The Diplomatic Coup

by Alan Elsner

  Next morning they flew back to Washington. After that, Delphine didn’t see her again for a couple of weeks.

  Jean-Luc gave Delphine a few days off to recover from the trip but that turned out to be a bad idea. With nothing to do, she found herself doing nothing. Now, she could neither sleep at night nor drag herself out of bed in the morning. Flashbacks of discovering Erik’s body haunted her. She ate cereal for breakfast and again for dinner, usually skipping lunch, and drank many cups of tea. Dishes started piling up in the kitchen sink. A husk of herself, she showered every couple of days and padded around in a nightgown. The apartment started to smell; the nightmares were getting worse.

  Memorial services took place for Stewart and Andrew. Delphine didn’t go. A couple of newspapers published articles on the bizarre string of tragedies that had recently struck the Secretary of State’s entourage – but made no attempt to link them. Everyone thought it was just a series of awful coincidences. Possibly the only person beside Delphine who suspected a portion of the truth was Todd Trautmann; she had no idea if he was still investigating and she couldn’t be bothered calling him to ask.

  One day a check for half a million dollars arrived from Heathgate. Delphine examined the piece of paper with its five zeroes with vague curiosity, then tossed it on the kitchen table with all the unpaid bills, flyers and store coupons that had come in the mail.

  Jason called almost every day; Delphine refused to see him. She didn’t even want to talk to him. “It’s not you. It’s me,” she told him. “I think you should stop calling me. I’m not worth the effort.”

  “I know you’re going through a tough time. Why won’t you let me help?

  “Can you bring dead people back to life?”

  “No.”

  “Then you can’t help.”

  After a while he stopped phoning.

  The French ambassador’s office made contact a couple of times requesting a meeting. Delphine did not respond.

  Strangely, it was a combination of Secretary Dayton and Ira Milstein who forced Delphine out of her funk. Ira was the first to call.

  “Frenchy, I heard you were depressed,” he said. “We’re going out for lunch. Be ready at noon. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “I thought you were the one who was depressed.”

  “I’m over it, moving on. I’ll tell you at lunch.”

  Delphine lacked the will to fight him. For the first time in over a week, she took some care with her hair and put on makeup. Then she sat looking out of the window. She planned to intercept him on the street, before he could ring the doorbell and peer into her messy, neglected apartment.

  Ira showed up looking positively dapper in a navy blue blazer with no obvious stains and a red carnation in his buttonhole.

  “Delphine,” he said, taking her hand. For an uncomfortable moment, she thought he was about to lift it to his lips but he just looked thoughtfully at the cracked nail polish before returning it. Delphine felt ashamed, as if she’d disappointed him somehow.

  “What happiness pills have you been taking?” she asked as they began walking. “Maybe you can spare a few for me.” After days indoors, Delphine had to shield her eyes from the sunlight, looking down at her elongated shadow as it lurched along.

  “No drugs. Just clean living.”

  They arrived at an Italian restaurant on and took a corner table.

  “So what’s the secret of eternal bliss? Can you bottle it for the rest of us?” Delphine asked.

  “Before I was fired, I’d lie awake at night worrying, asking myself what I’d do, how I’d survive. When the axe finally fell, I spent a couple more weeks feeling sorry for myself. But you know what? Life goes on. I found a job at a community college teaching kids basic writing skills. It pays hardly anything but I enjoy it. They don’t know about my troubles and they could care less. They just want to learn. And I’ve started writing columns and commentaries again, this time under my own name.”

  “Is that wise? Dayton might come after you again.”

  “I can’t live in fear and neither should you. You seem to know things that I can’t even imagine. Don’t you think you have a duty to tell the world what you know? Otherwise, why get into the business in the first place?”

  “That’s rich coming from you. Is that why you came to see me – to lecture me about my journalistic duty?”

  “I came because you offered me a helping hand when I was down and I sincerely wanted to return the favor.”

  “I’m touched. I guess that means you’re paying for lunch.”

  Ira sighed. “Apparently you’re not ready to be helped yet.”

  But something he’d said must have gotten through because after they parted Delphine took a short walk to the bank and made arrangements to transfer the half million dollars to an account in Europe. Then she returned home and started cleaning up. She’d already washed all the dirty dishes, changed the sheets and put in a couple of loads of laundry when she came across a denim shirt belonging to Jason. Lifting it to her face, Delphine inhaled and despite everything was seized with a fierce ache for his presence. It was then that Secretary Dayton called.

  “Where have you been sweetie? I haven’t seen you or heard from you for two weeks. We need to talk. I want you in my office at 6:30 tomorrow morning. It has to be early. You can’t imagine how busy I am, with the peace conference starting next week. Be ready outside your apartment at six. I’ll send a car.”

  That night, Delphine dreamed she’d grown angel’s wings and was hovering above her own funeral, looking down on herself lying in an open casket. She looked like a very sad clown, her face smeared with white makeup.

