Service Agent standing post in the garden spoke into the whisper microphone under the cuff of his black windbreaker. “Magic is moving.” Inside the temporary command post, a light flashed on a control panel, tracing Turner’s path as she moved down the garden. Once she and Pontowski were out of earshot, the agent filled in the details. “Magic is with Pontowski and heading in the direction of his room. She’s not wearing shoes.”

  One of the agents on duty in the command post studied the control panel. “Is our commander in chief fraternizing with one of the troops?” he asked, deadpan.

  “Don’t go there,” Chuck Sanford ordered.

  “I love desert nights,” Maddy said as they approached his room. He held the door open and turned on the light. A fire had been built in the fireplace and the room was too warm. He left the door open. She stood in front of the mantel and gazed at the portrait. “That’s it,” she said. “But I don’t remember it being so small.”

  “When you’re young,” Pontowski said, “emotions make things bigger.” He stood beside her, almost touching. On impulse he stepped up to the fireplace and took the painting down, bringing it back to her. “It is small,” he said.

  She held the painting and stroked the canvas. “Her brush strokes were so delicate.” She handed it back to him.

  “There’s something taped to the back,” Pontowski said. He turned the painting around for her to see. “I think this is for you,” he said, peeling off an envelope. Bold lettering was scrawled across the face.

  FOR MADDY TURNER

  Turner carefully broke the seal and pulled out a card. On one side was a bill of sale made out to her. She turned it over.

  ALWAYS LISTEN WITH YOUR HEART

  AMADIS ESCALANTE

  “The date,” Maddy said. “It’s when I was fifteen.” She looked at Pontowski. “She knew, even then, she knew.”

  Pontowski examined the card and the envelope. “Look at the date on the envelope. It’s the day before you were sworn in as vice president.”

  “Why did she backdate the bill of sale?”

  “I think,” Pontowski said slowly, “she’s telling you she remembers and she wants you to have the painting. By backdating the bill of sale to before you were vice president, you don’t have to turn it over to the Smithsonian or the Treasury Department.”

  “I can’t keep it.” Then his words struck home. “You said ‘she’s telling you she remembers’ like she’s still alive.”

  Pontowski handed her the painting. “She is. In this.” Their hands touched and for a reason he did not comprehend, he leaned forward and kissed her. It was a light kiss, little more than a brushing of lips. But for a moment they lingered. “Oh,” she whispered. Then she kissed him back, this time much longer. “I need to get back and tuck Sarah in,” she finally said, drawing away and smiling at him. He had seen her smile many times on TV but this was different. She glowed with a radiance no camera could capture and it was meant for him alone. It captured him and yet, he was lost.

  Pontowski followed her out of the room, turning off the light but leaving the door open. Another Secret Service Agent dutifully reported her movement to the command post.

  Sunday’s breakfast was a family affair. Sarah was bright and cheery while the boys and Zeth were still half sleep from their late-night poker session. Maura was on her second cup of coffee and finally coming alert. Maddy sat at one corner of the table, elbows resting on a dinner mat while her hands cupped a steaming mug of coffee. Pontowski was sitting at the far corner and occasionally, he would glance at her. Their eyes met twice and a little smile played at the corner of her lips. “Well,” she finally said, “I’m going for a ride. Who’s coming?”

  Matt groaned loudly, claiming he wanted to sack out and Brian said he was going to “shoot some hoops.” Sarah glanced around the table. “I’ve got homework. Zeth and General Pontowski can go.” She gave Zeth a meaningful look.

  Zeth understood. “I’ve got homework, too,” she said. “We can do it together, if you want.” That decided it and Pontowski stood up, waiting for Maddy. He followed her outside.

  “We need to talk,” Maura said before the boys could escape. She walked to the door leading into the kitchen and called. “Dennis, we need you.”

  Maddy’s personal assistant joined them and sat down in a chair. He folded his hands in front of him on the table and spoke in a smooth and quiet voice. “As you know, everything President Turner does is news and she may be photographed riding with General Pontowski. The media will try to blow it up into some big romance because they were seen alone.”

  “Big deal,” Brian snorted. “They’re not alone. What about the Secret Service? They’ll be with them.”

  “I assure you,” Dennis insisted, “the Secret Service won’t be in the photo. The reason I’m bringing this up is to warn you that you might be asked questions by reporters or people who will sell what you say to the newspapers or the tabloids.”

  “So what should we say?” This from Matt.

  “The truth,” Dennis said. “But don’t embellish it, don’t make anything out of it. General Pontowski was here as your chaperon and they went for a horseback ride. That’s all there is.”

  “That’s the truth,” Matt said.

  “Yeah,” Brian added. “They’re hardly talking and I don’t think they even like each other.”

  PART TWO

  TEN

  Saint Petersburg, Russia

  Vashin was pleased. The banquet room in the Hermitage shimmered with the elegance and grandeur of czarist Russia. The champagne and caviar were the best the world could produce and even an acknowledged wine connoisseur representing a consortium of French banks raved over the vintage wine flowing freely. The chefs flown in for the event had outdone themselves. The dinner was a triumph. Not that he was surprised, not after the dream.

  It was still crystal clear. He was floating in clouds and suddenly, there was a break in the weather. Below him was Saint Petersburg and the Hermitage. When he mentioned the dream to Geraldine, she turned very serious and told him not to ignore it. It had to mean something. Men like Vashin had dreams for a reason. He believed her and move
d the dinner to the Hermitage.

  But without doubt, Geraldine was the star of the evening. Vashin had never seen this side of her, confident and regal, the perfect hostess to charm the fourteen bankers who had accepted his invitation to come to Russia. Half of the bankers wanted to sleep with her and the American from Chicago wanted to marry her. For a moment, Vashin considered that possibility for himself. But just as quickly, he rejected it. Better to keep his wife and maintain the image of a responsible husband and father of four children.

  Geraldine herded the bankers into the czar’s study for cigars and cognac. It was the final act. Vashin had studied the dossiers and ranked them in terms of resistance. The Swiss banker would be the hardest to convince, the Chinese the easiest. But if Geraldine was right, every one of these men could be bought. It was simply a matter of approaching them in the right way. He followed her into the smaller, and much more intimate study and stood by the fireplace. He waited for the men to become comfortable. If all other inducements failed, there were the gifts.

  He started to speak in Russian as Geraldine translated into English, a language the bankers understood. He was certain the message behind his words was equally as clear. “Again, thank you for coming.” Each had been flown in separately on a private jet that catered to the rich and famous. “I hope you have enjoyed your visit.” Geraldine had been meticulous in pandering to their individual interests and needs. “But all good things must come to an end.” It was time to talk business.

  The carrot came first. “As you know, my country is reaching out to the world in new endeavors.” The Russian Mafiya was dominating the drug trade. “Fortunately, we are achieving some success.” The money was flowing in obscene amounts. “Now, we must direct the fruits of our labor into new investments.” We need to launder the money. “But this is beyond our field of expertise.” We want you to do it for us. “What we need are men of your stature and business acumen to guide us through the intricacies of investment opportunities in your countries.” Can you bribe the politicians? “Together, we can all benefit in this combined endeavor and we are most generous in rewarding our friends and allies.” You’re in for a hefty percentage if you come on board.