She turns away, walks a few paces to the right. Waits until she hears the snap of his camera turning off.
‘Don’t start coming after me, son,’ she says out of the corner of her mouth. ‘I’m your friend here.’
Tunde notices the word ‘son’. Says nothing. Holds it close to his chest. Is glad he left the audio recording running, even though the video is off.
‘I could have pushed you twice as hard,’ he says, ‘ma’am.’
Margot squints at him. ‘I like you, Tunde,’ she says. ‘You did good work on that interview with UrbanDox. Those nuke threats really got Congress to sit up and take notice, voted us the money we need to defend the country. You still in touch with his people?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘You hear they’ve got anything big coming down the pipe, you come and tell me, all right? I’ll make it worth your while. There’s money in it now – a lot of money. You might make a great press consultant with our training camps.’
‘Aha,’ says Tunde. ‘I’ll let you know.’
‘Be sure you do.’
She smiles reassuringly. At least, that’s what she intends. She has the feeling that, once it reaches her lips, it might have come out more as a leer. The problem is that these fucking reporters are so attractive. She’s seen Tunde’s videos before; Maddy is a huge fan, and he’s actually making a difference with the eighteen to thirty-five voting demographic.
It’s amazing how – amongst all the talk about his relaxed and accessible style – no one mentions that Olatunde Edo’s videos have been such a hit because he’s handsome as hell. He’s half naked in some of them, reporting from the beach in just Speedos, and how’s she supposed to take him seriously now, when she’s seen his broad shoulders and narrow waist and the rolling landscape of obliques and delts, glutes and pecs of his firm … shit, she really needs to get laid.
Christ. OK. There are a few young guys among the staff on this trip; she’ll buy one of them a drink after the party, because this can’t be happening in her mind every time she’s confronted with a handsome reporter. She grabs a schnapps from a passing tray; downs it. An aide catches her eye across the room, points to her wristwatch. We’re off to the races.
‘You’ve gotta admit,’ she whispers to Frances, her aide, as they climb the marble stairs, ‘they know how to pick a castle.’
The place looks like it’s been transported brick by brick from Disney. Gilt furniture. Seven pointed spires, each a different shape and size, some fluted, some smooth, some tipped with gold. Pine forest in the foreground, mountains in the distance. Yeah, yeah, you’ve got history and culture. Yeah, yeah, you’re not no one. Fine.
Tatiana Moskalev is – no kidding – sitting on an actual throne when Margot walks in. A huge gold thing, with lions’ heads on the arms and a red velvet cushion. Margot manages not to smile. The President of Bessapara is wearing an enormous white fur coat with a gold dress underneath. She has a ring on each finger and two on each thumb. It’s like she learned what a President ought to look like from watching too many mafia movies. Maybe that’s what she did. The door closes behind Margot. They’re alone together.
‘President Moskalev,’ says Margot. ‘An honour to meet you.’
‘Senator Cleary,’ says Tatiana, ‘the honour is mine.’
The snake meets the tiger, Margot thinks; the jackal greets the scorpion.
‘Please,’ says Tatiana, ‘take a glass of our ice wine. The finest in Europe. The product of our Bessaparan vineyards.’
Margot sips it, wondering how likely it is to be poisoned. She puts the odds at no more than 3 per cent. It’d look very bad for them if she died here.
‘The wine is excellent,’ says Margot. ‘I would have expected no less.’
Tatiana smiles a thin and distant smile. ‘You like Bessapara?’ she says. ‘You have enjoyed the tours? Music, dancing, local cheese?’
Margot had sat through a three-hour demonstration and talk on local cheese-making practices that morning. Three hours. On cheese.
‘Oh, your country is delightful, Madam President – such old-world charm, combined with such focus and determination to move into the future together.’
‘Yes.’ Tatiana smiles thinly again. ‘We think we are maybe the most forward-thinking country in the world, you know.’
‘Ah, yes. I am looking forward to the visit to your science-technology park tomorrow.’
Tatiana shakes her head. ‘Culturally,’ she says; ‘socially. We are the only country in the world to really understand what this change means. To understand it as a blessing. An invitation to … to …’ She shakes her head for a moment, as if to clear a kind of fog: ‘An invitation to a new way of living.’
Margot says nothing and sips her wine again, making an appreciative face.
‘I like America,’ says Tatiana. ‘My late husband, Viktor, liked USSR, but I like America. Land of freedom. Land of opportunity. Good music. Better than Russian music.’ She starts to sing the lyrics to a pop song Maddy’s been playing around the house incessantly: ‘When we drive, you so fast, in your car, all boom boom.’ Her voice is pleasant. Margot remembers reading somewhere that Tatiana had had ambitions to be a pop star, once upon a time.
‘You want us to get them to come play here? They tour. We can fix it up.’
Tatiana says: ‘I think you know what I want. I think you know. Senator Cleary, you are not a stupid woman.’
Margot smiles. ‘I may not be stupid, but I’m not a mind-reader, President Moskalev.’
‘All we want,’ says Tatiana, ‘is American dream, right here in Bessapara. We are a new nation, plucky little state bordered by a terrible enemy. We want to live freely, to pursue our own way of life. We want opportunity. That’s all.’
Margot nods. ‘That’s what everyone wants, Madam President. Democracy for all is America’s fondest wish for the world.’
Tatiana’s lips turn faintly upward. ‘Then you will help us against the North.’
Margot chews her top lip for a moment. This is the tricky point. She’d known it was coming.
‘I’ve … I’ve had conversations with the President. While we support your independence, as it is the will of your people, we can’t be seen to interfere in a war between North Moldova and Bessapara.’
‘You and I are more subtle than this, Senator Cleary.’
‘We can offer humanitarian aid, and peacekeeping forces.’
‘You can vote against any action against us in the UN Security Council.’
Margot frowns. ‘But there are no actions against you in the UN Security Council.’
Tatiana places her glass very deliberately on the table in front of her. ‘Senator Cleary. My country has been betrayed by some of its men. We know this. We were defeated in the recent Battle of the Dniester because the North knew where our troops would be. Men from Bessapara have sold information to our enemies in the North. Some of them have been found. Some of them have confessed. We need to take action.’
‘That’s your prerogative, of course.’
‘You will not interfere in this action. You will support whatever we do.’