“Geez! Do you think they can find Tripp and your dad? I mean, they’d probably go to our consulate there, I mean if there is one somewhere nearby.”
“You’d think. But who knows?” She leaned in close to Angela and said in a low voice, “We think there was an EMP effect from that nuclear test, or whatever it was. And if that’s really what happened, everything would be out of whack. No telling how long they could survive out there,” she said dejectedly.
“That’s what so amazing. I mean, you’ve been talking about that kind of thing here, but you said nobody was taking you seriously. Not Mike Benson and certainly not Max Federman. But now that it might have happened, has Max done any sort of mea culpa?”
“Not yet,” Samantha said.
“Of course, all he’s focused on is getting Jason Keller elected in November, and he probably sees this whole thing as just some sort of distraction. After all, how far away is Kazakhstan, and why would our voters give a darn about it anyway?”
Samantha sighed and took a sip of her wine. “I know. You’re right. But whether something like this could ever escalate into a threat to us is one thing. Right now it’s escalated into a threat to my sanity. All I can think about is Tripp and my dad. I have no idea if they were near the test, if they were affected by it, if they’re stranded somewhere, or if they’re even alive.”
Angela took her friend’s arm. “Look. I know you’re upset. Lord knows I would be too. But with all that’s going on in this place, you’ve got to let the pros figure it out. Meanwhile, let’s go get another drink and see if we can play nice with the Polish delegation. I mean, that’s our job tonight, right?”
“I guess,” Samantha conceded. They walked over to the third parlor, the Green Room, and saw an older gentleman sitting on the Duncan Phyfe furniture. “People don’t usually sit down at these things. Maybe we should go over and see if that guy’s okay.”
“Actually, he looks kind of familiar,” Angela said. “I know this sounds silly, but I think one of the reasons I got included on tonight’s guest list is because I was fielding a bunch of requests from the Polish Meatpackers Association in Chicago. They were angling to send the head of it here to meet the president of Poland. I saw a picture of the guy. Makes sausage or something. I got the Social Office to invite him, and I think he’s the one.”
“Well, he should feel right at home here in Washington where everybody compares crafting legislation to making his product,” Samantha said.
They chatted with the gentleman who thanked Angela profusely for getting him on the invitation list. Then they heard the chimes and meandered down the hall to the State Dining Room to find their place at one of the 17 round tables of eight, adorned with gleaming white table cloths, centerpieces of bright red roses crafted by the gang of on-site florists, name cards and menus written in calligraphy all done by the professionals housed in the East Wing Social Office. Samantha saw that the flowers matched the red rims around the china that dated back to the Reagan days.
As Samantha searched for her place, she glanced up at the portrait of Abraham Lincoln over the fireplace. He was perched on an upholstered red chair, hand under his chin, and looked like he was brooding about some pending crisis. My mood exactly, Samantha thought. The women found their places at different tables, and Samantha picked up the card listing tonight’s menu. First Course: Spring pea soup with fernleaf lavender and chive pizzelle. She wondered what the heck fernleaf lavender was. She’d find out soon enough. It would be served with a Newton Chardonnay. She introduced herself to her tablemates, a Member of the Polish Cabinet, the assistant secretary of State for East European Affairs and a smattering of Polish business types and their wives.
She tried to make polite conversation but her mind kept wandering, not only to her worries about her dad, but to her mounting Inbox. She now had a ton of other projects to work on, including a new threat assessment about a possible biological attack, some intel about a large number of illegals arrested near the Texas border who only spoke Farsi, and another report about a plan to detonate a bomb inside a backpack on board a train heading to Penn Station in New York. They had found that one and arrested a guy, but who knew how many others might try the same thing?
A waiter cleared the soup dishes from the right and placed the second course of Dover Sole Almondine, roasted artichokes, and Pequillo peppers from the left. At least she recognized most of those ingredients. She wasn’t very hungry and so she only took a couple of bites while continuing to sip her wine.
