Pauline nodded. ‘Talk to Chester Jackson, please,’ she said. ‘Agree a short statement pointing out that we already have troops in Chad and other North African countries combating Islamic State in the Greater Sahara.’
‘Perhaps hinting at Moore’s ignorance? “Mr Moore doesn’t seem to realize . . .” That sort of thing?’
Pauline thought for a moment. She did not really like that kind of sniping in politics. ‘No, I don’t want Chess to come on like a smartass. Aim for the tone of one who patiently and kindly explains simple facts.’
‘Got it.’
‘Thank you, Sandip.’
‘Thank you, Madam President.’
She went to the Oval Office.
She met with the Treasury Secretary, spent an hour with the visiting Norwegian prime minister, and received a delegation of dairy farmers. She had her lunch on a tray in the Study: cold poached salmon with a salad. While eating her lunch she read a briefing note on the water shortage in California.
Next was her phone call with the president of France. Chess came to the Oval Office and sat with her, listening on an earpiece. Gus and several others were listening in remotely. There were also interpreters at each end, in case of need, although Pauline and President Pelletier normally got by without them.
Georges Pelletier had a relaxed, easy-going manner, but when push came to shove he would ask himself what was in France’s interests and do it ruthlessly, so there was no guarantee that Pauline would get her way.
Pauline began by saying: ‘Bonjour, Monsieur le President. Comment ?a va, mon ami?’
The French president replied in perfect colloquial English. ‘Madam President, it’s very kind of you to pretend to speak French, and you know how much we appreciate it, but in the end it’s easier if we both speak English.’
Pauline laughed. Pelletier could be charming even when he was scoring a point. She said: ‘In any language, it’s a pleasure to talk to you.’
‘And for me.’
She pictured him in the élysée Palace, sitting at the vast President’s Desk in the gilded Salon Doré, looking as if he was born there, elegant in a cashmere suit. She said: ‘It’s one o’clock in the afternoon here in Washington, so it must be seven in the evening in Paris. I guess you’re drinking champagne.’
‘My first glass of the day, obviously.’
‘Salut, then.’
‘Cheers.’
‘I’m calling about Chad.’
‘I guessed.’
Pauline did not need to go over all that had happened. Georges was always well briefed. She said: ‘Your army and mine work together in Chad, combating ISGS, but I don’t think we want to get involved in a squabble with Sudan.’
‘Correct.’
‘The danger is that if there are troops on both sides of the border, sooner or later some fool is going to fire a rifle, and we’ll end up fighting a battle no one wants.’
‘True.’
‘My idea is a twenty-kilometre-wide demilitarized zone along the border.’
‘Excellent idea.’
‘I believe the Egyptians and the Sudanese will agree to keep their forces ten kilometres from the border if you and I do the same.’
There was a pause. Georges was no pushover and now, as she had anticipated, he was making unsentimental calculations. ‘On the face of it that sounds like a good idea,’ he said.
Pauline waited for him to say ‘but’。
However, he did not. Instead he said: ‘Let me run it past the military.’
‘I’m sure they’ll approve,’ Pauline said. ‘They won’t want an unnecessary war.’
‘You may well be right.’
‘One other thing,’ Pauline said.
‘Ah.’
‘We have to go first.’
‘You mean we impose a limit on ourselves before the Egyptians agree to do the same?’
‘I think they will probably agree in principle, but will not actually make the commitment until they have seen us do it.’
‘The snag.’
‘But your troops are nowhere near the border right now, so you merely need to announce that you’re going to observe the demilitarized zone as a gesture of goodwill, in the firm hope that the other side will reciprocate. You will look like the sensible peacemaker, which of course you are. Then you can see what happens. If the other side don’t do their bit, then you can move your troops to the border any time you like.’
‘My dear Pauline, you’re very persuasive.’