Pauline sighed. ‘He may be relied upon to be unhelpful. What has he said?’
‘I guess he’s responding to our statement that we already have troops in Chad. Anyway, he’s said they should be withdrawn, to make sure they don’t get involved in a war that has nothing to do with America.’
‘So we would no longer be part of the struggle against ISGS?’
‘That’s the implication, but he didn’t mention ISGS.’
‘Okay, Sandip, thanks for the heads-up.’
‘Thank you, Madam President.’
She got into the tall black car with the armoured doors and inch-thick bulletproof windows. In front was an identical car with Secret Service bodyguards, behind was another with White House staffers. As the convoy pulled away she controlled her irritation. While she was urgently pushing forward a peace plan, Moore was giving Americans the impression that she was thoughtlessly drifting into another foreign war. There was a saying: A lie goes halfway round the world while the truth is getting its boots on. It was infuriating that her efforts could be so easily undermined by a blowhard such as Moore.
Motorcycle police held up the traffic for her at every road junction, and it took only a few minutes to get to Georgetown.
As they drew up to the entrance to the hotel, she said to Gerry: ‘We’ll separate soon after we walk in, as usual, if that’s okay with you.’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘That way, some of the people who are disappointed that they didn’t get to speak to you can have the consolation prize of a conversation with me.’ But he smiled as he said it, so she felt he did not really mind.
The hotel manager met her at the door and led her downstairs, preceded and followed by members of her Secret Service detail. A roar of conversation came from the ballroom. She was pleased to see the broad-shouldered figure of Gus waiting at the foot of the stairs, looking devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo. ‘Just so you know,’ he murmured, ‘James Moore showed up.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll deal with him if I run into him. What about Prince Faisal?’
‘He’s here.’
‘Bring him to me if you get a chance.’
‘Leave it to me.’
She entered the ballroom and declined a glass of champagne. There was an atmosphere of warm bodies, fishy canapés, and empty wine bottles. She was welcomed by the chair of one of the charities, a millionaire’s wife in a turquoise silk sheath and impossibly high heels. Then Pauline was on the merry-go-round. She asked bright questions about literacy and showed interest in the answers. She was introduced to the main sponsor of the ball, the CEO of a huge paper-manufacturing company, and she asked how the business was doing. The Bosnian ambassador buttonholed her and begged for help dealing with unexploded landmines, of which his country had eighty thousand. Pauline was sympathetic, but the landmines had not been put there by Americans and she did not plan to spend taxpayers’ money removing them. She was not a Republican for nothing.
She was charming and interested with everyone, and managed to conceal how impatient she was to get on with her priorities.
She was approached by the French ambassador, Giselle de Perrin, a thin woman of sixty-something in a black dress. What would the news from Paris be? President Pelletier could make or break this deal.
Madame de Perrin shook Pauline’s hand and said: ‘Madam President, I spoke to Monsieur Pelletier an hour ago. He asked me to give you this.’ She took a folded paper from her clutch bag. ‘He said you would be pleased.’
Pauline eagerly unfolded the single sheet. It was a press release from the élysée Palace, with one paragraph highlighted and translated into English:
The government of France, concerned about tensions on the Chad–Sudan border, will immediately send one thousand troops to Chad to reinforce its existing mission there. Initially, French forces will remain at least ten kilometres from the border, hoping that forces on the other side will reciprocate, thereby creating a twenty-kilometre separation between the armies, for the avoidance of accidental provocation.
Pauline was delighted. ‘Thank you for this, ambassador,’ she said. ‘It’s very helpful.’
‘You’re welcome,’ the ambassador said. ‘France is always pleased to assist our American allies.’
That wasn’t true, Pauline thought, but she kept smiling.
Her attention was drawn away as Milton Lapierre appeared. Oh, shit, she thought, I don’t need this now. She had not expected him to be here – there was no reason for it. He had resigned, and Pauline had nominated a replacement vice-president, who was now going through the process of being approved by both houses of Congress. But the story of his affair with sixteen-year-old Rita Cross had not yet hit the media, and she guessed he was trying to maintain a pretence that everything was all right.
Milt did not look good. He had a whisky glass in his hand and he seemed to have sipped quite a lot from it. His tuxedo was expensive, but his cummerbund was slipping and his bow tie was loose.
Pauline’s bodyguards came closer.
Pauline had learned early in her career to remain cool during embarrassing encounters. ‘Good evening, Milt,’ she said. She recalled that he had been made a director of a lobbying firm, and she said: ‘Congratulations on your appointment to the board of Riley Hobcraft Partners.’
‘Thank you, Madam President. You did your best to ruin my life, but you didn’t quite succeed.’
Pauline was startled by the intensity of his hatred. ‘Ruin your life?’ she said with what she hoped was a friendly smile. ‘Better people than you and me have been fired and got over it.’
He lowered his voice. ‘She left me,’ he said.
Pauline could not feel sorry for him. ‘It’s for the best,’ she said. ‘Best for her and best for you.’
‘You know nothing about it,’ he hissed.
Gus stepped in and put a protective arm between Pauline and Milt. ‘Here’s his excellency Prince Faisal,’ he said, and with a light touch he turned her around so that her back was to Milt. She heard one of her bodyguards distracting Milt by saying pleasantly: ‘Good to see you again, Mr Vice-President, I hope you’re well.’
Pauline smiled at Faisal, a middle-aged man with a grey beard and a wary expression. ‘Good evening, Prince Faisal,’ she said. ‘I talked to the president of Egypt, but he wouldn’t make any promises.’
‘That’s what they said to us. Our foreign minister likes the idea of a demilitarized zone between Chad and Sudan, and he immediately called Cairo. But the Egyptians only said they would think about it.’
Pauline had the French note in her hand. ‘Look at this,’ she said.
Faisal read it quickly. ‘This might make a difference,’ he said.
Her spirits rose again. ‘Why don’t you show it to your friend the Egyptian ambassador?’
‘That’s just what I was thinking.’
‘Please do.’
Gus touched her arm and eased her towards the podium. It was almost time for her speech. One television crew had been allowed in to film her speaking. A script about literacy would be displayed for her on screens that could not be seen by the audience. However, she was thinking of diverting from the script, or at least adding to it, with a few remarks about Chad. She just wished she had some concrete good news to report, instead of mere hopes.
She had brief exchanges with people as the Secret Service men made a way for her through the crowd. Just before she reached the short flight of steps, James Moore greeted her.
She spoke politely but kept her face expressionless. ‘Good evening, James, and thank you for the interest you’re taking in Chad.’ She felt she was close to the line where courtesy turned into hypocrisy.
Moore said: ‘It’s a dangerous situation.’
‘Of course, and the last thing we want to do is get American troops involved.’
‘Then you should bring them home.’
Pauline smiled thinly. ‘I think we can do better than that.’
Moore was puzzled. ‘Better?’