“That was the general,” Pontowski murmured.
They stood there for a moment, silent. “They only kill the good ones,” she said. Then she was gone, scurrying down the hall.
The protocol officer was waiting for him outside his office. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Then, she too rushed away. Pontowski stood there, deeply moved by the emotional reaction of the staff to Bender’s death.
Winslow James beckoned to him from across the room. “What was that all about?” James asked.
“She’s upset.”
“Of course she is,” James replied, giving Pontowski a patronizing look. “But we all have a great deal of work to do, especially now. We must not be distracted from our duties.” He spun around and walked into his office as Pontowski fought the urge to strangle him.
Behind him a voice said, “James is a raving asshole.” Pontowski turned, surprised to see it was Peter Duncan. “Yes,” Duncan said, “I’ve been drinking. It’s the time-honored way the Irish mourn a friend’s death.” Automatically, their right hands clasped in friendship. “He was a fine man, none better.”
“Most assuredly,” Pontowski replied, sounding exactly like Robert Bender. I will remember, he promised himself.
Joe Litton grinned like the Cheshire cat and almost purred in satisfaction. “The reviews are in, Madame President, your State of the Union Address was a hit. All told, a most positive reaction. But a few of the reporters are asking for clarification on one minor point.” Litton managed to look apologetic. “When you said, ‘I will do whatever is necessary to bring these criminals to account,’ did you mean ‘to justice?’”
“That’s our goal,” Turner replied. “But we have to work with other countries and their idea of justice may not be the same as ours.” The answer satisfied Litton and he hurried back to his office to feed the hungry lions waiting for him.
“A thankless job,” Parrish muttered under his breath. He checked the day’s schedule and wished she would replace Dennis or detail someone else to manage the daily schedule. “A full day, Madame President.” He handed her the list and unconsciously stepped back. He felt he had to give her room.
She scanned the agenda, automatically balancing each item against the long list of issues, concerns, and problems she carried around in her mind. It was a list she constantly shifted and ranked, working on whatever needed the most attention but never forgetting what was in the background. She hesitated when she saw Sen. John Leland’s name on the afternoon schedule. “What does he want?”
“I only talked to his staff. He’d like to discuss General Bender’s replacement.”
Turner stood up, anger flaring. It was such a rare display that Parrish took another step backward. “My God! The man’s not even buried yet.”
“Leland’s concerned about Poland, Madame President.”
Turner paced in front of her desk as she cycled through her mental action list. Poland was definitely in the top ten and moving up. Soon it would challenge the problem of when to announce she was running for a second term. As always, she mentally circled the problem, always looking at it from different angles. Slowly, she drew Poland into sharper focus. She shifted the counters on her mental abacus and came up with a new priority. But an image of Nancy Bender hovered in the background, demanding a claim. “Have Mazie and Stephan at the meeting,” Turner said.
Parrish made a note to have the national security advisor and the secretary of state in attendance.
“Richard, as long as Mazie and Stephan will be here, make some time after Leland leaves for us to meet with Mr. Durant.” She thought for a moment. “Have Sam and the DCI join us.” Parrish added the other two members of the National Security Advisory Group to his list. He knew what the topic was.
Senator John Leland was all white hair, jowly cheeks, and old-fashioned charm when he entered the Oval Office. “Madame President, thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” Turner extended her hand and they sat on one of the couches in front of her desk. Leland nodded at Mazie and the secretary of state. “Mrs. Hazelton, Stephan, good to see you again.” Besides being charming, the senator was an accomplished liar. He barely tolerated Stephan Serick and hated Mazie with every ounce of passion in his political soul.
They exchanged the usual pleasantries and Leland complimented Turner on her State of the Union Address. “Most moving, Madame President. I agree with your concern over the growing instability in Eastern Europe. We must not desert our friends in that part of the world, especially Poland.” The discussion was low-keyed as Leland made a case for appointing a new ambassador. “We need to reaffirm our commitment to the Polish people during this difficult time.”
“It’s a question of finding the right person,” Serick said.
“I’m quite sure there are many names we would find mutually agreeable,” Leland replied. “I’ll have my staff send over a short list of possible nominees my committee would consider favorably.” He paused. “Madame President, may we speak in private?”
Turner hesitated. Without a witness, Leland would interpret whatever was said to his advantage. “It would clear up many misunderstandings,” he urged.
Against her better judgment, she agreed. When they were alone, Leland said coldly, “Madame President, I am told that our government exchanged a Russian criminal in one of our prisons for a nuclear weapon.”
“We did,” Turner said, her voice flat and noncommittal.
“Then I assume the other part is true.” No answer from Turner. “The weapon we received in return for setting this criminal free was a fake.”
“Actually,” Turner said evenly, “it was a training device. Perfect in all respects but one.”
“Regardless, Madame President, we were snookered. That misguided venture embarrassed our country and weakened our position in Eastern Europe. You should have consulted me first. I would have cautioned you against such a rash move. However, I’m confident this can remain between just you and me.”
“I see,” Turner said. It was a simple enough deaclass="underline" in exchange for his silence, she must nominate the ambassador he wanted.
Nelson Durant felt the tension the moment he was wheeled into the president’s private study off the Oval Office. He immediately made the connection to Senator Leland whom he had seen leaving as he entered the White House. Maddy Turner stood to greet him warmly and motioned him to a place next to her chair. The four members of her National Security Advisory Group looked at him hopefully. “I wish my investigation had something positive to report,” he began. “Unfortunately, we are running into too many stone walls. But we are finding some cracks.”
“You have no idea who was behind the attempt on the president’s life?” Mazie said.
“I didn’t say that. We know who did it: three crazies from the California militia. It’s just a matter of time until we find them. We also know the missile and payoff money came from the Russian Mafiya. Our problem is that we don’t have hard evidence.”
“Is there any connection to the Lezno and Bender assassinations?” Vice President Kennett asked.
“It all goes to the same source,” Durant replied. “Again, proving it is another matter.”
The DCI coughed for attention. “We know who’s behind this — Mikhail Vashin. He’s nothing but a vicious street thug gone national. Expect more of the same.”
Turner folded her hands on her desk, her face a mask. “I’m willing to consider other options.”
Mazie chose her words carefully. “Sanctioned covert operations are out of the question.” Everyone in the room knew she meant assassinations.