  Richard Levin materialized, grinning ghoulishly. He gestured to where Don, Andrew, Erik, Stewart and Allstott were sitting in front of a green-baize table. “We’ve been waiting,” said Don. “Liar’s Poker will be a lot more interesting now. You play so well.”

  Delphine woke up in a cold sweat. It was already five and the first light of the new day was seeping into the room. Climbing slowly out of bed, she headed for the shower to rinse the nightmare out of her mind. She stood under the hot water for a long time and then spent half an hour getting ready. She was afraid Secretary Dayton would notice her haggard appearance and start quizzing her.

  By six, Delphine was standing on the sidewalk. Five minutes later, a large black car drew up, the back door opened and an arm waved her inside.

  “Hello Mitchell. Don’t you have more important things to do these days than escort me?” Delphine asked.

  “Just get in. We’ve no time to waste.”

  They spent the rest of the short ride in uncomfortable silence. When they arrived at the Department, Mitchell hurried her through security and up to the seventh floor.

  Secretary Dayton’s office commanded a view over the Lincoln Memorial and the Potomac River, that day shrouded in fog. To reach it, one walked down a long corridor lined with the portraits of former secretaries from Thomas Jefferson onward. Delphine found her leafing through a bridal magazine.

  “There are literally thousands of these,” she said, indicating a pile of thick, glossy publications on her coffee table. “The problem is, they’re all devoted to young brides, not mature women like me. I don’t want to look ridiculous – on the other hand this is a special occasion. After all, I’ve never been married before.”

  Delphine said nothing but inwardly she was seething. She’d assumed she’d been summoned to discuss the peace process but it appeared that Dayton just wanted to gossip about wedding gowns.

  “So what do you think? Do I dare wear white?”

  Delphine resisted the temptation to suggest the most unsuitable dress in the magazine and replied, “Perhaps something in gray silk or ivory would be more appropriate.”

  “Not white?”

  “I think you should aim for restrained elegance, Madam Secr
etary.”

  “Julia.”

  “Julia.”

  “I liked this one.” Secretary Dayton opened another magazine to a picture of a delicately embroidered gown and matching lace shrug with three quarter length sleeves. Delphine would have loved to get married in herself.

  “It’s beautiful, but not for you.”

  For the next half hour, they went through the books and finally came up with a shortlist of four or five possibilities. As Delphine stood to leave, Secretary Dayton grabbed her hand.

  “Before you go, Elton and I would like to invite you to dinner at his home in Potomac, just the three of us. Would next Tuesday evening suit you? There’s something we’d like to discuss.”

  “What?” Delphine assumed it had something to do with the book.

  “All in good time. Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. In fact, it’s rather wonderful.”

  Of course Delphine had to agree. Dayton said she’d send a car.

  It was still early morning when Delphine found herself back on the street. The sky was dark and the air had turned twitchy and electric; a summer squall was brewing. Not wanting to return to an empty apartment, she headed toward Mall, walking aimlessly, feeling edgy and completely out of balance with herself.

  Big fat drops began to fall, warm and wet, as Delphine mounted the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. She turned in time to see the first lightning flash bisect the black sky, briefly illuminating the Capitol dome in the distance. Visibility faded; she could barely see the spike of the Washington Memorial a couple of hundred yards ahead. Rain poured down in sheets, bouncing off the marble flagstones Bedraggled tourists with scared faces rushed up the steps, looking for shelter under the roof of the memorial. Delphine stood in the open, daring the elements. The next flash was nearer but she didn’t flinch. Her hair was plastered to her head, her clothes soaked through. Delphine had never thought of herself as a particularly brave person or one who craved risks but at that moment she felt no fear. There was another flash, followed immediately by a deafening clap, so close she felt her bones vibrate.

  Delphine thought, “If I’m struck, what will they say about me?” There was another flash and some words came to her: “She lived like a mouse, kept her head down and trusted nobody.”

  A tourist dashed out, grabbing her arm. “Miss, come inside,” she shouted. Delphine could barely hear over the thunderous rain. All her senses were directed to anticipating the next strike. “Please, you’re scaring my little girl,” the woman yelled. Delphine allowed herself to be led under the vault where they waited until the storm had passed.

  Back home, she peeled off her clothes and ran a hot bath. After that, she called Jason, leaving a message asking him to come as soon as possible.

  “I’ve been depressed but I think I’m through it now,” Delphine told the voicemail. “Please come. I have to see you.” The clarity she’d achieved by the monument had remained with her. A truth had pierced her and lodged in her heart. There was no ignoring it. Delphine realized with absolute certainty that she had been called upon to act. Hiding from this truth had brought her down to the depths. Only by facing it could she have a life. Secretary Dayton might argue she was pursuing peace but really she was only pursuing her own ambition. If she became President, there would be no limits on her power. Anyone who crossed her would be eliminated. For the sake of America, democracy and perhaps the entire world, she had to be stopped. This was the bald truth. Delphine had no idea how but she knew she couldn’t do it alone.

  Jason showed up around dinner time dressed in a light gray suit with no tie.

