“Dan agrees that the behavior is suspicious, and merits investigation. If only to rule out the possibility of sabotage or some other, actively criminal, subversion.”
Mike nodded, slowly “Fine. Francisco, trust Dan’s instincts on this one. I mean no disrespect, but your instincts in these things come from a culture that—no, that’s not right, and I’m sorry. You know what you grew up with, and what the United States is all about, and how it’s different.”
Nasi grinned broadly. It was rare that Mike dropped into such lazy habits of thought, and the effect was amusing, not offensive. Still, that was no reason not to have a little fun.
“True,” he said, deadpan. “The sultan would have set his torturers to work, found out who was responsible, and devised some suitably humorous way to put him to death. Run through his own press, most likely, before an appreciative audience of pashas and beys.”
Mike gave him an old-fashioned look.
“No, Mike, seriously, I take no offense. I do try to take account of how my upbringing and training and the standards of this brave new world may differ. It was for this reason I consulted with Dan, you know. A good spymaster checks his assumptions.”
“Sorry, Francisco. I’m teaching granny to suck eggs again.”
Nasi dismissed the apology with a wave. “In truth, the operational details need not detain us. The substance of the report I sought to make this morning was the report from Venice and that this pamphleteer is back at work, both of which you needed to know.”
Mike raised his coffee cup. “Cheers, then,” he said, and took a gulp. “Damn fine coffee your cousin is getting for us.”
Nasi sniffed. “Which you Americans then proceed to ruin. I was served a cup yesterday that I could actually see the bottom of.” He sniffed again. “I shall not repeat my opinion of the barbaric pollutants used.”
“Be off,” Mike said, waving his coffee cup toward the door, “and take your coffee snobbery with you. Some of us like to have a cup of coffee and not take three days to get the use of our taste buds back.
“Anyway,” Mike went on in a more sober tone, “I need time to compose myself for my first meeting. Wilhelm’s coming in to tell me what he’s viewing with alarm this week.”
“Exasperating?” Nasi asked, knowing what the answer was. As Wilhelm Wettin—formerly Duke Wilhelm von Saxe-Weimar—grew into his role as the leader of the newly founded Crown Loyalist opposition party, he was giving Mike more and more trouble.
Mike sighed. “Very. The man’s got more sense than to be anything other than totally straight with me, all the time, even in private, and it’s getting wearing. I was thinking at first that he’d have no experience of this kind of politics, but if he’s learning on the job he hides it well.”
“And what is he viewing with alarm this week?”
“I don’t know yet,” Mike said. “He’s got the media part down pat, I have to say. I get a long list of grievances, condemnations, views-with-alarm, occasionally—very occasionally!—some point of commendation. And it all appears in the same day’s papers. I could do with a press office that good, really I could.”
“Do you want to know in advance—” Nasi began.
Mike stopped him. “No, Francisco. In fact: hell, no. Did you read about Watergate?”
“Yes, Mike,” Nasi said, recalling his own reaction: that Richard Nixon would have fit right in at the Sublime Porte. “No, what I meant was to suggest that you ask the Crown Loyalists to set the agenda for the meetings. The day before, perhaps, so that you can be ready with the facts at hand to answer questions?”
Mike smiled. “Nice try. That works in Congress, for Prime Minister’s Questions, but Wilhelm’s too good an operator to give me any advance warning for one of these little chats. Wide-ranging discussion, he’ll say. Loyal opposition, not the foreign delegation at a summit, he’ll say. And more like it, and he’ll look like he means it all. No, he suckered me into having these briefing sessions for the leaders of the opposition parties, and now he’s got them he’s not going to let me take the teeth out of them for him. So, no agenda.” Mike sighed.