'OK' said Sam, relaxing even more, 'what do we do next?'
'Oh that's obvious old boy, we have lunch.'
The Generals took their places, the original agenda for the afternoon session had been shredded, and in its place was now just a single item, a reciprocal arrangement for military bases.
‘You know,’ Colonel Petrenko said leaning in close to his General, ‘Embassies exist in all countries and are governed by internationally recognised rules and laws. The land upon which they reside is, for all intents and purposes, the homeland of the country of the embassy.’
‘Da.’ General Ivanskiy nodded and made his decision. ‘Gentleman it seems that my aide, Colonel Petrenko, has a proposal.’ He looked at his aide, judging how he will react. ‘Nickolai Andreovich please share your proposal.’
Colonel Petrenko shot to his feet, still more a solider than an officer at heart, he stood rigid his eyes fixed on an imaginary horizon.
‘Honoured guests.’ Nickolai’s English strained under the occasion. ‘We have Embassies with each other, da? Our embassy in your country is our land. If these military bases were embassies then we could have our own land in the other’s country. We have signed treaties, we know the rules, and so do our political masters.’ Nickolai stood quiet, ‘That is all I have.’ He sat back down next to his General, more relieved than he knew he should have felt.
‘So what do we think?’ General Ivanskiy eyed his counterparts.
‘It would seem an elegant solution to a difficult problem.’ Charlie replied still feeling responsible for his earlier mistake.
The scope was extended to provide for the bases being joint enterprises, with Russian and Coalition troops working and training alongside one another. There was one major area of difficultly, that being who would “run” the bases. An Ambassador would not have experience in commanding troops, nor a General in diplomacy.
Charlie suggested that what was needed was another arm of government, not political, military or civil service but a combination of the best parts of all three. He kept wondering how General Ivanskiy had been able to gain the agreement of both the military and the Kremlin in his plan to integrate Russian forces with American and British forces. It is as if Ivanskiy has some special inside track within the Russian political-military complex....
20:18 31 October [17:18 31 October GMT]
Georgievsky Hall of the Grand Kremlin Palace, Moscow, Russia.
The British delegation was the fourth to arrive. Charlie and Elizabeth were travelling in with the Ambassador and her husband. It is interesting, Elizabeth thought to herself, how far women have come and yet for all kinds of personal preferences and conventions we might as well be living in Victorian times. Elizabeth was dressed in a truly stunning ball-gown that she had chosen the previous day in a Moscow boutique, she had brought several with her, but felt that she would honour her hosts by wearing a Russian styled, made, and sold dress. It was off the shoulder and made the most of her figure, especially her slim waist and ample breasts. The Ambassador made her contemplate women's progress though. The Ambassador's husband was predictably dressed in black tie, as was her own husband Charlie, and she guessed Sam would be too, there are not any real options for men except for formal state affairs when they can wear their dress uniforms. The Ambassador though being a woman could not wear black-tie without calling attention to the fact that she wasn't wearing a dress, however to dress-up too much, look too attractive or provocative would undermine her credibility, people would wonder whether she got the job, or her first job, on looks alone. It is totally unfair, thought Elizabeth, but also totally a reality. She recognised that the Ambassador had managed to tread the line by showing herself as an attractive woman, but one who looked serious and regal, rather than fun and appealing.
As their car pulled into the Kremlin Palace, Elizabeth became aware of the scale and splendour of the buildings. Built in the time of the Czars, it was like a palace from a fairy tale, or several palaces. The car stopped outside the Grand Kremlin Palace from where they were lead though the gilded halls into the State Room. No one spoke as they entered the hall. The ceiling, three stories high, was decorated with the same gold-leaf inlay and detailed carving as the walls, the huge four-tier chandleries hung in the air shining with the brilliance of over a hundred bulbs each like a cluster of brightly lit stars exploding light into the room, their brilliance reflected by all the gold.
