Edge of Honor (34 page)

She smiled at him when he sat down. “Just like old times.” She pushed a bowl of popcorn across the table.

He grabbed a handful and stuffed his mouth, mumbling. “Sure is, Mizz President. How’s your mother doin’?”

“Much better, thank you. It was a minor attack and she’s very strong.”

Shaw gulped and took the plunge. “If you want, I can call in a few markers, find out where that photo came from, and crunch a few heads.”

She shook her head. “Only as a last resort.” He poured himself a glass of Jack Daniel’s and for a few moments, they were in a time warp, back in Sacramento when she was a confused, lonely, and very junior state senator struggling to find her way. But an alarm kept buzzing in his head, warning him that things had changed. “Patrick, what went wrong with Matt?”

The alarm turned into a blaring Klaxon. Matt Pontowski
was the one subject he did not want to discuss. “Geography, most likely. You know these flyboys. Out of sight, out of mind.”

The old intimacy was back as they mulled over the day’s events and gossiped about the personalities who bracketed their lives. “Speaking of Poland,” Maddy said, “did you hear the latest?”

“About the attack? Sure did. Looks like the Poles can take care of themselves.”

“Thanks to Bob Bender. His security-aid program gave the Poles the edge they needed in dealing with the Russians. But that’s only half the problem.”

Shaw sensed they had come to the reason for the meeting. “You got me. What’s the other half?”

“The Germans. They’re systematically buying up the western half of Poland and the Poles are going to end up as tenant workers in their own land. The Germans have got to stop.”

“That’s going to make for some sour Krauts.”

Turner ignored the pun. “Please, this is serious.”

“Sounds to me like a poker game between Germany and Russia with Poland as the pot. Is it winner take all?”

“I don’t think so. Mazie is predicting a fifth partition.” She fixed him with a look he hadn’t seen before. “I won’t have it. Not on my watch. The problem is that I don’t have any counters to put on the table.”

Shaw took a long pull at his drink. “It’s a shame you don’t play poker, Mizz President.”

“I played strip poker with my husband. I won. Stripped him bare every time.”

“Why am I not surprised? In poker you learn to bluff. Maybe it’s time to find out how good the Germans are at poker.”

“You mean bluffing.”

“Actually, I’m wondering how willing they are to call a bluff. There’s a big difference.”

“Patrick! Pay attention. What do I put on the table?”

“Something that will cause their sphincter muscles to slam shut.”

“Such as?” She listened to his answer, surprised at its blatant transparency. “That will never work.”

“Won’t it? Pick the right players and it will.” He gave her a wicked grin. “Talk to Herbert von Lubeck. He fancies himself a poker player.”

“You’ve played with him.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Stripped
him
clean.”

“Why am I not surprised?” She paused, sipping at her root beer. “Patrick, there’s something else.” He tensed, waiting for the ax to fall. “When do I announce for reelection?”

His heart slowed and he smiled broadly. “Good question, Mizz President.”

The White House

Maddy Turner paused and gazed out the window of her bedroom. April was still a week away but the morning carried a hint of an early spring and, for a brief moment, she wanted to escape the White House, the cares and pressures, and most of all, the Imperial City itself. As quickly, the feeling was gone. This was her time and place. This was what she wanted.

Out of long habit, she glanced in a mirror. But it was only a cursory inspection to check her hair and makeup. She didn’t really see the person looking back at her. She walked into the dining room for breakfast where Maura joined her, wearing a brightly colored robe. “That’s new,” Maddy said.

“We were out shopping yesterday and Sarah picked it out.”

Maddy looked worried. “You’ve got to be careful and not strain…”

Maura interrupted her. “The exercise is good for me.”

The door opened and Sarah came through, wearing a tight little miniskirt and revealing top. The two women looked at her without a word as she sat down. “Well?” Sarah challenged.

Maddy sighed. “Well, what?”

Sarah didn’t answer and ate in silence while Maddy and Maura discussed the day’s schedule. When they were done, Maura touched Sarah’s arm. “Maybe it’s time to think about makeup and accessories. We’ve got time be
fore school.” Sarah beamed at her. “I’ll get my bag. No, meet me in my bedroom.” The girl bolted for the door. Maura heaved herself to her feet. “I’ll talk her into changing.”

“Thanks, Mother.”

“She’s definitely discovered boys.”

“So soon?”

Maura gave a little snort. “As I recall, you were the same age.”

Madeline Turner was a well-studied subject in the White House and, like most of her staff, Mazie took her cue from the office the president was using. If she was in the Oval Office, any meeting would be short, formal, and very businesslike. If Turner was in her private study off the Oval Office, the atmosphere would be relaxed and chatty. “The president is in her private study this morning,” Turner’s private secretary announced when Mazie appeared for her scheduled 8:30 meeting. Mazie thanked her and walked in.

“Please, sit down,” Turner said.

Long experience had taught the national security advisor the chair closest to the president was the most comfortable. “I received a phone call a few moments ago,” Mazie said. “Nelson Durant passed away. Congestive heart failure.” Turner gave a little nod. She hadn’t heard but her staff would automatically issue the proper condolences and statements to the press. Mazie handed her a folder. “He sent this yesterday afternoon with his apologies for not delivering it in person. I believe it was one of the last things he did.”

