The Russian colonel who stepped out of the shadows was relieved to see Fedor. Now they could play out their respective roles and follow the script “My government,” the colonel said, “must protest at this crude attempt to deny our landing rights as established by treaty.”
“We,” Fedor said, speaking in Russian, “are only following the treaty to the letter. Of course, you have the right of landing and transit However, we must insist on inspecting all cargo and passengers to insure you are in compliance with the treaty agreements.”
“And who will perform this inspection?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“I can’t allow it,” the colonel said.
Fedor gave an audible sigh and spoke into his telecommunicator in Polish. Immediately, the sound of diesel engines cranking to life and treads clanking across concrete echoed over them. The first tank emerged out of the shadows and stopped. It was followed by five others and the Il-76 was surrounded. “This is not a good day to die, my friend. Come, we are reasonable men and can reach an understanding.”
The colonel nodded. The pro forma moves had been fulfilled. He spoke to his aide and the captain ran back to the Ilyushin. Four men came out each carrying two aluminum suitcases. They double-timed over to Fedor’s car and piled the suitcases inside. “The money is in negotiable U.S. securities,” the colonel muttered.
Fedor handed him the completed inspection forms. “You are cleared to proceed. However, anything you unload here does not have diplomatic protection once it leaves the air base.” Fedor climbed back into the Mercedes-Benz.
The colonel’s eyes narrowed into narrow slits of hatred as he watched the car disappear into the night “Polish whore.” Behind him, trucks unloaded the Ilyushin.
The mood was relaxed as the president’s staff went about their Saturday-morning duties. Only the Navy commander carrying the football, the black leather briefcase with the nuclear release codes, wore his normal uniform. Everyone else, like Turner, dressed casually. The weather was unusually mild and Maura and Sarah were on the main deck outside the presidential lodge. Inside, Turner was with Parrish and Noreen Coker.
The door opened and an aide entered carrying a briefcase of classified material. A woman’s laughter echoed down the hall and was suddenly hushed. Turner shook her head and smiled and, on cue, a little squeak of laughter scurried in before the door closed. “Your staff, what a happy bunch,” Noreen allowed.
“They like to get away,” Turner replied. “It’s much more relaxed up here.”
“I’m envious,” Noreen replied. “I wish my staff blended so well with my mood.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“Madame President,” Parrish said, handing her the PDB. “I’m sorry it’s late but apparently there was some late-breaking intelligence. It’s on the last page.”
Turner opened the slickly printed “President’s Daily Brief” and read the latest intelligence the CIA had to offer. Her face froze. “Apparently our agreement with Rodonov is worthless.” She flung the PDB at Parrish. “The Russians forced a cargo of drugs through Poland last night. A big cargo. They used soldiers. Apparently, Mazie and Bender’s meeting with Rodonov accomplished nothing. It may have even been counterproductive.”
Parrish quickly read the offending article. “It’s too soon to tell. It may be linked to the meeting between Vashin and the Germans. We need to wait and see.”
Turner paced the floor. “Why do I sense the Russians are driving events and not us? More important, why am I spending so much time on this?”
“Time to go,” Noreen said, standing up. “This isn’t for me. Besides, I’ve got a heavy encounter of the most personal kind tonight.”
Normally, Turner would have taken a moment to share a personal confidence with her old friend. “We’ll talk next week,” she said, still pacing. Noreen waved good-bye and spoke to the two secretaries on her way out Turner kept pacing. “The Russians are sending us a message that I don’t like. I want to hear from the DCI.”
“I’m not sure he’s in town this weekend,” Parrish said.
“Someone at Langley must know what’s going on.”
I’ll see who I can find.” Parrish left to speak to his assistant Outside, he confirmed the rumor Noreen had started. The word spread and the lodge was hushed as Turner called for more members of her staff as she turned to other problems. The helicopters were placed on alert and the White House was notified that the president might be returning early.
The White House staff easily accepted the one overriding fact about Maddy Turner: she was a workaholic.
The ballroom on the second floor of John Ross Thomas Hall was packed with cadets and their guests. The DiscStaff, a cadet social club, had brought in the most popular disk jockey in El Paso for the Saturday night dance and the big room was rocking. General McMasters and his wife made a brief appearance and, as usual, Lenora came loaded with home-baked cookies for the refreshment table. Also as usual, the Rats rushed the table and the cookies vanished. She smiled as she looked over the dance floor. “I hardly recognize some of our young ladies. Look at Miss Trogger. With her hair down, she’s a totally different person.”
McMasters sighed inwardly when he saw Zeth. She was wearing the dress Maura O’Keith had bought for her and wearing her hair and makeup in the same way. “I believe,” he said in a low voice, “that our Miss Trogger is the star of the evening.” It was true. More than a few of the cadets and guests from town were vying for her attention.
Lenora McMasters knew how her husband worked. “This is not the time for second thoughts,” she murmured. “Besides, dances like these are good for relations with the townies. They see the cadets as normal, everyday kids. Just like them.”
The superintendent was having second thoughts about allowing a civvies dance. For some reason, the cadets put on civilian clothes and forgot they were still cadets. While the conditions for this dance dictated the boys wear coats and ties and the girls modest dresses, the girls were pushing the standard to the limit. “If the minimum wasn’t good enough,” he muttered to himself, “it wouldn’t be the minimum.”
“John, this is the twenty-first century.”
“I know.”
“You can trust them.”
“They’re still kids,” he muttered. He smiled for one of the chaperons who was taking photos of the dance. “Time to go, before I see something I don’t want to see.”
“Hey, Maggot,” Brian said. “Check out the Trog.”
“Yeah, I saw her.” They talked loudly to be heard over the music.
“The studlies are really hounding her.”
“She can handle it,” Matt replied.
“Handle what?” a voice said behind them. They turned around and were facing Rick Pelton, the regimental executive officer.
“All the attention,” Brian answered.
Pelton agreed. “She is something else.” His eyes narrowed into narrow slits. “Who’s that tall townie she’s talking to?”
“He’s a Third Classman at the Air Force Academy,” Brian told him. “We met him at a dinner with my mom.”
“He’s cool,” Matt added. The three cadets watched as the couple moved onto the floor and started to dance. The combination of light, the flowing motion of her hair, and her dress created a lovely picture. “Where did she team to dance like that?” Matt wondered, giving voice to what they all were thinking.