They were announced into the room “General Sir Charles and Lady Elizabeth Beaconsfield” and moved along the official reception line, shaking hands, exchanging greetings and generally looking forward to the end of the line and the champagne that was waiting. Glasses in hand they were met by Sam and Mary.
'Elizabeth you look stunning, any chance you would drop this guy and run away with me?’ Sam asked.
It was Mary who jumped in next, 'Charlie, as soon as you are free how about flying out to my ranch and help me do a little rustling?' she winked openly at Charlie for good measure.
'What do you think dear' Elizabeth looked at her husband as she asked him, 'should I abandon you and run off with the gallant American?'
'I guess so...’ Charlie responded giving the appearance of pondering the question, 'you realise that you would be forcing me into the arms of another lady.' Charlie beamed like a schoolboy.
'Hey!' exclaimed Mary, 'What makes you think I'm a lady?'
After the remaining guests had arrived the official reception line was stood down and General Ivanskiy at last had the opportunity to head over to the group of four; a slim, but well-shaped brunette on his arm who was wearing a low cut red dress from which it appeared that her large breasts were trying to wrestle their way free. Four sets of eyes were trained on her, two in an inquiring and challenging way, two more in a much more lascivious way.
'General Sam and Mary Colt, General Sir Charles and Lady Elizabeth Beaconsfield, may I introduce my wife, Anna Stephonova Ivanskiy.' General Ivanskiy said simply.
After the introductions, the compliments and the usual small talk, the women took their cue and left the men to talk shop. Mary and Elizabeth were keen to learn more about Anna, not realising that Anna was just as keen to learn about them.
01:16 01 November [22:16 31 October GMT]
Presidential Suite, National Hotel, Mokhovaya St., Moscow, Russia.
Mary called to Sam from the bathroom, 'You know, Anna is simply delightful, I never imagined that the General would have such a warm wife.'
'Why, because she is Russian or the wife of a General?' Sam rolled his eyes, safe in the knowledge that she couldn't see him.
'There's no need for the attitude...or for you to roll your eyes.'
Damn, he thought, how does she do that?
'All I mean is,' she continued, 'is that she is really nice. Elizabeth thinks so too. You know she has invited us to her spa whilst you and Charlie are off playing soldiers. Three days of deep salt scrubs and massages, sounds like heaven to me.'
Yes, thought Sam, somewhat ungraciously, because you and Elizabeth both have such hard lives you need a few days to recuperate.
'I know what you're thinking and we do deserve a little time to ourselves. We may not play soldiers and we don't get paid for the work that we do, but a lot of people depend on our fund raising activities.'
Damn it, it's as if she has a bug in my mind. Sam thought back to when he met Anna. I hope she wasn't eavesdropping on my mind then...
'Well I hope you and Elizabeth both have a great time.'
17:04 01 November [13:04 01 November GMT]
Health Spa, Volzhsky Utyos, Samara Region, Russia.
The spa was women only, the closest men could venture was the entrance allowing Mary, Elizabeth and Anna to relax. They could just be themselves without feeling that they had to be on public display. The spa itself had many influences; Czarist Russian, Turkish, French and latterly commercial, with the addition of manicures, pedicures, waitress service and a two star Michelin restaurant.
The three of
them had started with a high-pressure water treatment; a kind of super-fast Jacuzzi followed by Turkish style deep punishing massages, mud baths and were now deep cleansing in the sauna.
'You know,' Anna began, 'why I brought you here?'
Mary and Elizabeth exchanged a look but didn't interrupt.
'It's because we can talk here. There are no surveillance here.' Anna continued, having slightly stumbled over her English. 'I think it is important that we are friends. I think it is very important. Our husbands are starting out on a...Deeyermo' she swore, searching for the right words ‘Opasnoyeh pootyeshyestviyeh ...perilous journey. Da, a perilous journey from which there can be only two outcomes; one that we become allies and bond, two we fall out and fight. I know this and I think you know both it too.’ Again, her English letting her down, as the pressure of her meaning defeated her grammar.
