But T’ing only shook his head. “I’m sure you can answer part of that — and as for the final act in this sequence of events, I must decline to share the details with you. Perhaps some later date.” The window rolled up, T’ing spoke quietly to the driver, and the car pulled away.
“Now, Madam Ambassador,” Brad said firmly, and it was clear from his voice that he would brook no further delays. “I want to get you to a place of safety immediately.” She had a suspicion that whatever T’ing planned to do would accomplish more toward that end than surrounding her with armed guards.
She let Brad’s men sweep her into the building, forming a solid shield of human flesh around her. When they reached the elevators, another group had already secured them, and no one else was allowed on. She crowded in with six of Brad’s men and they went to her floor.
Never had she been so grateful as she was at that moment to walk into her office. The secretarial administrative staff, as well as the two assistants, all had a shocked, stunned look on their faces. They rushed to her immediately.
Brad waved them off. “The ambassador has had a difficult day. Later, please.” With that, he ushered her into her own office and shut the door behind them.
Wexler sat on the couch, leaned back against the armrest, swung her feet up on the couch, and kicked off her heels. She cut her eyes toward Brad, then let them drift closed. “I suppose tea is out of the question.”
For moment, she saw a flash of her old aide, the cheerful, genial, confident man who kept things running so smoothly. Then it disappeared, replaced by the new, harder man. “Of course it’s not out of the question,” he said easily. “I still remember how to make it.”
He left for a few minutes to go make it.
Finally alone, a new weariness came over her. Brad — CIA, FBI, or what? It would have to be resolved, and immediately. How dare they…?
Is this perhaps your own fault? A small voice asked. Is it so wrong to expect some degree of contact with your office? After all, you’re all after the same thing — protecting U.S. interests, right? And you must admit, there were times when assistance from the CIA would have made your job easier. Like with Wells — some hard data on who and what he is would have made the job of figuring out what he was up to much more simple.
Have I been so blind? she wondered. Have I actually damaged national interests in my efforts to keep a wall up between this office and other U.S. agencies? Their methods are distasteful, the goals and objectives inconsistent with what I believe is important in the world. But we all work for the same man — have I been too hard-headed about this?
Brad came back in, bearing her tea service. He poured her a cup, and slid it across the coffee table to her. Without getting up, she picked it up, and took two sips. The warm, faintly orange-scented fluid had an immediately restorative effect. She let it trickle down her throat, then said, “So tell me everything. From the beginning.”
“There’s not much to tell. The contingency plan was—”
She cut him off with a gesture. “Don’t even try. I mean the real story. Who are you — who do you work for?”
“You have my real name,” he began, and for some reason that didn’t reassure her. “Before coming to your office, I was employed by the FBI.”
“That was after the CIA, was it?” she asked. “Or do they have some sort arrangement that allows you to work for both at the same time?”
A longer silence this time, and she could see conflicting emotions warring on Brad’s face. Finally, he said, “There are some things I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, Madame Ambassador, but I simply can’t. They’re mostly things that would endanger programs now in place, or people in particular situations. But what I can tell you, I will.”
Wexler took another sip of tea, buying herself some time. Exactly how much did she want to know? How much did she need to know? She had already decided that it was partially her fault that the CIA had been pushed to these measures, but she wasn’t going to tell Brad that. No, whatever her sins had been, the agencies’ had been worse.
“Tell me what you can… I’ll decide if it’s enough.”
“For starters, I’ll answer your first question Yes. I have at some point been employed by the CIA. I still have many contacts there, but I don’t report to them anymore. The FBI is my only other master. And as to why — well, I think you can figure that out.” He leaned forward, his voice intent. “Domestic terrorism is becoming an increasingly critical problem. The lines between CIA and FBI responsibilities are more blurred than they have ever been before. And I suspect the boundaries between diplomatic and intelligence office functions are going that way as well.” He splayed his hands in a placating gesture. “I wanted to work for you — I asked to be allowed to apply here. My request was granted. And although you haven’t asked, I’ll tell you that I have tried to do my best for you, and this hasn’t been a comfortable dichotomy for me. But I believe in what I’ve been doing — I want you to know that.”
“And what do we do when my wishes conflict with the FBI’s?” she asked softly. “What have you told them?”
“I have told them what they needed to know in order to do their job. No more.” There was a trace of steel in his voice now that matched her own. “I regret that it has come to this, but I’m profoundly grateful that my connections with the FBI — and yes, those were FBI agents supplementing the UN security force — have kept you safe. I only wish I’d sent more men immediately to the restaurant.”
She shook her head, tired of it all. The job at the Red Cross was looking more appealing by the minute. “We can’t continue like this,” she said slowly. “I should be very sad to lose you, Brad. But I must know that your sole and complete loyalty is to me — to this office.”