  “Thanks for coming,” Delphine began awkwardly, ushering him inside. He entered slowly, ignoring her invitation to sit down. She could see from the faintly irritated skin along his jaw line that he’d just shaved and resisted the urge to reach out and touch it.

  “I left some things over here. I thought this might be a good time to collect them,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

  “Please don’t say that.”

  “What do you expect? After two weeks of ignoring me, you finally leave a message.” His voice rose and he brushed her hand off his sleeve “Am I supposed to stay on call around the clock, waiting for you to invite me into your presence?”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking of your feelings.”

  “I knew you were going through a tough time so I tried to be there for you but you pushed me away. That’s what you always do, isn’t it? When someone gets too close, you hide behind that wall you’ve built around yourself until they go away and it’s safe to come out again.”

  He was right. That’s exactly what she did. For a crucial few seconds, she was lost for words. She knew the only way to regain his trust was to open up and tell the truth, but she couldn’t seem to start. Seeing her lack of response, Jason shrugged his shoulders and turned back toward the door.

  Delphine clutched his arm. “Please don’t go.”

  “Why not?” He half-turned, giving her the courage to continue. Delphine took the deepest breath of her life.

  “Because I’ve kept parts of myself closed off to you and I owe you the truth. Because I need your help. Because I need you.”

  Jason turned to face her. “You’ve never needed anyone in your entire life.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “OK, say what you want to say. I’ll listen. Then I’ll decide whether or not to stay.” He sat on the sofa, arms folded, granite–faced.

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “How about the beginning? I’ve tried a couple of time to get you to talk about your family and your upbringing but you always slammed that door in my face. What’s the big mystery?” This wasn’t going to be easy. Delphine looked directly into his flinty eyes.

  “Like I told you, I was born in a small village in the Loire Valley. I was a normal happy child, attending the local school, playing with my friends, going to ballet classes in the nearest town, doing all the things kids do.”

  She paused. Jason waited.

  “It all came to an end when I was eight. That year, my parents were killed in a freak accident and I became an orphan.”

  On the very occasions when Delphine told this story, people were always shocked and at a loss, which is one reason she didn’t like to share it. After the initial surprise, they usually responded with platitudes, which is what Jason did.

  “That’s awful. I’m very sorry, I had no idea.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “Tell me about your mother and father? What were they like?”

  Usually, once they recovered from the initial shock, the first thing people asked about was the accident itself. Despite their expressions of sympathy, what they really wanted were the gory details. But Jason wanted to hear about her parents as people.

  “I don’t really know any more. I see them in my dreams but faintly, like fading photographs. I feel them mainly through their absence.”

  “But you must have memories.”

  “I remember how we would always eat dinner together at seven o’clock sharp every night and listen to the news on the radio. I remember my father’s smell – cologne and cigars – and the way his face felt scratchy when he kissed me goodnight. I remember my mother bringing me consommé when I was sick and stroking my hair. Many, many memories – but like a silent movie, so distant and ephemeral.”

  “And the accident—or is that too painful to talk about?”

  “A construction crane fell on their car and crushed them.”

  Jason’s eyes widened as he struggled for an appropriate response. But Delphine sensed his compassion. Suddenly, she was on the verge of tears. She’d mourned her parents for so long with such unacknowledged rage and incomprehension. He reached out to capture her hands, caressing them gently.

  “So who raised you?”

  “I was adopted b
y an aunt and uncle. We lived for a couple of years in Paris but then they moved back to Morocco where my uncle was from and took me with them. That’s where I learned my Arabic – and Hebrew too.”

  “Why Hebrew?”

  “They sent me to a Jewish school. You see, my parents were a mixed marriage. My father was Jewish by heritage but he’d never been observant. My mother had been raising me Catholic. And now I found myself living with orthodox Jews. Of course, it was important to them that I convert to their faith and receive a Jewish education.”

  “Why convert? I thought you said your father was Jewish?”

  “Jews pass on the religion through their mothers.”

  “It must have been a massive culture shock.”

  “It was very difficult. Things I’d always done were suddenly forbidden. I’d lost my home, my parents, my friends, my familiar surroundings and been taken to a foreign country where I was a member of two minorities, the French and the Jews. Neither of them are particularly loved in Morocco. I learned to be very careful. That’s something that’s stayed with me.”

  “Your mother’s family couldn’t take you in?”

  “Her parents were old and she was an only child.

  “And your uncle and aunt, were they good to you?”

  “They were kind in their way. They had no children of their own so they didn’t quite know what to do with me. My uncle became obsessed with a lawsuit against Bourbon et Orléans, the company that owned the defective crane. He hired an expensive lawyer and two or three times a year he’d travel to Paris for hearings and consultations. He’d always return angry and depressed. The company tied the case up for years in the courts. Strangely enough, Bourbon et Orléans is owned by Elton Schuyler. As is Frostburg Frozen Foods. Weird coincidence.”

  “What’s Frostburg got to do with it?”

  “It was their truck which killed Stewart Wentworth and Andrew Cushing.”