Elizabeth responded, 'I am not sure what it is you want from us?'
'I want' Anna continued 'I want your trust in me. It is important. I know you do not trust me. I do not trust you, but it is important that I do. That we do. I will have to earn your trust. I will tell you something, which is not widely known. My husband has a mistress. Her name is Valentina Yashina Soboleva. She is thirty-seven and he has been seeing her for eighteen years. Now know this. I love my husband, I am not telling you this to betray him, far from it. I am speaking to you with his tacit knowledge and approval. He does not know that I know about his mistress and I do not want him to know, he is happy and he makes me happy. The point is we can speak’ again she searches for the right Russian word to translate, ‘ot'krito, da, ot'krito, openly, our husbands cannot...yet. In world of confusion, we must communicate clearly if we are to survive.'
The room was quiet save for the sound of the steam rising off the rocks. Elizabeth cleared her throat and quietly began.
'What you ask is not impossible. You are right we do not trust you; at least I do not trust you...yet. But you are right trust is important between us.'
'Yes, Yes!’ Anna interjected, 'It is like what my Gregori say, he says dorvereeyeh yavlayetsya osnovee cheeveeleezacheiee, trust is the bedrock of civilisation, da, trust is the bedrock of civilisation. He very clear on this point.’ Anna had become animated with remembering the phrase her husband had used.
Despite the high temperature in the sauna, a chill ran through Elizabeth’s veins. She stole herself against revealing any emotion.
'And he is right, Anna Stephonova. Trust is the bedrock of civilisation. I will speak to my husband. And I will give you my trust...for now.'
Mary had sat all through this feeling like a complete outsider. Finally, the compulsion to be part of the conversation pushed her into an area she would not normally have ventured into.
'You don't mind that your husband has a mistress?'
'Before Gregori got his...hobby, he was never happy, nothing was ever right for him. Since, he has become more content and with it kinder, gentler and a more considerate lover. He is far better father. It would be much worse if he drank or gambled; besides she is really nice and I know he loves me.'
'Well I'll be a son-of-a-bitch!' exclaimed Mary.
'You will?' asked Anna, missing the meaning and translating it literally.
'No, no,' replied Mary, 'I just meant that it never occurred to me that a woman could see her husband having a mistress as a good thing.'
'You would be surprised how circumstance can changed your views.' Anna replied.
Elizabeth, ignoring this last exchange was just thinking to herself, this can't be a coincidence, but just in case I will tread lightly.
6 Enemies
14:43 31 October [20:43 31 October GMT]
Suite 413, Hotel Del Presidente, Mexico City, Mexico.
Ordinarily the Swiss would have hosted the meeting. They could always be relied upon for their discretion, their banking secrecy is nothing compared to their diplomatic secrecy. This however was different. There could be no mistakes. Total secrecy and total deniability was needed. The first to ensure that word did not get out, the second in case it did. Officially, only twenty-seven people in the world knew that this meeting was taking place. Five of the twenty-seven were at the meeting. There was to be no official host. The Americans had made the arrangements and were providing an arbitrator and two protection officers. The remaining two were the negotiators, one only from each side. Senior men, they could both report confidentially and directly to their respective superiors.
The place chosen was a simple hotel. A mid-market venue in which five men having a meeting would go unnoticed. They held three suites between them, the two protection officers taking the twin room, the American's suite hosting the talks. The official language for the talks was English. The two negotiators both spoke English fluently. They were well educated.
The American paced his suite nervously. This was without doubt his most important assignment to date. The problem, if you could call it that, was that it was not high profile. It is no-profile, he thought, if such a phrase exists, a black operation in the field of diplomacy. As far as his wife and friends were concerned, he was on a diplomatic training course, sharing knowledge and experience with other diplomats at a luxury resort in the Caribbean. This is not a luxury hotel by any means and Mexico is certainly not the Caribbean. He checked his watch, again. 14:47. A knock at the door made his heart skip a beat and brought him out of his daydreaming.
