Then the Senator smiled like a gambler about to play the same bet twice. ‘And don’t think I’ve given up on this British guy…’
Nine
Together, Myles and Helen collected their bags and walked off the plane. Through the arrivals corridor of Terminal One, they followed the other passengers until they reached passport control. There the corridor split: one way for US citizens, another for aliens. Myles waved off Helen as they joined different queues.
‘Meet you at the other side,’ she called, blowing him a kiss as she left.
He smiled back to her, then approached his own line. Soon he was giving his landing card to the female immigration official and allowing his iris to be scanned.
‘Do you intend to stay long in the United States, Mr Munro?’ asked the American official.
‘Er, no, not really.’
The border officer smiled at his English accent while she swiped his passport. ‘You travelled to Afghanistan recently?’
Myles nodded.
‘Military?’
‘No, but with the military. I study war.’
The official accepted his answer, then waited for her computer to give the all-clear. But something flagged up. She frowned. ‘Mr Munro — there’s a special message for you. You need to report to that room over there.’ She pointed to one of the interview rooms at the back.
‘That one?’
‘Yeah.’
Myles thought of asking what it was, but realised he might as well find out for himself.
An American woman with an ID badge around her neck introduced herself with a handshake. ‘Susan from Homeland Security,’ she said, welcoming him into the room. ‘Good to meet you, Mr Munro.’
Myles took in the room around him: no windows, just white walls.
Susan invited him to take a seat. ‘Would you like a drink?’ She was wrestling a plastic cup from a dispenser, which she filled from a water cooler in the corner of the room, then brought it to him.
‘Thank you. Will I be here long?’
Susan didn’t answer. Instead she reacted as if to say ‘you’ll find out soon enough’.
Then the door opened again.
In walked an ageing but very fit-looking man. Smaller than Myles had expected, but with a face he recognised immediately. Sam Roosevelt.
Myles remembered Sam Roosevelt’s bids to be President — and his famous campaign slogan: ‘We’re all going bust if we ain’t got trust.’
Roosevelt had stood out in the crowd of political wannabes. In one of the Presidential TV debates, he’d famously distinguished himself by daring to agree with Bill Clinton’s line on Bosnia. Other candidates had tried to call him a coward for it, but the charge could never stick: Senator Roosevelt’s personal story was far too glorious for that. As a marine, he’d won the Congressional Medal of Honor in Vietnam for rescuing a small army of American POWs from the Vietcong. He had led a team of only five men to take on more than twenty. Roosevelt, then only a junior officer, had planned the audacious assault on the position himself. His actions that day in 1971 were still studied at West Point as an example of tactical brilliance. Myles had even referred to them in his Oxford University lectures.
Myles stood up to offer a handshake. The Senator motioned to a chair, directing Myles to sit back down again. Myles obeyed.
As he sat down, a younger man entered the room behind the Senator. The two men plus Susan were squaring up to him like an interview panel. Sam Roosevelt waited until everyone was seated before he started at Myles. ‘So you’re the guy who said “no” to me on the phone, huh?’ he said.
Myles refused to be intimidated. ‘Correct, Senator. But I can help you find…’
‘No.’ The Senator had cut him off, then paused, sizing Myles up before he offered more. ‘Mr Munro, America needs you.’
Sam Roosevelt explained what he couldn’t say over the phone: the threat that ‘America will be brought down like the Roman Empire’ had come from Libya. From a Somali pirate based there called ‘Juma’. And Myles knew his wife. ‘You studied history with her — when you were an undergraduate at Oxford University.’
‘So you want me to help because I once knew his wife — when I was a student?’
The Senator shook his head. Myles wasn’t getting it. ‘No, Munro. The pirate sent a bomber to New York. The bomber was caught, and my son, here, drove the bomb away from Wall Street.’
Roosevelt waved his hand in the direction of the young man sitting beside him. Dick Roosevelt was about to introduce himself formally but his father ignored him and continued. ‘Then they sent their demands,’ said Sam. ‘After their bomber had been caught. And they demanded that the negotiation team include…’ The Senator poked Myles with his finger as he completed his sentence ‘…you’.
Myles looked to Dick and Susan for a reaction. There was none. They were watching for his.
Myles offered a response. ‘So you’re going to talk with this man?’
‘Yes, absolutely.’ The Senator answered without hesitation. He had no doubts at all. Myles could tell Dick Roosevelt was less sure: negotiating with terrorists made the young man uneasy.
The Senator continued. ‘We’ve already got a plan for this…’ The Senator outlined his ideas and Myles listened. The plan seemed simple: fly to Cairo in neighbouring Egypt, drive in US Embassy vehicles up to the Libyan border, then cross into Libya under the protection of his own Roosevelt Guardians. They would come out the way they went in. There were even back-up options, in case something went wrong.
Sam Roosevelt clearly missed the front line. Trips with the Armed Services Committee and campaign season might come close. But it was nothing like tactical planning for real. Like all politicians who had made their reputations in the military, Senator Sam Roosevelt relished the details of war-fighting. Neither Myles nor the Senator’s son were surprised as Sam went through the specifics.
Myles allowed the Senator to finish, then cocked his head to one side. ‘OK, but what if this “Juma” guy…’ Myles made eye contact with Susan and Dick to check he had Juma’s name right. ‘What if “Juma” doesn’t want to talk?’
Sam Roosevelt became enthusiastic at the question. ‘We know he wants to meet a delegation because he’s asked for one. But we don’t want namby-pamby diplomats putting this in wordy speak. So the answer will come from me.’
The Senator put out a hand as a surgeon might ask for a scalpel. Susan placed a fountain pen on his palm. Maintaining eye contact with Myles, the Senator grabbed a sheet of clear white paper from his assistant and began to scrawl.
Juma.
You have threatened the most powerful nation on earth.
One of your men has exploded a bomb here.
We will meet you to talk. We may also blast you to hell.
Sam Roosevelt
The Senator screwed the lid back on his pen and passed the paper back to Susan. ‘Make sure he gets that.’
‘Yes, Senator.’
Sam Roosevelt concentrated back on Myles. ‘Good thought, Mr Munro. We’ll work well together. So you’re in, then?’
The Senator was in full persuasion mode. His charisma was compelling. Myles could see how donors, voters and just about everyone this man met said ‘yes’. How could Myles say ‘no’? He looked at Dick and Susan — they were fully behind the Senator, encouraging Myles to come into line too. Everybody was just waiting for him to agree…
Myles faced Sam Roosevelt squarely as he answered.
‘No, Senator.’
Ten