“I’m going to make the last scheduled appearance here in San Francisco, but right after that we’ll be off,” Hershel said. “I figure in about three hours. What do you say?” Martindale hesitated. “I’m sure Miss Meiling will be busy, but I think she’d enjoy your company.”
He could think of a dozen things he had on his schedule that couldn’t be missed, and with no prep and no real agenda, the trip would likely be a total flop. There wasn’t even a guarantee that Hershel would be allowed to meet with any of the principals involved. But the opportunity to get a glimpse of the inner workings of Thorn’s foreign-policy team in action couldn’t be missed either. And, naturally, the happy thought of spending some time with Isadora Meiling sealed the deal. “Of course, Miss Deputy Secretary. I’d be happy to accompany you.”
“Good. I’ll tell her you’ll be accompanying us. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”
“I do have one question,” Martindale said.
“Fire away.”
“What are your rules about disclosing conversations discussed during the trip?”
“You mean are we going to allow you to talk to the press about what you see and hear on this trip?”
Martindale said nothing, but Hershel knew his silence meant yes.
“President Thorn believes in completely open and honest disclosure with all American citizens, even potential political adversaries. We may exclude you from some discussions, but if you see or hear anything, you’re free to discuss it or mention it to anyone you choose.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the president’s position.” I would never allow the same, he thought, but if Thorn wanted to deal his cards faceup like this, all the better. “At the same time I assume that the president will make as much political hay as he can about my participation in this trip.”
“I suppose it’s possible — to the extent that the president makes any political hay at all,” Hershel said. “But who knows? Maybe you’ll see something in this administration that appeals to you, and we can convince you to support the president’s reelection campaign?”
“If the president wanted my help, he could have asked me.”
“The president doesn’t often ask for help, especially from those he considers political rivals,” Hershel said. “Perhaps he was wrong in this case?”
“It sounds as if you’re heading up Thorn’s reelection campaign, Maureen.”
“If the president asked me to do so, I’d be honored.” Hershel smiled and nodded. “Very good. I’ll leave you to head back and get ready for the trip. A car will pick you up.” She shook hands with him. “I think this will be an educational journey for both of us.”
He shook her hand and then, as they were heading for the door of her hotel suite, asked, “Miss Hershel, Turkmenistan is a… rather dangerous place right now. Do you think it’s wise to be going there at this time?”
“I suppose if we go and we come back safe, folks will say it was a successful and worthwhile trip — and if we get hurt or killed, they’ll say it was a stupid move,” she replied. She shrugged. “I can’t really answer that question, Kevin. I know we have work to do out there, and I think at this stage in the game, a personal visit is warranted. I guess we can’t always go on diplomatic missions like this only when it’s safe, can we?” She shook his hand again. “It’ll be fine, Kevin. I’ll see you on the plane.” She hurried off, leaving him alone in stunned silence.
What in hell did I just get myself into? he thought grimly.
“Pompous ass,” Maureen Hershel said to Isadora Meiling as she returned to her makeshift office in an adjacent room. “Still, I have to give the bastard credit. He agreed to go on the trip, even though he knows how dangerous it is.”
“I’m wondering if you fully understand how dangerous it is, ma’am,” Meiling said. She held up a red-covered folder marked classified. “Latest intelligence reports state that Russian transports are arriving in the capital, offloading a lot of Russian officers and communications equipment. CIA speculates the Russians are putting together a wartime command infrastructure. And there’s something about Iranian troops moving toward the borders, maybe preparing for some kind of military action.”
“Izzy, I let myself get sucked into this. It’s too late to back down now,” Hershel said.
“You most certainly do have options — starting with canceling this trip. Deep down inside, Martindale will be breathing a sigh of relief if you cancel. Then he won’t be putting his tight ass on the line.”
“But then he’ll be publicly slamming me for backing down in the face of the war threat and not doing enough to stabilize the situation,” Hershel said. “I have to go.”
“Please bring along some security,” Meiling said. “At least a couple platoons of Marines, in addition to the security staff at the embassy. We’ll request the reinforcements right away.”
Hershel thought for a moment, then smiled. “No. I’ve got a better idea. Get General McLanahan at Battle Mountain Air Reserve Base on the line for me. Tell him I need some security support right away.”
“Battle Mountain is an Air Reserve base. They don’t have troops stationed there. You mean Quantico or Cherry Point—”
“No. McLanahan has the forces I want,” Hershel said. “And he won’t need another logistics flight to move them, either. He’ll have them ready and waiting for us in Washington by the time we get back, you’ll see. We’ll need diplomatic credentials for them. Make sure they have those ready for us.”
“That’ll take time. Turkmenistan doesn’t process those kinds of requests quickly — no one in Central Asia does.”
“But I predict Mr. Martindale won’t have any difficulty getting a visa,” Hershel mused. “Credential McLanahan’s people as embassy security personnel.”
“That’ll use up our only allotted short-notice personnel-changeover slot for this year.” To help prevent introducing spies into their countries and to help the nation’s internal security apparatus to track foreigners, Turkmenistan, like many other countries, allowed embassy security personnel to change only once per year if there was less than thirty days’ notice.
“That can’t be helped,” Hershel said. “I don’t think Turkmenistan will be a very friendly place in the near future anyway. We might end up pulling everyone out soon. And if we can ultimately help that country, they’ll agree to give us all the personnel we want.”
“You’re going to take a supplemental security force to Turkmenistan on board your own plane? That’s impossible. An embassy-reinforcement team usually deploys in a separate C-141 or C-17….”
“They’ll come in our plane,” Hershel said with a smile, “and they’ll look like the rest of us — until they get inside the embassy. Get Patrick — I mean General McLanahan — on the line for me right now.”
“ ‘Patrick,’ huh?” Izzy Meiling asked with a mischievous smile as she used a secure telephone to dial the communications center at the federal building in San Francisco. “Someone out there in Nevada made an impression on you, I see.”
“He’s definitely off-limits until I can find out what’s happened to him over the past few months — something very tragic and horrible,” Maureen said. “The guy might have scar tissue in place of his heart, and that’s the last thing I need in my life.”
“But you care enough to find out?”
“I want him to tell me what’s happened, not some Pentagon intelligence wonk,” Maureen said. “But… yes, I think he’s worth pursuing. Anyone who can stand up to the president of the United States when he’s on the warpath has got some nerves of steel.”
“Not to mention a big pair of you-know-whats,” Izzy said.