He only sounds friendly, Bender thought, recalling the last time they had met face to face. It had been in the Cabinet Room in the White House the night Leland and his cronies had tried to force Madeline Turner to resign as president. Bender’s words were engraved in Leland’s memory. “The president,” he had said, “is engaged in a national emergency. You are no longer welcome in her house, and she wants you to leave. May I suggest you do so immediately.” Those were not the words a man like Leland ever forgot — or forgave.
“I notice you’re not wearing your uniform,” Leland said.
Bender moved the microphone closer and adjusted it so he would not have to bend over to speak. Keep it short and sweet, he cautioned himself. “Sir, I hope my record while serving our country speaks for itself. But today, I am here as a civilian, not a member of the armed forces.” His answer seemed to go down well with the committee and the TV cameras lingered on him.
Leland pontificated for a few moments about the committee’s responsibilities until the cameras were back on him. An aide handed him a note. Daniel Beason was on the phone and wanted to talk to him. It was a summons not even Leland could ignore. “What’s this about,” he grumbled to the aide.
“He didn’t say,” came the answer. “But I think he may not like Bender.”
Leland dismissed the aide and opened the folder on talking points his staff had prepared. He flipped to the page of hostile questions. “General Bender,” he began, “what do you know about Poland? For example, can you tell us about their national anthem?”
Bender leaned forward and suppressed a smile. “Of course, I’ve heard it and could try humming a few bars. But believe me, with my musical abilities, that might cause an international incident.” Laughter echoed behind him and a few of the senators smiled. “It’s based on the song Gen. Jan Dabrowski adopted for the army of Polish exiles he raised in Italy in”—he paused, searching for the date—“1797, as I recall.”
The senator from Illinois beamed with approval. “The date is correct,” she said. “It is very stirring. I first heard it when I was a child.” Then she hastened to add, “My family is Polish American.”
Leland humphed and went on to the next question. He looked over his reading glasses and frowned. The TV cameras were spending far too much time on Bender. He needed to change that. “I’m told the Poles are very aware of their history, General. How does that affect their current policies?”
“The Poles remember their history because, as a nation, they are always in trouble. They are a small country caught between two major powers, Germany and Russia, which have a habit of dividing up Poland and erasing it from the map.” Scattered applause rippled through the audience.
Leland hid his anger by smiling. He glanced at his notes. It was his turn to appear knowledgeable. “Ah, yes. You are, of course, referring to the Three Partitions in 1772, 1793, and 1795. All more than two hundred years ago.” The implication that the partitions were too old to be relevant hung in the air.
“Yes, sir, I am. But if you speak to the Poles, they will tell you of the fourth partition in 1939 when Germany and Russia invaded their country and again divided it between them.” Bender leaned forward to make his point. “They have learned from their history and don’t want it to happen again.” The applause was widespread and prolonged, led by the senator from Illinois.
Leland smiled graciously and passed on the questioning. He drummed his fingers on the table. He wanted to crush Bender on the spot and send him back to the White House in a box. But the conversation with Vice President Kennett in the sauna of the Senate gym was too fresh in his memory. Rudenkowski was a problem and Kennett had offered an easy solution. In the end, the TV cameras made the decision for him. By the time the third senator had finished his questioning, only Bender was getting any face time. It was time to get the general out of the country and defuse the Rudenkowski bombshell before it exploded.
He also made a note to return Beason’s phone call.
Madeline Turner was as alone in the pool as a president can be. Two female Secret Service agents, both trained as lifeguards and paramedics, sat at opposite ends, their feet in the water, as she churned out lap after lap. A tall African American woman, also in a swimsuit and wearing an open robe that flapped behind revealing a lithe and athletic figure, paced the side of the pool beside Maddy, a stopwatch in her hand. “Come on, girl,” Noreen Coker called, “you can do better than that. One more lap. Go, go, go.”
Maddy put on a burst of speed and stroked hard, finishing the last lap. She held on to the edge of the pool, breathing deeply. “You’ve been impossible since you lost weight. I liked you better when you were fat.”
“Can’t help it,” Noreen replied. “Not since I got sanitized, Sanforized, and Oprah-ized. Talking to that woman changed my whole attitude about exercise and being skinee.” She struck a pose, causing her robe to fall away. “Great butt.”
“You’re getting worse,” Maddy said, pulling herself out of the pool. She was wearing a dark blue tank suit and white bathing cap.
Coker did a critical survey of her friend. “You look fantastic. Poor thing. You got it but you can’t flaunt it.” Their laughter joined as Noreen helped her into a terry-cloth robe.
Noreen Coker was a congresswoman from Los Angeles and one of Maddy’s best friends. They had met in the California state legislature when they were freshmen, Maddy a senator, Noreen an assemblywoman. At the time, Coker weighed more than 250 pounds and was given to flashy clothes, wild hairdos, and outrageous statements. But Maddy saw through the facade. Underneath was an extremely intelligent and shrewd politician who knew what it took to get elected and how to get things done. Later, Coker had gone on to the House of Representatives and when Maddy arrived in Washington as the vice president, the old friendship was rekindled.
Within a month of her arrival, Maddy had gathered Noreen and a small coterie of friends around her as personal advisors and a support group. After she had become president, the group became known as the Kitchen Cabinet and were often called the ultimate insiders. To a person, they were discreet, totally honest, and completely loyal. But Noreen was more. She was a she-bear protecting her young when it came to her friend.
Inside the dressing room, Noreen automatically flicked on the TV. It was set to C-SPAN and a commentator was standing in front of the Capitol, microphone in hand. “Only Senator Leland voted against Gen. Robert Bender’s appointment as ambassador to Poland. Inside sources were surprised that Leland even let the committee consider Bender’s appointment, much less come to a quick vote. Could this signal the end of the Senator’s long hostility to the Turner administration?”
“Don’t bet on it, child,” Noreen said to the TV. She listened to the soundbites from the committee hearing. “Oh, you did good, Bobby Bender.” She turned to Maddy who was almost dressed. “Our boy got a slam dunk this time. But Leland is hard on rebounds. He’ll be back.”
Maddy pulled on her shoes. “I knew the committee would like him.” She didn’t mention the deal Kennett had struck with Leland.
The women walked across the parking apron of the semi-deserted air base fifteen miles north of Kiev. They were all young and pretty and carried their own luggage. Most walked in silence, but a few of the sixteen-year-olds, happy to be out in the night air after being cooped up in the shabby barracks for over a week, chattered about their new jobs in the West. They formed a single line waiting to board the Ilyushin Il-76. The Il-76, the workhorse of Russia’s Military Transport Aviation, was not what they had expected. The high-wing, T-tailed, four-engine cargo plane bore a striking resemblance to the old U.S. C-141 StarLifter that had been retired from active service.