“I can’t keep it.” Then his words struck home. “You said ‘she’s telling you she remembers’ like she’s still alive.”
Pontowski handed her the painting. “She is. In this.” Their hands touched and for a reason he did not comprehend, he leaned forward and kissed her. It was a light kiss, little more than a brushing of lips. But for a moment they lingered. “Oh,” she whispered. Then she kissed him back, this time much longer. “I need to get back and tuck Sarah in,” she finally said, drawing away and smiling at him. He had seen her smile many times on TV but this was different. She glowed with a radiance no camera could capture and it was meant for him alone. It captured him and yet, he was lost.
Pontowski followed her out of the room, turning off the light but leaving the door open. Another Secret Service Agent dutifully reported her movement to the command post.
Sunday’s breakfast was a family affair. Sarah was bright and cheery while the boys and Zeth were still half sleep from their late-night poker session. Maura was on her second cup of coffee and finally coming alert. Maddy sat at one corner of the table, elbows resting on a dinner mat while her hands cupped a steaming mug of coffee. Pontowski was sitting at the far corner and occasionally, he would glance at her. Their eyes met twice and a little smile played at the corner of her lips. “Well,” she finally said, “I’m going for a ride. Who’s coming?”
Matt groaned loudly, claiming he wanted to sack out and Brian said he was going to “shoot some hoops.” Sarah glanced around the table. “I’ve got homework. Zeth and General Pontowski can go.” She gave Zeth a meaningful look.
Zeth understood. “I’ve got homework, too,” she said. “We can do it together, if you want.” That decided it and Pontowski stood up, waiting for Maddy. He followed her outside.
“We need to talk,” Maura said before the boys could escape. She walked to the door leading into the kitchen and called. “Dennis, we need you.”
Maddy’s personal assistant joined them and sat down in a chair. He folded his hands in front of him on the table and spoke in a smooth and quiet voice. “As you know, everything President Turner does is news and she may be photographed riding with General Pontowski. The media will try to blow it up into some big romance because they were seen alone.”
“Big deal,” Brian snorted. “They’re not alone. What about the Secret Service? They’ll be with them.”
“I assure you,” Dennis insisted, “the Secret Service won’t be in the photo. The reason I’m bringing this up is to warn you that you might be asked questions by reporters or people who will sell what you say to the newspapers or the tabloids.”
“So what should we say?” This from Matt.
“The truth,” Dennis said. “But don’t embellish it, don’t make anything out of it. General Pontowski was here as your chaperon and they went for a horseback ride. That’s all there is.”
“That’s the truth,” Matt said.
“Yeah,” Brian added. “They’re hardly talking and I don’t think they even like each other.”
PART TWO
TEN
Vashin was pleased. The banquet room in the Hermitage shimmered with the elegance and grandeur of czarist Russia. The champagne and caviar were the best the world could produce and even an acknowledged wine connoisseur representing a consortium of French banks raved over the vintage wine flowing freely. The chefs flown in for the event had outdone themselves. The dinner was a triumph. Not that he was surprised, not after the dream.
It was still crystal clear. He was floating in clouds and suddenly, there was a break in the weather. Below him was Saint Petersburg and the Hermitage. When he mentioned the dream to Geraldine, she turned very serious and told him not to ignore it. It had to mean something. Men like Vashin had dreams for a reason. He believed her and moved the dinner to the Hermitage.
But without doubt, Geraldine was the star of the evening. Vashin had never seen this side of her, confident and regal, the perfect hostess to charm the fourteen bankers who had accepted his invitation to come to Russia. Half of the bankers wanted to sleep with her and the American from Chicago wanted to marry her. For a moment, Vashin considered that possibility for himself. But just as quickly, he rejected it. Better to keep his wife and maintain the image of a responsible husband and father of four children.
Geraldine herded the bankers into the czar’s study for cigars and cognac. It was the final act. Vashin had studied the dossiers and ranked them in terms of resistance. The Swiss banker would be the hardest to convince, the Chinese the easiest. But if Geraldine was right, every one of these men could be bought. It was simply a matter of approaching them in the right way. He followed her into the smaller, and much more intimate study and stood by the fireplace. He waited for the men to become comfortable. If all other inducements failed, there were the gifts.
He started to speak in Russian as Geraldine translated into English, a language the bankers understood. He was certain the message behind his words was equally as clear. “Again, thank you for coming.” Each had been flown in separately on a private jet that catered to the rich and famous. “I hope you have enjoyed your visit.” Geraldine had been meticulous in pandering to their individual interests and needs. “But all good things must come to an end.” It was time to talk business.
The carrot came first. “As you know, my country is reaching out to the world in new endeavors.” The Russian Mafiya was dominating the drug trade. “Fortunately, we are achieving some success.” The money was flowing in obscene amounts. “Now, we must direct the fruits of our labor into new investments.” We need to launder the money. “But this is beyond our field of expertise.” We want you to do it for us. “What we need are men of your stature and business acumen to guide us through the intricacies of investment opportunities in your countries.” Can you bribe the politicians? “Together, we can all benefit in this combined endeavor and we are most generous in rewarding our friends and allies.” You’re in for a hefty percentage if you come on board.
The Swiss banker swirled his cognac before taking a sip. “Herr Vashin, your proposal is most interesting, certainly worthy of my colleagues’ consideration. But we have heard many stories about the dangers of doing business in your new Russia.”
Vashin smiled, trying to be reassuring. “It is true that, in a manner of speaking, a few Russians have lost their heads”—a nervous titter worked its way around the room—“in ill-timed ventures. But they were not businessmen and that was in the past. We are now dealing with a higher level of sophistication.”
The American banker from Chicago guffawed. “Talk about happy horseshit—” A warning look from Geraldine cut him off.
Instead of translating the remark verbatim, she said, “They’re a little skeptical.”
The stick came next. “Please,” Vashin said, “I know you must all think about it and confer with your principals. We do understand your reluctance to join in a new endeavor with an untried partner. If you choose not to participate, there will be no hard feelings, only the hope that we can do business in the future. For now, it is more important that we gain your goodwill. As a remembrance of your visit with us, may I offer some gifts for you and your families?”
On cue, Geraldine threw open the double doors and a string of waiters entered. Some were pushing carts laden with gifts, others carrying paintings or priceless icons. Each banker was first presented with a Fabergé egg for his wife and, as the case required, his mistress. The gifts kept coming, each one carrying an inscribed gold tag with the name of the man’s children and closest living relatives.