Pauline watched the news while she drank her first cup of coffee. They were still showing the footage of Joan Lafayette’s arrival at Kennedy, but James Moore’s bargain story was the second lead, taking the shine off Pauline’s triumph.
Her mind kept returning to the previous evening. She shuddered when she remembered thinking that no one would know if she took Gus to her bed. It would be impossible to keep such an affair secret in the White House. For Gus would have had to leave her in the middle of the night and make his way through the corridors and walkways to his car then drive out of the gate, and he would surely have been seen by half a dozen security guards and Secret Service agents, not to mention cleaners and maintenance people, and every one of them would have wondered who he had been with and what he had been doing there so late at night.
Even his departure at 9 p.m. had probably raised a few eyebrows among people who knew that Gerry and Pippa were out of town.
She put that out of her mind and focussed on keeping America safe.
She spent the morning in meetings with her Chief of Staff, the Treasury Secretary, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and the House Majority Leader. She made a speech to small business owners at a fund-raising lunch, and as usual she left before the meal.
Her lunch was a sandwich with Chester Jackson. He told her that the government of Vietnam had announced that all oil exploration vessels would in future be escorted by ships of the Vietnamese People’s Navy equipped with Russian-made anti-ship missiles and instructed to return fire.
Chess also reported that North Korea’s Supreme Leader was claiming that peace had been restored after the American-fomented trouble in army bases. However, Chess said, the truth was that the rebels still controlled half the army and all the nukes. He thought the apparent peace was a temporary illusion.
In the afternoon, Pauline did a photocall with a visiting group of school pupils from Chicago and had a discussion with the Attorney General about organized crime.
At the end of the afternoon she ran over the day’s events with Gus and Sandip. Social media had been taken up with James Moore’s accusation. All the Internet trolls said Pauline thought two dead Americans was a bargain.
A new opinion poll showed that Pauline and Moore were now equal in popularity. It made Pauline want to give up.
Lizzie told her that Gerry and Pippa were back, and she went to the Residence to welcome them home. She found them in the Center Hall, unpacking with the help of Cyrus.
Pippa had a lot to tell her mother. The photos of President Kennedy and Jackie in Dallas had made her cry. One of the Harvard boys had asked Lindy Faber to go out with him in the Christmas vacation. Wendy Bonita had thrown up twice on the bus. Mrs Newbegin had been a pain.
‘How about old Judders?’ Pauline asked.
‘Not as bad as expected,’ said Pippa. ‘She and Daddy were great, actually.’
Pauline glanced at Gerry. He seemed happy. Making her voice casual, she said: ‘Did you enjoy yourself, too?’
‘Yeah.’ Gerry handed a bag of laundry to Cyrus. ‘The kids were well behaved, somewhat to my surprise.’
‘And Ms Judd?’
‘I got on with her fine.’
He was lying, Pauline could tell. His voice, his stance, and the look on his face all gave it away by being just a touch unnatural. He had slept with Amelia Judd, in a budget hotel in Boston, with his daughter in the same building. Although Pauline had been wondering about the possibility, she was shocked by the sudden intuitive knowledge that her suspicions had been right. She shivered. Gerry gave her a look of curiosity. ‘I felt a cold draft,’ she said. ‘Maybe someone left a window open.’
He said: ‘I didn’t notice it.’
For some reason, Pauline did not want Gerry to know what she had realized. ‘So, you had a good time,’ she said brightly.
‘I sure did.’
‘I’m so glad.’
Gerry took his suitcase into the Master Bedroom. Pauline knelt on the polished wood floor and began to help Pippa with her clothes, but her mind was elsewhere. Gerry’s fling with Ms Judd might be a passing thing, a one-night stand. All the same, she asked herself if it was her fault. She had been sleeping in the Lincoln Bedroom more often. Had she become indifferent to sex? But Gerry himself had never been very demanding. Surely that was not the issue.
Cy came in with a lipstick in his hand. ‘This was in the First Gentleman’s laundry,’ he said. ‘Must have dropped in there somehow.’ He offered it to Pippa.
Pippa said: ‘I don’t use that stuff.’
Pauline stared at the little gold-coloured tube as if it was a gun.
It was a colour she never wore and a brand she did not use.
After a moment she pulled herself together. Pippa must not suspect. She took the lipstick from Cyrus’s outstretched hand. ‘Oh, thanks,’ she said.
Then she quickly dropped it into the pocket of her jacket.
CHAPTER 26
Men did not live long in the mining camp. Women did better, not having to work in the pit, but a man died every few days. Some just dropped where they stood, victims of the heat and the back-breaking toil. Others were shot for disobeying the rules. There were accidents: a rock falling on a sandalled foot, a hammer slipping from a sweaty grasp, a sharp-edged shard flying through the air and slicing into flesh. Two of the women happened to have some nursing experience, but they had no drugs or sterile dressings, not even a Band-Aid, and anything more than a minor wound could be fatal.
A dead man would remain where he lay until the end of the working day, whereupon the backhoe would be driven out into an area of gravelly sand to dig a grave alongside many others. The man’s co-workers were left to carry out any funeral rites if they wished or, if not, to leave the grave unmarked and the man unremembered.
The guards showed no concern. Abdul assumed they were confident that more slaves would soon arrive to replace the dead.
He had to escape. Otherwise he would end up in that desert graveyard.
Within twenty-four hours of arriving, Abdul had become convinced that the mine was run by Islamic State. It was obviously unlicensed but certainly not informal. The people managing the place were slavers and murderers, but they were also highly competent. There was only one criminal enterprise in North Africa that could achieve this level of organization, and that was ISGS.
Abdul was desperate to flee but he spent several more days gathering crucial data. He calculated the number of jihadis living in the compound, estimated how many rifles they had in total, and guessed at what other armaments they possessed – the shrouded vehicles in the compound looked to him as if they might even be missile launchers.
He discreetly took photographs with his phone, not the cheap one in his pocket but the highly sophisticated device hidden in the sole of his boot, which still had power remaining. He put all the numbers into a document ready to be sent to Tamara as soon as he reached a place where there was connectivity.
He spent a long time thinking about how to escape.
His first decision was not to take Kiah and Naji with him. They would slow him down, perhaps fatally. It would be difficult enough alone. And if he was caught, he would be killed, and they would be too, if they were with him. They were better off waiting here for the rescue team that Tamara would dispatch as soon as she got Abdul’s message.