‘That’s why he was chosen, Mitchell. We found the extraordinary man. He’s too perceptive to be fooled and too decent to be bought. In addition, he has the personal requisites to command attention.’
‘I can’t fault your choice, Dr Winters.’
‘So where are we?’
‘In a dilemma,’ said Payton. ‘But for the moment it’s mine, not yours.’
7:25 pm San Diego. They held each other; Khalehla leaned back, touching his hair as she looked at him. ‘Darling, can you do it?’
‘You forget, ya anisa, I’ve spent most of my profitable life dealing with the Arab propensity for negotiation.’
‘That was negotiating—exaggeration, of course—not lying, not sustaining a lie in front of people who’ll be suspicious of everything you say.’
‘They’ll desperately want to believe me, that’s two points for our side. Besides, once I see them and meet them, I don’t really give a damn what they believe.’
‘I wouldn’t advise you to think that way, Evan,’ said Rashad, lowering her hand and stepping away. ‘Until we have them, which includes degrees of traceable evidence, they’ll operate as usual—down and dirty. If they think for a moment that it’s a trap, you could be found washed up on the beach, or maybe just not found at all, just out there somewhere in the Pacific.’
‘As in the shark-infested shoals of Qatar.’ Kendrick nodded, remembering Bahrain and the Mahdi. ‘I see what you mean. Then I’ll make it plain that my office knows where I am tonight.’
‘It wouldn’t happen tonight, darling. Down and dirty doesn’t mean stupid. There’ll be a mix in there—some legitimate staffers and probably a smattering of Bollinger’s kitchen cabinet. Old friends who act as advisers—they’re the ones you want to zero in on. Use that well-recognized cool of yours and be convincing. Don’t let anything throw you.’
The telephone rang and Evan started towards it. ‘That’s the car,’ he said. ‘Grey with tinted windows as befits the Vice President’s residence in the hills.’
8:07 pm San Diego. The slender man walked rapidly through the terminal at San Diego’s International Airport, a garment bag slung over his right shoulder, a black medical bag in his left hand. The automatic glass doors to the taxi area snapped back as he passed through on to the concrete pavement. He stood for a moment, then headed for the first cab in the line of taxis queued up for passengers. He opened the door as the driver lowered a tabloid newspaper.
‘I assume you’re available,’ said the new fare curtly as he climbed in, throwing the carry-on across the seat and lowering his medical bag to the floor.
‘No trips over an hour, mister. That’s when I pack it in for the night.’
‘You’ll make it.’
‘Where to?’
‘Up in the hills. I know the way. I’ll direct you.’
‘Gotta have an address, mister. It’s the law.’
‘How about the California residence of the Vice President of the United States?’ asked the passenger testily.
‘It’s an address,’ replied the driver, unimpressed.
The taxi started off with a planned, mean-spirited jolt, and the man known briefly in southwest Colorado as Dr Eugene Lyons was slapped back into the seat. He was unaware of the insult, however, his anger clouding all normal perceptions. He was a man who was owed, a man who had been cheated!
* * *
Chapter 39
The introductions were brief and Kendrick had the distinct impression that not all the names or titles were entirely accurate. As a result, he studied each face as if he were about to commit it to a canvas he was incapable of painting. Khalehla had been right, the seven-man council was a mix but not as difficult to discern as she had thought. A staffer making thirty to forty thousand dollars a year did not dress or behave like someone who spent such sums on a weekend visit to Paris… or Divonne. He judged that the staff was in the minority: three official aides versus four outside advisers—the kitchen cabinet from California.
Vice President Orson Bollinger was a man of medium height, medium build, medium middle age, and afflicted with a medium high voice that fell between the narrow parameters of being dismissible and convincing. He was… well, medium, the ideal second in command so long as Number One was in good health and vigour. He was vaguely perceived as a toady who might just possibly rise to the occasion, but only possibly. He was neither a threat nor was he stupid. He was a political survivor because he understood the unwritten rules of the also-ran. He greeted Congressman Evan Kendrick warmly and led him into his impressive private library where his ‘people’ were assembled, sitting in various leather armchairs and on dark leather couches.