Turner opened the folder and read Durant’s summary of his investigation into the photograph. Mazie caught the slight working of her jaw but said nothing. Turner’s eyes turned glassy hard. “That bastard. So it was Leland.”

“Actually, it was Senator Leland’s chief of staff. It’s safe to assume Leland knew about it.”

“That’s not even an assumption. No staff member would do this on his own.”

“Not unless he was suicidal,” Mazie added.

“So where did Leland get the photo?”

“That, Mr. Durant did not discover. Unless the right someone starts talking, we’ll never know.”

Turner was out of her seat, pacing back and forth, clearly very angry. “Damn him! Damn him to hell! I’ve tried to be accommodating and this is what I get in return. Dealing with that man is like falling in a snake pit. No matter what you do, you’re going to get bitten.”

“Keep him busy protecting his backside and he won’t be a problem.” Mazie’s words were an echo of Noreen Coker. Turner sat down and leaned back in her chair. Now she was ready to listen. “Shaw has it right,” Mazie continued. “When you’re losing, leak. Point the media at Leland.”

“Who and how much?”

“That’s the tricky part,” Mazie conceded.

“I need to think about it.” Turner leaned forward, indicating a change in subject. “I want you to tell the Germans to cease and desist in Poland.”

“I doubt if they’re in a mood to listen since we have almost nothing to put on the table.”

“I realize that. Can you use your connections to arrange a meeting with Herbert von Lubeck?”

“My mother-in-law knows him.”

“Ah, yes. Elizabeth Martha, the Bitch Queen of Capitol Hill. Will she help?”

“She likes to be involved. Once you let her in, she’ll want access.”

Turner thought for a moment. Politics was like a bazaar where you had to give something to get anything. And access to the president was a very big something. Was it worth what she would get in return? “Do it,” she said simply.

Mazie was in her second office in the Executive Office Building across the street from the White House late that same afternoon. She kept mulling over her conversation with the president. Frustrated, she telephoned the director of central intelligence. “Gary, we need to go secure.” They both turned the keys in their STU-IV telephones and their voices turned tinny from the encryption circuits. She
told him about the meeting Turner wanted with the Germans.

There was a long pause. “All very interesting,” he finally said. “It might help turn down the heat over there.” Another pause. “The Poles are going after Vashin in retaliation for Lezno.”

“Can they get away with it?”

“Probably. Most of the players think he’s out of control.”

“He is,” Mazie replied. It was time to talk nuts and bolts. “Does that meld with what we’re planning?” The DCI didn’t answer and she snapped at him. “Am I talking to myself?”

Much to her surprise, he laughed. “You sound like Noreen Coker.”

“Not even a hint,” she retorted.

“We can support them.”

“How?”

“We’ll ask.”

Mazie sensed that was all he was going to say. “If you’re going to kill the king, don’t fail.”

“I hear you,” the DCI said. He broke the connection.

For God’s sake, do this one right
, Mazie thought. She pulled into herself, scrutinizing the German side of the problem. “It’s all in the timing,” she murmured to no one.

She picked up the phone and called her mother-in-law, the redoubtable Elizabeth Martha.

Turner leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, her fingers interlaced. For the first time since breakfast, she was alone. She breathed deeply, forcing herself to relax. But it didn’t happen. She sat upright and glanced at the carriage clock on the mantel. It was after six o’clock and time to send her staff home. She pressed the intercom to her secretary. “Let’s call it a day,” she said.

Again, she leaned back in her chair. But this time, she let her mind roam. Sooner or later, whatever was bothering her would bubble to the surface. Leland’s face came into sharp focus. She mulled the problem over, looking at it from different angles. Suddenly, it all clicked into full view, crystal clear, no longer hiding. “So obvious,” she
murmured. She picked up the phone. “I need to speak to Patrick Shaw.” She dangled the phone from her fingertips and within seconds, Shaw’s familiar, deep rumbling voice was there.

“I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”
I hope there’s a bimbo there to see your reaction
, she thought.

“Not at all, Mizz President.”

“Patrick, we know the source of the photo.” She paused for effect. “It was Leland.”

“Son of a
bitch
.”

“Exactly. He overstepped the bounds on this one. What do you suggest we do?” She listened, fixed on the sound of his voice more than the actual words.

“For right now, nothing. Keep it in reserve. Timing is everything.”

“Thank you, Patrick.” She hung up.
That got your attention
.

She leaned back in her chair, more alone than ever.

The Hill

Matt slammed into the room, threw his backpack down, and climbed into his bunk. “This place sucks!” he announced to the ceiling.

Without looking up from his computer, Brian said, “This from Mr. NMMI?”

Matt rolled over on his side and glared down at his friend. “They give out rank like candy here to the shitheads.”

“And when did you learn that? The bit about the shitheads getting promoted.”

Matt’s basic honesty kicked in. “Ah, most of ’em are okay. It’s fuckin’ Pelton.”

Brian laughed. He had never seen Matt so upset. “So what’s cadet superfucker up to now?”

“He’s saying he got it on with the Trog.”