“I understand.” He stood, and made as if to leave. She ignored him. “For that reason, I shall require an immediate meeting between the three of us — you, me, and the head of the FBI. If you’re both agreeable, we’ll hammer out a working arrangement. I will insist that he sign documents indicating that my wishes take preference over his.” Seeing his look of protest, she continued, “But I shall also make every effort to develop a close professional working relationship with them. Keep in mind that I do not agree with your assumption that the lines between diplomacy and intelligence are quite so vague. Indeed, I feel it is our obligation to maintain those boundaries. How are our allies and the unaligned nations to deal with us if they suspect that every casual conversation goes immediately into intelligence files?”
“Every other nation operates in that fashion,” he said quietly. “It is the American naivete — and most of them find it very foolish — this dream that men and women of goodwill can find solutions to the world’s problems in an aboveboard and honest fashion. You will not find that feeling shared anywhere else.”
“I serve the president,” she said. “Of course I shall discuss this with him — he knows about it, doesn’t he?” she asked with a sudden flash of insight.
Of course he does. He had to have known — known and approved the arrangement. She felt a wave of disappointment that he felt that was necessary, that he could not have come to her directly. “Don’t answer that — I’ll asked the president myself.”
“The question is, do you wish to continue as my aide? And,” she said, “with a collateral duty as my liaison to the intelligence community.”
“How can you doubt that I would want to stay? It’s taken me years to learn how to brew tea properly — I’m not about to teach someone else how to do it. Besides, it’s not such a transferable skill within the intelligence community — there’s very little call for it.”
“Well, then.” She moved her feet down to the floor, suddenly feeling refreshed. “The question is what do we do now. So tell me — who was behind this afternoon?”
“As near as we can tell, it was Iran,” he said immediately. “Our sources inside the country — and no, I can’t tell you anything about them — indicate that the government is becoming
increasingly uncomfortable with having to deal with a woman. They made this point forcefully to the president two weeks ago, and his reaction was about what you’d expect: He rebuffed them completely. Since then, agitators have been stirring things up, calling you, and I quote, an abomination. I’m certain that the government itself will take the same stance on this that they did on the attack on the cruiser if the connection is ever revealed. ‘A violent separatist group, not acting on behalf of the government,’ they’ll say. How much we believe of that is up to us.”
“There’s more, isn’t there?” she asked. He nodded.
“They are especially uneasy because of your relationship with the Chinese ambassador. Inside Iran, within the inner circles, they make jokes about it. Obscene jokes. And yet they are concerned that this signifies a plot between the U.S. and China to force additional economic measures on the Middle East. And they’re not the only ones.” Seeing her look of surprise, he shrugged. “You wouldn’t expect it, but the British are concerned as well. For decades China was her own private preserve, and they have never really gotten over the dissolution of the British Empire.”
“Ambassador Wells?” she asked.
He nodded. “His roots go back decades in China, for generations of his family. It was thought that if anyone could glean insights into your relationship with T’ing, as well as perhaps sabotage it, he would be the one. In fact, at one time, it was suggested that he attempt to replace the Chinese ambassador in your affections.” Seeing her look, he had the decency to blush. He held up one hand in protest. “Don’t shoot the messenger — I’m just telling you what I know.”
Sarah Wexler laughed out loud. “They told the British ambassador to seduce me?”
“In so many words.”
She leaned forward, too amused by the idea to be angry. “Oh, this is just too delicious. Please tell me how he was to accomplish this.” And as Brad continued his story, she felt her spirits growing increasingly light. She had never known that intelligence work could be quite so much fun.
Wexler saw Wells when she was still forty feet away from him. Accompanied by her security man on one side and Brad on the other, she moved quickly to catch up with him.
“Ambassador Wells,” she called out, her voice high and girlish. “Please, wait up.”
The British ambassador turn to face her and she saw a puzzled look on his face, replaced immediately by warm smile. “Why, Ambassador Wexler. How pleasant to see you.”
She hurried up to him and caught his elbow. “I was wondering if you might be free for dinner this evening — in the executive dining room, of course. It’s so much more secure, isn’t it?”
“Of course, of course. I must say, my dear woman, we were all terribly horrified by your adventure yesterday. That a member of the diplomatic corps should be subjected to such things… well, it simply boggles the imagination, does it not?”
“It certainly does,” she agreed. “A simply horrifying experience, I assure you. But it’s over now, and I have decided to follow your example,” she said, cutting her eyes toward Brad and the security man. “So intrusive, but the things we do for our nations… Of course, you would know more about that than I would.”
She felt him stiffen slightly. “Of course, there are certain sacrifices that must be made,” he agreed. “But you seem to have something specific in mind, madam.”
Wexler laughed. “Oh, come now, my friend. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I must say, I’m flattered, and indeed, I was tempted to simply say nothing and see how matters progressed.” She leaned toward him until her chest brushed against his arm, her voice low, “The rumors I hear about you are simply astounding. In this country, we’d call you a stud. Actually, I was rather looking forward to—”
Ambassador Wells pulled away. “Madam! I certainly don’t know what has gotten into you today.”
