“We are never at peace,” the Pole answered.
THREE
Dennis, Madeline Turner’s personal assistant, stood in front of her desk in the Oval Office, his hands clasped in front of him as they went over her daily schedule in detail. Richard Parrish, her chief of staff, sat on a couch making notes. “Dennis,” Turner said, “for God’s sake, at least look like you’re taking notes. It makes me more comfortable.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dennis replied. He turned to business, not the least chastened. “Mr. Serick and Mrs. Hazelton are first on the agenda and waiting outside.”
“Richard, do you have anything before we get started?” Turner asked. Parrish stood and handed her a memo on Serick’s meeting with von Lubeck while Dennis ushered in Serick and Mazie. Dennis closed the door behind them and left. Turner could read more than 1,200 words a minute with close to 100 percent comprehension and, by the time they had sat down, she had read and digested the memo. “I hope you had a nice holiday,” she said, welcoming them back from the Labor Day break.
“We were at Kennebunkport with Went’s mother,” Mazie replied. Mazie’s husband, Wentworth Hazelton, was a scion of the Hazelton family who moved in rarefied social and political climates. But more important, his mother was Elizabeth Martha Hazelton, better known as E.M. to her friends and as the Bitch Queen of Capitol Hill to her enemies.
“How is the Queen these days?” Parrish asked.
“She had an interesting guest Saturday and Sunday,” Mazie said, “a Herbert von Lubeck.” Serick’s head almost twisted off as he turned to look at her. “They spent a great deal of time together in private conversations,” Mazie added. “I don’t know what they were talking about.”
Serick looked like he was on the verge of a stroke. “The bastard,” he finally sputtered. “I talked to him Monday and he didn’t mention meeting with Hazelton. He’s playing games with us. I don’t trust him.”
Turner tapped Serick’s memo as she considered the implications. Without a word, she handed it to Mazie to read. “I think we’re dealing with an expansionist Germany.”
“I’m not so sure,” Mazie said. “I’ve dealt with Germany before and they might just be testing the waters. I found them opportunistic, not imperialistic. There is a difference.”
“Ah, yes,” Serick said. “You’re referring to the UN peacekeeping mission to South Africa. A fiasco.”
“It did result in a certain stability there,” Parrish said.
“Temporary at best. Soon it will go the way of the rest of Africa below the Sahara.”
“I’m not familiar with that operation,” Turner said. “Or the current situation in South Africa. Put together a briefing book on it.” Parrish made a note to create another blue binder. Turner’s staff had learned the hard way not to procrastinate and it would be ready that afternoon. “The important question,” she said, “is whether there’s any domestic fallout or other linkage here?” Turner was still concerned with von Lubeck and Germany.
“There may be a linkage with what’s going on in Russia,” Mazie said. “The CIA reported that Viktor Kraiko was at a series of meetings with Mikhail Vashin and a Pole over the weekend, a man named Gabrowski. We don’t have anything on him and think he was using an alias.”
Serick’s voice was a low rumble. “What we are seeing inside Russia is nothing more than criminals capturing the legitimate government. The Germans may be opportunistic or imperialistic, depending on your point of view, but they are not criminal. So what is the linkage?”
“Poland is undergoing an economic renaissance since being admitted to the European Union,” Mazie answered. “Maybe the Russians want a piece of the action. The Germans might see that as a threat. Historically, Poland has always been the shatter zone when Russian and German interests collide.”
Turner was ready to move on to another subject. “Enough about shatter zones. I don’t want to be blindsided on some domestic issue because of what we missed in Germany, Eastern Europe, or Russia.” She tapped her right forefinger for emphasis, which they all caught. Her orders came fast. “Mazie, stay on top of the situation. Richard, I want the FBI and the CIA looking for any attempt by the Germans or Russians to buy political influence here, specifically through campaign contributions and lobbying efforts. Stephan, I want State to keep Mazie fully informed on what you’re seeing in that part of the world.” She paused. “I’d like to get rid of Rudenkowski.” Lloyd Rudenkowski was the United States ambassador to Poland, a political appointee she had inherited from President Roberts when he died in office.
Parrish coughed for attention. “Because of the Polish renaissance, Warsaw has become a political plum. Rudenkowski’s appointment made megapoints with the Polish American community.”
“Not to mention megacontributions to the party,” Serick muttered. “Thankfully, we have an excellent deputy charge of mission in Warsaw and he can cover for any appointee with an open checkbook and a large bank account.”
“Get me a short list,” Turner said.
“It will be on your desk by this afternoon, Madame President,” Serick replied. He would warn her in a private memo that Rudenkowski had political clout and how his removal could cause problems. They quickly reviewed the three other security issues on the agenda and five minutes later were finished. It was exactly 8:23 A.M. The day had barely started and Madeline Turner was seven minutes ahead of schedule. Parrish buzzed for Dennis to usher in the next group.
“Oh,” Turner said, “I want to speak to General Bender.” Parrish and Dennis exchanged glances.
The inspector from the FAA’s Flight Standards Office in Phoenix was temporarily in charge of the accident investigation. Until the investigators from the National Transportation and Safety Board, or NTSB, arrived, it was his job to secure the scene of the accident and gather evidence. Because there had been two major aircraft accidents over the holiday weekend, the NTSB was slow in arriving and the FAA inspector had progressed to interviewing Pontowski. Bender joined them for the interview, acutely aware of the anguish weighing on Pontowski. They were all air-men and accepted the hazards that went with flying. But Pontowski would have to live with what happened and always ask, “What if?”
After taking an oral statement, the inspector reviewed the four videotapes from the accident. The first one had been taken from the control tower where the air boss had videotaped the entire flight from takeoff to the final, cataclysmic crash. The audio portion recorded all radio transmissions heard or made by the tower. The second video was shot by a WSS cameraman from a platform on the opposite side of the field. And while the audio recorded the reactions of the spectators, the sound was of little use. The last two tapes were from the HUDs of the Marchettis and recorded the flight as Pontowski and Johar Adwan saw it.
But without doubt, the audio portion of Johar’s video was the most important because it recorded Johar’s shout of “Let go the stick!”
After the video had rewound, the FAA inspector glanced at his notes and then at Pontowski. “This is the best-documented accident I’ve ever seen. But did this qualify as an aerial demonstration?”
“It was a demonstration of air combat training,” Pontowski explained. “ACT is not choreographed like a normal aerial demonstration. But it does have rules.” He handed the inspector a cassette tape. “I tape-recorded the prebrief. I flew the mission as briefed and we were inside the box.”
They all listened to the tape. “I think it’s pretty obvious what happened,” Bender said.
The FAA inspector nodded in agreement. “That was no time to have someone else voting on the stick.” Again, he looked at Pontowski. “But damn it, you were pressing the envelope.” He held up his hand to shut off discussion. “I know, I know. You had clearance to perform a multiship aerial demonstration in the box. But this was not what we had in mind. You had a lot of confidence in Adwan’s abilities. Perhaps your confidence was misplaced.”