He answered the door to a man of dark eyes and olive complexion, a little taller than the American at 5' 10” he had the air and presence of a man who had known death from both sides. Had he not known who he was, the American would have guessed correctly, he was unmistakably of middle-eastern appearance.
'Fursa Sa'eeda' the American said, offering a traditional Palestinian greeting.
'It is good to see you again too.’ Saeb Tibi replied in English.
'I am here first?’ Saeb asked, trying and failing to keep both the tension and his annoyance out of his voice.
'Yes,' the American replied, 'I don't think we will have long to wait, can I get you some coffee?'
'Coffee would be good, thank you.'
Saeb Tibi sat down on one of the sofas, reflecting on his current mission. He lit up a Rothman after accepting his coffee, which his host had thoughtfully made in the middle-eastern or Turkish fashion. Deeply infused to produce a deep rich flavour, sweetened well with raw cane sugar, like a thin coffee treacle. Saeb drew deeply on his cigarette, and thought back to his briefing prior to these meetings.
He was chosen as he was exactly the wrong man for the job. He had no background in diplomacy; he had lost so much at the hands of the enemy. Of his four brothers and three sisters he had lost one of each indirectly, they had died in infancy through lack of medicines. He had lost two more of his brothers to gunfire at the hands of the enemy and later three of his toes during interrogation. In truth, he had also lost his entire family; he was married to his work with no time for a wife or children. The enemy had cost him a great deal, and now he was meeting with one of them on a regular basis and negotiating. Not for the first time he felt sick with himself. He also knew that negotiation was the only true way forward for his people. His people needed a future, a future without war and strife. A future where we can shape our own destiny. Their future was in his hands. He knew that his superiors would make the ultimate decisions and that when his work was done a whole team of negotiators would handle all the detail. However, his negotiating was the basis for it all. He drew again on his cigarette and waited.
Another knock at the door. The American rose from the opposite sofa and answered the door. The other negotiator had arrived. He was similar in appearance to the first, although he had piercing blue eyes and his skin colour was lighter, he was also of middle-eastern origin. The American welcomed the second negotiator into his suite.
'Shalom' the American said, using a traditional Jewish welcome.
'Hello again my friend' replied Benjamin Yogev. He entered the suite and walked ove
r to Saeb Tibi to greet him as well. 'It is good to see you again Saeb.'
Saeb had stood as Benjamin had entered the room; he took the Israeli's hand and replied. 'It is good to see you too, Benjamin.'
There was no warmth between them. None. The American had insisted, from the conclusion of the first meeting, that they would greet one another as friends. He did not expect this to have an immediate impact, but he knew that, given time and enough repetition, they would start to see the other as an individual and not the representation of evil that they saw initially. We need more meetings, the American thought. They took their seats at the round table set to the left-hand side of the suite, a single water jug and three glasses to mark their seats. Benjamin, deaf in his left ear sat to Saeb's left-hand side so that his good ear was close to him. The American spoke first by recapping the last negotiations and the points agreed to date; these were few in number and not of any great significance in themselves. However, they had reached agreements on certain issues and that was more progress than most had ever made. Benjamin let the American continue, not paying much attention, he had an excellent memory for detail, and he drifted off, memories running up to the start of this mission calling to him.
Benjamin had been surprised when he was told that there were going to be secret negotiations with the Palestinians. He had protested at length, given chapter and verse at how much Israel and its people had suffered at their hands, how he had seen his own brother disappear in a ball of flame at one of many suicide bombings. He was shocked and appalled that his superiors were considering such a course of action, he had asked what idiot they had chosen to give away their land. “That would be you.” Had been the reply. He was mortified at being chosen, how could I, in good conscience negotiate with a Palestinian whom I would rather see dead? That was why they wanted him he had been told, because of his history and his hatred. A diplomat would see the common ground, whilst he would see the real issues for what they were. It was not a volunteer mission, he had been chosen and that was that.
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