He pulled out a chair, laying his passport in front of him on the desk. The Commandant’s hand snaked out to take it. “I do not believe I recognize your face or name, Mr. Trent. This is odd because I thought I was familiar with all members of the coalition in this newly acquired part of the Soviet Republic.”
Michael’s stomach rolled, but he kept his face friendly. They had to continue to think he was just another American aid worker for the time being.
“Just arrived, sir. I’m new to the mission, here to prepare you for the impending arrival of the United Nations forces.”
Jaros’ eyes narrowed at Michael’s mention of the UN. “Michael Nariovsky-Trent. Born in the former nation of Orlisia, I see. Now part of the Soviet Republic. How ironic.” He snapped Michael’s passport closed and pushed it back to him. Michael slid it close to his elbow, out of the Commandant’s reach but still in view. “If I may say so, you look far better with your current hairstyle.”
“Why, thank you,” he said. “Perhaps we could turn to the matter at hand.”
“Ah yes.” The Commandant sat back, a calculating expression on his face. “I fear there is an error. The United Nations has not been invited to enter this camp. Parnaas does not require any preparation. Or at least, not any preparation that you might be able to provide.” He let that last statement hang in the air, and Michael felt his skin crawl at the implications.
“I was not referring to preparing the camp, Commandant Jaros.” He allowed the faintest edge of his American accent to slip away. “I was referring to preparing you personally.” The superficial friendliness of the meeting drained away, and the Commandant’s eyes went dark.
“Explain yourself.”
Michael checked his watch. “It is currently 15:40, Commandant. In approximately twenty minutes, a press conference will be held at the United Nations headquarters in New York to announce details of the Orlisia operation. I am sure you heard about the UN Security Council’s decision to send a peacekeeping mission to Orlisia? It was announced earlier today. You have lost your stranglehold on the Security Council, it would seem.”
“Peacekeeping mission.” Jaros spat out the term like an obscenity.” A farce contrived by the UN Security Council in order to prevent the Soviet Republic from exercising its veto powers.”
Michael ignored the comment and continued. “The press conference will include the announcement that UN peacekeeping forces will be headed by Major General Cecil Wilder of the United Kingdom.” This information was classified, and the Commandant would surely know that. Jaros’ pale blue eyes gleamed, and he leaned forward slightly.
“A total of twenty-one countries will be sending troops and observers, a tremendous show of support for a UN peacekeeping mission.” He paused to see Jaros’ reaction to this piece of information. How much of this the Commandant already knew through his own intelligence channels was unknown. What Michael needed to do was to ensure his own credibility as a source in the Commandant’s mind.
“You are well informed. Please go on.”
“The mission’s primary mandate is to secure Parnaas, and ensure that the refugees are being treated in a humane fashion. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees will join the Refugee Crisis Coalition in the camp, and eventually take control of operations here.”
The commandant’s expression tightened, as if he smelled something bad. “Not an unexpected development, but we will see. These things take time, much more time than the Security Council always anticipates. A great deal can happen between now and when your soldiers arrive. ”
Michael paused a moment. Then he played his first card, classified information Maxwell had given him on the phone earlier today.
“It will be announced at the press conference that Yejida Matunga will accompany the UNHCR at the direct request of the United Nations Security Council.”
Jaros’ left eyelid twitched suddenly, his face suddenly tensing. The two guards glanced at the Commandant, then at Michael, not understanding what had passed between them.