‘We’ve cancelled our Christmas festivities here,’ said Bollinger, sitting in the most prominent chair and indicating that Evan should sit beside him, ‘in deference to dear Ardis and Andrew. Such a terrible tragedy, two such magnificently patriotic people. She simply couldn’t live without him, you know. You’d have to have seen them together to understand.’
Nods and impatient grunts of agreement came from around the room. ‘I understand, Mr. Vice President,’ interjected Kendrick sadly. ‘As you may know, I met Mrs. Vanvlanderen a number of years ago in Saudi Arabia. She was a remarkable woman and so very sensitive.’
‘No, Congressman, I didn’t know that.’
‘It’s immaterial, but of course not to me. I’ll never forget her. She was remarkable.’
‘As, indeed, is your request for a meeting this evening,’ said one of the two official aides sitting on the couch. ‘We’re all aware of the Chicago movement to challenge the Vice President, and we understand that it may not have your endorsement. Is that true, Congressman?’
‘As I explained to the Vice President this afternoon, I didn’t hear about it until a week ago… No, it doesn’t have my endorsement. I’ve considered other plans that do not concern further political pursuits.’
‘Then why not simply declare your non-candidacy?’ asked a second aide from the same couch.
‘Well, I guess things are never as simple as we’d like them to be, are they? I’d be less than candid if I said I wasn’t flattered by the proposal, and during the past five days my staff did some fairly extensive polling, both regionally and among the party leadership. They’ve concluded that my candidacy is a viable prospect.’
‘But you just said you had other plans,’ interrupted a heavyset man in grey flannels and a gold-buttoned navy blue blazer… not an aide.
‘I believe I said that I’ve considered other plans, other pursuits. Nothing’s finalized.’
‘What’s your point, Congressman?’ asked the same staffer who had suggested that Evan should declare he would not stand.
‘That could be between the Vice President and me, couldn’t it?’
‘These are my people,’ offered Bollinger unctuously, smiling benignly.
‘I understand that, sir, but my people are not here… perhaps to guide me.’
‘You don’t look or sound like someone who needs a hell of a lot of guidance,’ said a short, compact adviser from a leather chair unflatteringly large for his small frame. ‘I’ve seen you on television. You’ve got some pretty strong opinions.’
‘I couldn’t change those any more than a zebra could change his stripes, but there may be mitigating circumstances why they should remain privately held beliefs rather than publicly expressed ones.’
‘Are you trading horses?’ asked a third contributor, this a tall, lanky man in an open shirt with deeply tanned features.
‘I’m not trading anything,’ objected Kendrick firmly. ‘I’m attempting to explain a situation that hasn’t been clarified and I think it damn well should.’
‘No need to get upset, young fella,’ said Bollinger earnestly, frowning at his large, suntanned adviser. ‘It’s not a demeaning choice of words, you know. “Trading” is intrinsic to our great democratic contract. Now, what’s this situation that should be clarified?’
‘The Oman crisis… Masqat and Bahrain. The basic reason I’ve been singled out for higher political office.’ Suddenly, it was apparent that the Vice President’s people all thought they were going to be given information that might wash away the Oman myth, vitiate the potential candidate’s strongest appeal. All eyes were riveted on the congressman. ‘I went to Masqat,’ continued Evan, ‘because I knew who was behind the Palestinian terrorists. He used the same tactics on me, driving my company out of business and robbing me of millions.’
‘You wanted revenge, then?’ suggested the heavyset adviser in the gold-buttoned blazer.
‘Revenge, hell, I wanted my company back—I still want it. The time will come fairly soon now and I want to head back to pick up the pieces, to make up for all those profits I left behind.’
The fourth contributor, a florid-faced man with a distinct Boston accent, leaned forward. ‘You goin’ back t’ the Middle East?’
‘No, to the Persian Gulf states—there’s a difference. The Emirates, Bahrain, Qatar, Dubai, they’re not Lebanon or Syria or Gaddafi’s Libya. The word from Europe is that construction’s starting up all over again and I intend to be there.’