When the third course arrived, she stared at the saddle of spring lamb with Chanterells sauce, and a fricassee of baby vegetables and wondered how she would get through it all. And there were two more courses to go. An Arugula salad and later there would be dessert.
“Tell me, Miss Reid, is it?” the Cabinet Minister on her right inquired. “You mentioned you were on the White House staff.” Samantha nodded as he continued. “Do you become involved in national security issues, by any chance?” he asked in perfect English.
“Well, yes, I do,” Samantha replied. I report directly to Ken Cosgrove, our national security advisor.”
“Excellent. Very good. I was hoping to have a chance to hear your views on the possibility of restarting the talks on the deployment of missile defense systems in our country, along with the Czech Republic. I am hoping that this issue will come up in the direct talks between our two presidents, but it is always good to elicit opinions from those doing the real work, if I may put it that way,” he said with a broad smile.
“Well, as you know, there have been some low-level discussions about it. I know that this administration would like to reverse the decision to back out of our prior agreement to deploy interceptors in your country. Now that more regimes are talking about developing nuclear weapons, we feel that missile defense systems are one of our best answers. I mean, if the Iranians, North Koreans, and others who are spending their nation’s treasure on nuclear weapons know that we can knock them out of the sky, it would be a great deterrent to their development in the first place.”
“Precisely our view, Miss Reid,” he said finishing his lamb. “Delicious dinner by the way.”
“Yes, it certainly is.”
They continued to discuss nuclear proliferation issues through the salad course, and then Samantha saw that their waiter had placed the dessert plate covered with a doily and a crystal finger bowl at each place. She saw the Cabinet Minister watching her. And when she picked up the bowl and the doily, setting them to the left of the plate, he followed suit. Many guests never mastered the White House dessert routine, not recognizing the little bowls of water for what they were and just staring at them with perplexed expressions. This meant that the waiters had to move the bowls to the side, along with the doilies, to make room for the dessert which was served onto the now empty plate. Fortunately, Samantha knew the drill.
Finally, the two presidents exchanged toasts, and the crowd moved into the East Room for the entertainment. This time it was a concert pianist playing the best known concertos written by Frederic Chopin, since he was born in Poland. It was a lovely concert, played on a fancy piano supported by carved legs designed as gilded eagles. Samantha checked her watch, hoping she could get out of there and back to her office to check for emails before heading home. At the moment, she was seated near the fireplace where she could read the quotation from John Adams carved into the oak paneling. “I pray to Heaven to Bestow the Best of Blessings on THIS HOUSE and All that shall hereafter inhabit it. May none but Honest and Wise Men ever rule under this roof.” As she stared at the words, she found herself wondering if there were any honest and wise men ruling in Kazakhstan, and she was afraid that the answer to that was a definite no!
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ATYRAU, KAZAKHSTAN
The banging on the door grew louder and more persistent. “It’s gotta be those gangs coming round again,” Pete whispered as he pulled Zhanar and Nurlan back into the bedroom and pushed a dresser up against the
door.
“This is the third time this building has been raided,” Zhanar murmured, crouching down behind the bed. “Do you think they can get in?”
“I put new locks last time they came,” Nurlan reminded his sister. “Everyone look for food and water now. We got keep what we have.”
“Remember, I’ve still got cans of soup and fish downstairs in my place,” Zhanar said. ‘I hope they don’t find it. It’s not much. I hid it under the bed. It should last us a few more days, but that’s all.”
The knocking continued, accompanied with shouts of “Open up. Police.”
“It no police,” Nurlan said in a low tone. Police not on streets. Must be all protecting own families from gangs.” He turned to his sister, “Glad we still have your gun. Don’t want use it, but we will if we have to.” He reached over to the bedside table, opened the small drawer and grabbed the pistol. He checked the bullets. “We okay with this.”
“I don’t want to kill anybody,” Zhanar said staring at the little gun.
