“Rodonov is beneath you,” Geraldine said. “He’s not worth your time.” Vashin stared out the window, his face a blank mask. She knew he was listening. “But he is very popular with the people. Perhaps it would be better if he were disgraced first. Perhaps a honey trap? Who knows? That might solve the problem.”
Vashin became animated and turned to Johnson. “In your movie The Godfather, a troublesome senator is caught with a brutally murdered prostitute in a whorehouse. What will the people think of their hero Rodonov if that happens to him?”
“He will be disgraced,” Johnson said, “and the problem solved.”
“Arrange it,” Vashin ordered. Geraldine and Johnson exchanged glances, not sure who he wanted to do it. But it was not a question either dared ask.
“This is all new to me,” Johnson said. “I’ll need to talk to the right people.”
Geraldine was more practical. “A honey trap will take the right bait.”
“Naina and Liya,” Vashin said.
Geraldine made a note to train two new girls.
A knock at the door claimed their attention and Yaponets entered. “Leave us,” Vashin ordered. Geraldine and Johnson quickly left as Vashin returned to the big window.
“Another fit?” Yaponets asked.
Vashin didn’t answer. Instead, “I had a dream last night. I was floating over Moscow drifting in clouds.” He gestured out the window. “It was like now. I couldn’t see a thing, but I knew Moscow was down there.”
Like many Russians, both men were deeply superstitious. “Perhaps it’s a sign,” Yaponets said. “You must wait.”
Vashin accepted the wisdom of the older man. “Geraldine says Rodonov is beneath my concern.”
“She may be right,” Yaponets allowed. “No one can stand in your way. Not now.”
“There is one,” Vashin said. “The president of the United States.”
“She’s only a woman.”
“She’s more than that,” Vashin said. Vashin paced back and forth, fixated on the image he had conjured. “I want to know everything about her. What are her weaknesses, her strengths? Where does she live in her heart?”
Yaponets shrugged. “Where do all women live?”
“This one is different.”
“What do I tell Geraldine and the American?”
“Nothing. This is beyond them.”
The black limousine flying the American flag turned right out of the U.S. embassy and drove down Aleje Ujazadowskie. It motored silently down the elegant avenue, past Chopin’s monument in Lazienki Park, and turned left into the Belvedere, the official residence of the president of the Republic of Poland. The distance was exactly one kilometer, sixth-tenths of a mile. “We should have walked,” Bender said, taking in the beautiful day.
Winslow James suppressed a very undiplomatic sigh. No matter how gorgeous the day or short the distance, ambassadors did not walk when they presented their credentials to the president. “Security is always a problem,” he said. The limousine pulled to a stop and the waiting honor guard came to attention. The minister of foreign affairs greeted Bender when he emerged from the backseat. They walked slowly up the steps chatting amiably with James in close tow.
The palace sparkled, fresh from a recent renovation. “Very beautiful,” Bender said, making the required small talk.
“Indeed,” the minister replied. They reached the double doors leading into the reception chamber. “As you know, the president is recovering from a heart attack. So he will be in a wheelchair and the meeting will be short.” They entered the room. Waiting at the far end was Adam Lezno, the old lion who had struggled for Poland’s freedom since 1956. He had been beaten by the secret police, imprisoned, and forced into exile. But he had always returned to the fray, fighting for an independent and democratic Poland. Now he was an old man but the fire still burned within.
The minister of foreign affairs made the introductions while James handed over the leather folder holding President Turner’s formal letter presenting Bender as her official emissary to Poland. Lezno waved it to an aide. “Come,” he said to Bender. “It is too nice a day to be inside.” Another aide pushed his wheelchair into the garden while Bender walked beside him. Outside, Lezno was more relaxed. “I hate formality. I suppose it’s necessary, but it takes too much time, of which I have very little left. General Bender, my country is in trouble.”
“President Turner is aware of your problems and very concerned,” Bender replied. He decided to pull the gloves off. “That’s why I’m here.”
Lezno chuckled. “You are a man of my heart, direct and to the point. I was in the hospital during your confirmation hearings and watched you on CNN. I was impressed when you knew of our national anthem. Do you know the words?” Lezno started to sing in English, “Poland had not yet been destroyed…” He stopped. “It sounds better in Polish. The song is our history. We are a small country caught between Russia and Germany. Apparently, they have not changed and once again want to erase us from the map.”
“Times are different now.”
Lezno snorted. “The means are different. The Germans talk of the frontiers of 1937 and buy land in western Poland. We are living with eighty-five million Germans on our border. Their birthrate is increasing after years of decline. Soon they will again look to the east for lebensraum. The quest for living space is deeply rooted in the German psyche. But the Germans are not fools. The first step is to repudiate the Warsaw Treaty of 1970 which recognizes the Oder and Neisse Rivers as our common border.”
“World opinion, Mr. President, will not allow that.”
Again, the snort. “Last Monday, Berlin filed a brief with the International Court of Justice in the Hague claiming Willy Brandt and his government did not represent all of Germany when he signed the treaty. Therefore, it is invalid and must be renegotiated.”
Bender stiffened. Why hadn’t he been told? It should have been in the read file that was on his desk every morning. “I will advise my president of your concern,” he said.
“My country needs more than your sympathy,” Lezno said. “Look at what the Russians are doing. They are turning my country into a cesspool of crime and drugs.”
“Mr. President, we can help you with that particular problem. I should receive specific instructions in the near future.”
They turned back toward the palace. As they approached, another man joined them. It was Jerzy Fedor from the reception at the airport. “I believe you have already met,” Lezno said. “Jerzy is my expert on internal security. Perhaps, you two could discuss those specific instructions you mentioned. In private.”
“Most assuredly,” Bender answered. Another thought came to him. He knows about the security-aid package we cabled to Washington yesterday.
“General Bender,” Lezno said, “do not underestimate Poland. Yes, we have problems that we must solve and we do need help. But we are much stronger than you realize.”
Winslow James was waiting for Bender by the entrance, ready to lead him through the departure ritual. In a few moments, they were back in the limousine and headed north on Aleje Ujazadowskie. Bender raised the privacy window to the front seat. “I must apologize for not making myself clear last week, Winslow. I really do hate surprises and I received two of them during my conversation with President Lezno. We need to discuss my read file and communications security.”