The chief executive officer was presenting an overview of the group's recent investment in a diamond mine near Yellowknife when the door opened and a woman entered.
She was blond, very attractive, dressed in a business suit whose lapel bore a Secret Service badge denoting to the dozen or so agents outside that she was cleared to be in this august company.
The CEO looked at the woman with surprise. Waldorf board meetings were not usually interrupted. His mouth remained open, he turned somewhat nervously to a man in his sixties silting against the wall of the boardroom. This man looked at the woman. He stood, smiled and said. "Well. Florence, hello."
"Hello, Sam." she said.
"No need for introductions," Uncle Sam said.
The twelve men sitting around the table looked at Florence. The three ex-presidents smiled warmly, but then they had the most refined political instincts of those present. The former cabinet secretaries did not smile; the former intelligence directors frowned.
"Can we talk later?" Uncle Sam said. "We're having a meeting."
"No," Florence said, "we'll talk now."
"I really don't think—"
A door at the opposite end of the room opened, admitting a well-built man of steely aspect, he, too, wore a Secret Service lapel badge. He stood there, hands crossed over his chest, jaw set, staring at Uncle Sam.
"Hello. Bobby," Uncle Sam said. "Well, I guess everyone's here."
Florence said, "So, all along, I was working for a bunch of investment bankers?"
One of the ex-presidents said in a kindly, gentle voice, "One way or the other. Florence, we're all working for investment bankers."
"This group." she said, "got started with financing from Wasabia. Profits last year of eight hundred million dollars. Divided by twelve makes sixty-six million. You've been very successful, gentlemen. But the success depends on steady financing from your friends in Wasabia.
"Then the Wasabis start to have internal problems. Terrorism, too much power concentrated in too few people. Forty thousand crown princes. Vast unemployment and half the country under the age of sixteen. And if the kingdom crumbles and becomes an Islamic fundamentalist republic, there goes your financing. So, you want the kingdom to modernize, to reform. Not a bad goal in and of itself.
"Only they won't reform. They can't, because the power's concentrated, and because the royal family struck a deal with a fanatical religious sect hundreds of years ago. The royals got the power, and the fanatics got to keep things the way they were back in the good old Dark Ages.
"They need to reform, but they can't reform. And what leverage, really, do you have? There's only so much pressure you can put on them. Because one of your partners is Prince Bawad, ambassador to the United States. An old golfing, skiing, shooting pal of two thirds of the people around this table. And, if I may say, one of the most despicable human beings on the planet. But let's not allow emotions in. Women are so prone to doing that, aren't they?
"And then one day Bawad's wife tries to defect. We, of course, hand her back, because nothing must interfere with the flow of oil and investment capital. She's executed. And in the process, I become involved. I send in my proposal and cause a major freak-out at the State Department
"And now you have a means of forcing reform on the Wasabis. All you have to do is push a few buttons, pull a few strings. Among the twelve of you, you've got a Rolodex bigger than God's. And here's the amazing part—it's actually all for a good cause. That doesn't happen very often in Washington, does it? Two good causes—women's rights. Waldorf profits."
"Florence," said one of the ex-presidents, "I think I speak for everyone here when 1 say that you did a marvelous job over there."
A murmur went around the table: "Hear, hear."
"I think I also speak for everyone here. Florence, when I say that we would much like you to come aboard."
"Hear, hear." Even the ex-intelligence directors were smiling now. Bobby, on the other hand, looked like he was about to reach into his jacket and take out his pistol and make history. What a headline that would be.
She said to him. "We're done here." Florence and Bobby moved toward the door.
"If you change your minds." Uncle Sam said, "you know where to find us. And we know where to find you."
20 October 2003 - 19 May* 2004 San Luis Obispo; Washington, D.C.
* Death of T. E. Lawrence, 1935
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A thousand and one thanks once again to Mr. Karp and to Binky Urban; and a thousand and two thanks to the delightful and mysterious T. Freifrau von G. Thanks also to: dear, dear Lucy; Tomas Salley: John Tierney; Eric Fellen; Bill Hughes; Dr. Close; His Eminence Cullen Cardinal Murphy. Background-wise: Bob Baer; David Fromkin: Fetema Mernissi: Sandra Mackey: Sir Richard (F.) Burton. Inspiration-wise: Paul. Mark and Brooke, splendid Americans all in an unsplendid world. Finally, respect and homage to Fern Holland, a real-life Florence of Arabia, assassinated in Iraq. March 9.2004. age thirty-three.
ALLAH YEHALEEHUM. UHTEE
ALLAH HUMMA YESKOONHA FASEEH JEENAANOO.
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Florence of Arabia Page 26