“Only in a wet dream,” Brian replied.

“Yeah, well he says she’s got a buff bod but small tits.”

Brian frowned. “He’s got to learn to keep his mouth
shut.” He pushed back in his chair. “Chow time.” The one constant in their life was the amounts of food they consumed each day. Since there was no formation for supper roll call on Wednesdays, they Rat-walked to Bates Dining Hall and joined the serving line. Rick Pelton was behind them with two of his buddies. “Hey, Turner,” Pelton said, “you still walking tours for bonking ugly sheep?”

Brian bit off a reply and shoved his tray down the line, waiting to be served.

But Matt wouldn’t let it go. “I didn’t know you were an expert on screwin’ ugly sheep,” he added a respectful “Sir.”

“Careful boy, or you’ll be walking tours until you grow up.”

Matt whirled on Pelton. The older cadet was five years older, six inches taller, and outweighed him by forty pounds. But at that exact moment, Matt wanted to fight. “I’ll be walking tours for beating the living shit out of a lying…”

Brian was there, pulling Matt back. “Let’s eat.” He pushed Matt down the line.

Pelton laughed, playing it up for the cadets in line who were taking in every word. “Hey, did someone build Pontowski a backbone and jam it up his ass?”

“Someone needs to jam the truth up yours,” Matt muttered.

“The truth shall make you free,” Pelton said, misquoting the famous line.

Brian grabbed Matt’s arm and pulled him down the line. “Over there,” he said, pointing to a table well away from everyone else. They sat alone and attacked their meal. Zeth walked over and stared at Matt’s back for a moment before she bent over and whispered in his ear. “I fight my own battles, meathead.”

“He’s spreading a bunch of lies,” Matt protested.

“It was none of your business,” Zeth said. “Everybody knows Pelton’s full of bullshit. Nobody was paying any attention and it would’ve gone away. Now you shot off your mouth and made it a federal case.”

Matt twisted in his seat and watched her walk away.
He felt miserable. “Eyes front and center, Rat!” an upperclassman called.

Warsaw

Ewa slid back the door to the first-class compartment and lifted her small suitcase onto the overhead rack. Pontowski was right behind her and did the same. “It’s been more than twenty-five years since I’ve been on a train,” he told her.

She gave him a sideways look and took off her hat, shaking her long hair free. “How unusual. I suppose you Americans either fly or drive your own car.” She threw her heavy coat on the rack and sat down. “We have the compartment to ourselves.” She shed her heavy boots and curled up on the seat, hiding her feet under her long skirt.

Pontowski sat opposite her by the window and watched as the train pulled out of Warsaw’s central station. The door slid open and the conductor asked for their tickets. Ewa rummaged through her bag and handed him two travel folders. The conductor glanced at the names, came to attention, and gave a half bow. “I hope you enjoy your journey, General Pontowski. If you need anything, I’ll be outside.” He closed the door and sealed off the corridor for the journey to Krakow.

“It looks like we’re getting the first-class schmooze,” Pontowski said.

“The government wants this to be a big success,” she told him. “Personally, I don’t like the constant attention. It makes me feel so, so, watched.”

Pontowski smiled to himself. Ewa was going to be watched no matter where she went.

An extremely attractive middle-aged woman, a photographer, and a driver were waiting for them on the platform when the train arrived at Krakow. The photographer started shooting picture after picture. “I’m Renata Brandys,” she said, leading them to a waiting Mercedes-Benz. “I’ll be your guide. You’re scheduled to tour Krakow this afternoon and visit your family cottage tomorrow morning.
But after that, we are at your disposal for whatever you care to see.”

“Thank you,” Pontowski said. “Your English is excellent.”

Renata smiled. “I earned my doctorate at the University of Missouri.”

“I live not too far away,” Pontowski said. “Warrensburg.”

“What a coincidence,” Renata replied.

“I doubt it,” Ewa murmured under her breath in Polish. The two women smiled at each other.

An early morning mist was rising off the Vistula River when Pontowski and Ewa met in the lobby of the luxury hotel for the drive to the cottage. Renata bustled up, all crisp efficiency. Her hair was carefully arranged and she wore a very stylish coat. “Good morning,” she sang. “The car is waiting.”

It was disturbingly quiet when they stepped outside. Pontowski paused and looked across the river at the royal castle in the center of Krakow. It faded in and out of the mist, briefly overshadowing the town before disappearing. “Beautiful,” Pontowski murmured.

“It’s so much a part of us that we don’t notice it,” Renata said.

“But it’s always there.” He crawled into the backseat next to Ewa, very much aware of her soft fragrance. “New perfume?” he asked.

She gave him a little smile and shook her head. Her hair flowed around her face, enchanting him. “It must be the shampoo. I washed my hair this morning.”

“You were up early,” Renata said in Polish, her voice silky sweet.

The traffic going in their direction was very light and Renata spoke with an insider’s knowledge, describing what they were passing and where they were going. Ewa listened carefully and recorded most of what she said in a little notebook. Just before they arrived at the cottage, she scribbled a note for Pontowski.
She knows too much. Look at that beautiful coat. She’s not a guide. Be careful
.