“They probably have more powerful weapons than we do,” Pete said. “But if they think no one is here, maybe they’ll move on.”
The trio waited with tension rising. The shouts from the hallway finally seemed to taper off. Then they heard what sounded like footsteps stomping away. “I think they gave up this time,” Pete said. “They probably figure they can steal from other people so they don’t have to try to knock our door down.”
“It pretty strong door,” Nurlan said, putting the gun back into the drawer.
Zhanar stood up and pushed the hair out of her eyes. “Maybe we got through this one, but what are we going to do now? Pete and I don’t have jobs, and we’re almost out of money. You have a job but you said they can’t pay you yet. All banks are closed, they ran out of money the first day. Nobody can cash a check or anything. And it’s dangerous for you to even go out. Everybody is scared, and nobody knows when we’ll get power again. People are getting desperate. Desperate for food. Desperate for water. We’ll run out pretty soon, and I don’t know what to do,” she moaned. “My room-mate told me that patients are dying at the hospital. They’re out of food and water too, and nothing is working. They ran out of fuel for the generators. There were babies in incubators. They died, can you believe that? They couldn’t even save the babies,” she said in a faltering voice.
Pete put his arm around her, thought for a moment and turned to Nurlan. “What we have to do is figure out a way to get out of here. The power might not come back for a long time. Isn’t that what the people at the plant said?”
“Yes. Scientists said when bomb went off, it made power fail everywhere. Even here. I no understand. They still have some generators keep things going. They say nuclear material okay. All protected. But people in city not protected. You right. We got to get out. All at plant say they want out. Nobody knows how.”
“We can’t just walk out of here,” Zhanar said. “Where would we go? I heard that people in the villages are fighting off the gangs too because they have some cattle, and the city people are trying to steal it. It’s bad everywhere. We can’t go there, and we can’t stay here,” she said with tears welling up in her eyes.
“Hey, take it easy,” Pete said. “We’ll think of something. Maybe the government will send troops or something.”
“They far away. All cross country. You know that,” Nurlan said.
“Maybe they’ll send planes or something,” Zhanar said with a hopeful sigh. “Do you think they’ll do that?”
“Airport’s not working. Who knows?” Pete said.
Nurlan checked his watch. “Plant got some old buses. They pick us up. Take us there. I go now. See what others do.” Then he scratched his head and said, “I think on this. We need way to get far off. You stay here. I go work. Come back later. But,” he paused again, “I may get idea.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
GEORGETOWN
“Can you believe that slime ball, Max Federman, hit on me after the State dinner the other night?” Angela asked, parking her Subaru in a spot near the garage elevators under Georgetown Park. Samantha got out of the car and the two women rode up to the main floor of the trendy shopping mall. They walked past a flower shop and luggage store and took another glassed in elevator up to the third floor.
Samantha faced the doors during the ride. “I wish I could get over this height thing,” she mumbled. I still can’t bear to look down. Next time we’ll take the escalators. For some reason they seem easier to deal with.”
“Sure,” Angela said. “Anyway, about Max, there I was getting ready to leave the East Room, and that fatso comes over and asks if I’m game for a nightcap.”
“What did you say?”
“Just to find out exactly what he had in mind, as if it weren’t rather obvious, I asked him where he wanted to go. And without missing a beat, he gave me that leer of his and said, ‘How about my place?”
“What did you say then?”
“What do you think?” Angela replied. “Instead of saying what I actually wanted to, which would have been something like, ‘Buzz off, you creep,’ I just told him I had early morning meetings, but thank you anyway. Since we see these guys all the time, I figure I can’t afford to totally piss ‘em off.”
Samantha shook her head and gave her friend a wry smile. “At least it wasn’t like the last proposition you had from that economist. What was it he wanted to show you?”
