“I’m a patient woman,” Turner replied. “Keep digging. Any progress on the photo?” They all knew she meant the photograph of Maura that had been published in the British tabloid.
Now it was Mazie Hazelton’s turn. “The FBI has it and is working on it. It’s one of the best fakes they’ve seen. It would help if they had the original to compare the two. They have found the photographer. Unfortunately, she’s suffering from Alzheimer’s and is seldom lucid.”
“Show her the photo,” Turner said. “That might jolt her back to reality.” She pointed at Parrish. “Get with Joe and see how much longer he can hold the media at bay. You can tell him I’m very pleased with the way the media has shown some responsibility on this.”
“I’m not so sure how much longer they’ll sit on it,” Parrish replied.
Turner mentally checked off that block and went on to the next item, her upcoming trip to Europe. “I read the briefing books last night. I don’t see any problems in Spain. I’d like to get out and visit more troops in Bosnia. I need something to announce in Poland. And finally, I’d like to get the Germans’ attention. It looks like they’re buying Western Poland an acre at a time.”
Serick cleared his throat for attention. “As to the Germans, we don’t have much in the way of counters. But it never hurts to voice your concern. At least you might slow them down. For Poland, I’d suggest you announce your choice for the new ambassador. But we need to clear the name through Leland first. We don’t need him shooting down our nominee after we’ve gone public.”
Turner tapped the folder she had been looking at. “He’s acceptable to Leland?”
“Leland recommended him,” Serick said.
“And he has contributed to the party,” Parrish added.
Turner signed the transmittal letter and handed the folder to Serick. “Send it over.” The discussion went on for another six minutes before they were finished.
“Well, Madame President,” Parrish said, “it looks like you have some time for that swim.”
The office rapidly emptied and the DCI walked with Mazie to her corner office. “I’m worried,” the DCI said. “The way she’s still in overdrive tells me she isn’t over it yet.”
“She’s healing,” Mazie replied.
The embassy was controlled chaos as James bounced off the walls getting ready for the president’s arrival. As the deputy charge of mission, James would be in the official party greeting her and it was his chance to shine. The mandarins in the State Department would have to notice him now. In an effort to cover all contingencies, he had the embassy staff working around the clock.
Ewa Pawlik hurried into her office with a fresh stack of Polish newspaper articles to translate. The Polish press was in a frenzy over Turner’s visit. She went to work, frowning at the repeated linking of Matt Pontowski’s name with the president’s.
“Ma’am?” a soft voice said, drawing her away from the article she was translating. The voice belonged to a short man, almost five feet six inches tall. He was overweight, with a large stomach that strained at his suit coat. He had a round face and friendly brown eyes, all topped with a heavy mass of prematurely gray hair that defied his military-style haircut. She felt like smiling at the teddybear image until she noticed his corded neck muscles. He was not what he seemed. “I’m Lt. Col. George Walderman and I’m looking for General Pontowski.”
Ewa buzzed Pontowski and repeated the name. The door burst open and Pontowski came out. “Waldo, what took you so long?”
“Ten days and you’re complaining?”
Pontowski smiled. “Ewa, meet Waldo. Don’t let the image fool you. He’s one of the best fighter jocks who ever strapped on an F-16.” He punched at Waldo’s big stomach. “It amazes me how you can still get into the cockpit.”
“Greased shoehorns are a wonderful thing,” Waldo said.
The phone buzzed and Ewa answered. She listened for a moment. “Do you own a yellow Ferrari with French license plates?” Waldo nodded and explained he had bought it in France while on his way to Poland. “You need to move it,” Ewa said.
“Will do.” He turned to leave.
“Waldo,” Pontowski called, “why don’t you go with us to meet Air Force One when it lands this afternoon?”
“You got a special invitation?” Pontowski shook his head and Waldo grinned. “You’re slipping, Boss.”
Suddenly, Ewa felt much better.
Pontowski led Ewa and Waldo through the dense crowd that was packing the airport for Turner’s arrival. They reached the entrance to the VIP area and he gave the guards their names. Waldo wasn’t on the list and the guard shook his head. Ewa pushed forward and showed the guard her identification. She spoke in a low voice. “Ewa can work wonders,” Pontowski said.
“She’s working wonders with me,” Waldo muttered.
“Sounds like a sexist remark if I ever heard one.”
“Things are changing, Boss. It’s okay to admit we’re attracted to members of the opposite sex now. Sex doesn’t equal harassment.”
“So we’re getting back to basics.”
“One hopes.”
Ewa’s back was to them but she had overheard every word. Americans are so naïve, she thought. But the guard wouldn’t let Waldo into the VIP area. She played her trump card. “Call Jerzy Fedor,” she murmured, handing him her cell phone and a card with a telephone number. The guard punched in the number and paled when the Ministry of Justice answered. He cut the connection and let Waldo enter.
The VIP area was less than twenty feet from the temporary stage where Turner would speak and they had a clear view of Air Force One as it coasted to a stop. The new president of Poland greeted Madeline Turner as she descended the stairs and walked with her as she reviewed the honor guard. Then they were on the stage and she was behind the podium.
“She’s very attractive in person,” Ewa said. She studied Pontowski’s face but couldn’t read his reaction. She split her attention between Pontowski and Waldo as she listened to Turner’s speech. At first, it was what she expected. But with surprising speed, it changed. “I can only extend my heartfelt sympathies to the Polish people for the death of your president. I share your grief in a very personal way, for my good friend and ambassador, Robert Bender, died with him. But we must not be so overwhelmed with grief that we lose our way. We must continue what we have started and I have nominated a new ambassador and sent this name to the United States Senate for confirmation. The Senate shares my concern and I have been assured he will be quickly approved. Our commitment to Poland remains unchanged as my new ambassador, Daniel Beason, will prove.” Applause swept over the stage.
“I’ve got to speak to her,” Pontowski muttered. He disappeared into the crowd.
“Fuck me in the heart,” Waldo muttered.
Ewa’s head jerked around at the obscenity. “Is there a problem?”
“You betcha there’s a problem. Daniel Beason thinks Pontowski killed his son.”
Ewa was shocked, as much by the change in Waldo as by his news. “Did he?”
“No. Beason’s son couldn’t fly worth shit and buffooned his plane into the ground.” Waldo stood close to her and told her about the air show and the accident where Danny Beason was killed.
“You seem to know a great deal about it,” Ewa said.
“We’re a close-knit group.”
Pontowski’s name was enough to get him through the first security ring surrounding the presidential party. Then he ran out of luck. Out of desperation, he called James on his cell phone. But James cut him off with an abrupt “If this is a personal matter, speak to her aide, not me.” The connection went dead. Not about to give up, he followed the flow of people to the press room where a familiar voice caught his attention.