She sniggered. “The question is what hasn’t gotten into me, I suspect.” She smiled, and ran her tongue over her lips in a deliberately erotic manner. Brad and her security guard pretended not notice, but she could see the ambassador’s men were just as stunned as he was. “As you said, the sacrifices one makes for one’s nation.”
The British ambassador turned a brilliant shade of red. He drew himself up to his full height, and threw a foul glance at Brad. Did everyone in the world know more about her aide than she did?
Suddenly, Wexler dropped all pretext. “Get rid of your people for a few moments, Wells. We’re safe here — they can go play patty-cake with mine for all I care.” There was a note of tempered steel in her voice as well as in the glare she leveled at him.
Drawing on some inner resource, the British ambassador composed himself, as British aristocracy had been able to do for centuries. He made a short, dismissive gesture with his hand, and his men drew back. “Now. Exactly what is this about?” All traces of the bumbling fool were gone, and she faced a man who had the blood of kings and queens running in his veins.
But her ancestors were just as illustrious, if for decidedly different reasons. They had fought their way up as immigrants, learning a new language with a new way of life in America, and building astounding lives in their adopted homeland. Just two generations ago, graduating from high school had been considered a major achievement.
And now, standing on the progress they’d made, Sarah Wexler walked these halls as though she owned them — which in fact, she did. So she met him on an equal footing, as fully confident of her background and heritage as he was.
“We both know what I’m talking about,” she said. “So let’s dropped all the nonsense, Wells. America and Britain stand together against the rest of the world. A small part of that relationship is built here — but not all of it. We go back centuries, sir. We have so much in common, a common view of the world — there is a strength to our alliance that is like no other. Even the Middle Eastern nations, which have so much in common, cannot rival the bond we have managed to forge across the oceans. So I ask you now — can we put aside the nonsense that has gone before and begin again? Because the issues that face us are far too serious for these games we play.”
He considered her for a moment, as though deciding who she really was. Finally, he held that his hand. “Very well, Madam Ambassador. Without admitting culpability in any acts that sparked your… errr… rather remarkable performance just now, I apologize for what has gone before. Yes, we shall begin anew, starting right this moment.”
She took his hand and exerted firm pressure as she shook it. A smile crossed her face. “And I was serious about dinner,” she said. “Because there is something I desperately need to talk over with you, something I will need your help with. But I simply cannot abide the stuffy environment here one second longer. So how do you feel about pastrami sandwiches?”
THIRTY-ONE
United Nations
New York
Saturday, May 8
1000 local (GMT –5)
Ambassador Wexler stood, glanced around the room, and met the gaze of Ambassador Wells. She nodded slightly. Everything would go as they discussed, no surprises. With a deep breath, she asked for recognition from the Secretary General.
“Mr. Secretary General, members of the assembly, Thank you for attending this weekend session. My aides are passing out briefing sheets to you as I speak, and I believe you will see the necessity for extending our work week. In the folders, you’ll find full and complete documentation of the charges I am bringing today. I hope to answer any questions you may have in the short address.
“Most of you have heard of the events of the previous days, of the unexpected adventure that the ambassador from China and I were subjected to. The perpetrators of the attacks have not yet been caught—” A slight lie, she realized, as she suspected that T’ing had taken care of them. “—but we have hopes that they soon will be. In any event, I level this charge now — the country of Iran is behind everything that has happened, both to me personally and to America’s military forces. I ask for immedia
te sanctions from the assembly, as well as a resolution condemning this. We expect reparations, both compensatory and punitive. And finally, we wish the leaders of Iran to understand that this is not how civilized nations conduct business. The despicable treatment of women inside your own borders is abhorrent to civilized nations. But when you attempt the political assassination of a diplomatic representative simply on the basis of gender, you have gone too far.”
She paused for a moment, and let the angry rumble in the assembly build. “You will apologize, on behalf of your country for this manner. Publicly and fully, accepting complete responsibility for both the attempted assassination and the attack on our forces. Or I shall promise you, sir,” she continued, stabbing one finger in the direction of the ambassador from Iran, “that your country will experience immediate and irrevocable consequences. Yes, we know what is behind the recent maneuvers. Let me assure you that the American battle group you intended to trap in international waters is no longer held captive. She remains in the Gulf under the president’s orders, acting on authority of a resolution from this very body, and she is poised to inflict a damaging surgical strike on key military installations.”
Wexler stopped, took a sip of water and for a brief, irrelevant moment wished that it were orange oolong tea. What she was about to say went against every fiber of her being, but there was no backing down now. “I’ve been given to understand that you station civilian women and children at key military installations for the very purpose of deterring retaliation. We cannot tell you how despicable this is, but the fact remains that should harm befall them, their blood will be on your hands. A country must care for her own individual citizens — that you have elected to use your citizens in this fashion does nothing but bring scorn from the international community down on you. And if you believe the sanctions you’ve experienced in the last five years have worked a hardship upon you, let me promise you that is nothing compared to what is to come. Now apologize, or face the consequences.”
The Art of War c-17 Page 21