“Oh that one,” Angela laughed. “He said that if I would come by for a drink, he’d show me a drawing of his Laffer Curve. How lame is that? Of course, he thinks Art Laffer’s analysis of the effects of tax cuts is positively brilliant, but I doubt if a discussion of tax policy is much of a turn-on to potential dates.”
Samantha chuckled and pushed through the glass door to the back entrance of Clyde’s Restaurant.
“I’m just glad to see you smiling, for once,” Angela said as they worked their way past the bar, a series of small tables covered with blue and white checked table cloths and finally got up to the Hostess Station. “Reservation for Marconi. In the Omelet Room?”
The young girl checked her computer. “Yes, I have it right here. And I believe your table is ready.” She handed two menus to her assistant who led the way to a booth in the front room. The popular restaurant on M Street felt almost like an old-time saloon with a long oak bar, plank flooring and oil paintings of railroads and horses. It had been a hang-out for thirty-somethings for decades and tonight was no exception. The place was jammed.
“Speaking of Max,” Angela said, stowing her purse on the seat next to her, “has he said anything at all about this whole mess in Kazakhstan? I mean, has he apologized to you for your insight on the issue?”
“Still nothing yet,” Samantha said.
Angela picked up a menu. “Well, if that whole EMP thing happens again or if we ever find out that it’s some new-fangled kind of weapon, I just hope they offer a hefty portion of crow in the White House mess.”
Samantha sighed and remarked, “Men like Max always act like they’ve been anointed rather than appointed. Infallible is probably a big part of his self-image.”
“Hello. My name is Ralph, and I’ll be your server this evening. Can I get you ladies a drink, some wine?” the waiter asked, setting a pitcher of spring water down on the table.
“Sure,” Angela said. “How about a glass of your house Cabernet?”
“And I’ll take the Pinot Noir,” Samantha added.
“Very good.” He turned and hustled off to the bar.
“By the way, I hear there’s a great new Picasso exhibit over at the National Gallery. Want to hit that one with me this weekend?” Angela asked.
“Picasso? Sorry, but I hate all those weird paintings of chopped up women’s bodies.”
“Well, I’m just glad he wasn’t a surgeon.”
“I’ll probably be working anyway,” Samantha said. “More nut cases were reported casing the Statue of Liberty. Can you imagine some terrorist
trying to bring that down?”
“With all the threats pouring into your office, you should ask for more staff and a bigger budget.”
“I’d never get that. Not right now with all the deficit talk. But I certainly could use, say, half a million. I could add a couple more specialists with that.”
“Geez. In Washington, that’s not even catering money,” Angela joked.
“Here you are ladies. The cabernet and the pinot. Have you decided on dinner?”
“A bowl of chili and the cobb salad,” Angela said, handing her menu to Ralph.
“I’ll try the turkey burger with a side of fruit, please,” Samantha said. As he left, she remarked, “I’m glad this place has pretty fast service. I’ve still got a bunch of work to do tonight.”
“And I’m just glad I was able to lure you out for a quick bite. Still no word from Tripp or your dad, right?”
Samantha shook her head. “Seems like I check my iPhone fifty times a day, praying for some note, a word, anything. But no dice. It’s getting so I can’t sleep at night, and then I worry that I might fall asleep in a staff meeting.”
“You wouldn’t be the first. But the bigger question is whether anyone at the NSC thinks that this test over in Kazakhstan could mean anything bad for us? I mean, I don’t see how it could. But I know there are an awful lot of bad guys trying to buy weapons like that.”
“That’s the whole point” Samantha said. “Didn’t Mark Twain say something about how history doesn’t repeat itself, but it sometimes rhymes? And the last thing this country needs is what some terrorist might call poetic justice.”
The waiters brought their dinners, and Samantha lapsed into a kind of melancholy, thinking again about Tripp and her father, wishing there were some way she could get some news. “You know, for the first time since I can remember, there’s nothing on Facebook or Twitter or YouTube coming out of Western Kazakhstan.”
“You have time to check those sites?” Angela asked, spooning up some chili.
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