‘I hate to blight your evening, Georges, but could you talk to the military right away? Perhaps even before dinner?’ It was a bold request, but she hated delay: an hour turned into a day, and a day turned into a week, and bright ideas died from lack of oxygen. ‘If you could give me an okay before you retire for the night, I could progress this with the Egyptians, and you might wake up to a safer world in the morning.’
He laughed. ‘I like you, Pauline. You have something. There’s a Yiddish word. Chutzpah.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘It is. You will hear from me this evening.’
‘I really appreciate that, Georges.’
‘You’re welcome.’
They both hung up.
Chess said: ‘Let me tell you something, Madam President. You’re very good. Incredibly good.’
‘Let’s see if it works,’ said Pauline.
*
She had a similar conversation with the president of Egypt. It was not as warm, but the result was the same: a favourable response without definite agreement.
That evening Pauline had to make a speech at the Diplomats’ Ball, an annual shindig organized by a committee of ambassadors to raise funds for literacy charities. Big companies doing business overseas bought tables to gain access to important envoys.
The dress code was black tie. The clothes Pauline had chosen earlier had been put out by the Residence staff, a Nile-green dress with a wrap in dark-green velvet. She added an emerald teardrop pendant with matching earrings while Gerry put cufflinks in his shirt.
Much of the evening’s conversation would be small talk, but a few powerful people would be among the guests, and Pauline intended to progress her plan for Chad and Sudan. In her experience, real decisions were made at events such as this just as often as in formal meetings around conference tables. The relaxed atmosphere, the booze, the sexy clothes and the rich food all made people ease up, and put them in a compliant frame of mind.
She would circulate during the pre-dinner cocktails, chatting to as many people as possible, then make a speech and leave before the meal, sticking to her principle of not wasting time eating with strangers.
On the way out she was intercepted by Sandip. ‘Something you might like to know before you get to the ball,’ he said. ‘James Moore has spoken again about Chad.’
Pauline sighed. ‘He may be relied upon to be unhelpful. What has he said?’
‘I guess he’s responding to our statement that we already have troops in Chad. Anyway, he’s said they should be withdrawn, to make sure they don’t get involved in a war that has nothing to do with America.’
‘So we would no longer be part of the struggle against ISGS?’
‘That’s the implication, but he didn’t mention ISGS.’
‘Okay, Sandip, thanks for the heads-up.’
‘Thank you, Madam President.’
She got into the tall black car with the armoured doors and inch-thick bulletproof windows. In front was an identical car with Secret Service bodyguards, behind was another with White House staffers. As the convoy pulled away she controlled her irritation. While she was urgently pushing forward a peace plan, Moore was giving Americans the impression that she was thoughtlessly drifting into another foreign war. There was a saying: A lie goes halfway round the world while the truth is getting its boots on. It was infuriating that her efforts could be so easily undermined by a blowhard such as Moore.
Motorcycle police held up the traffic for her at every road junction, and it took only a few minutes to get to Georgetown.
As they drew up to the entrance to the hotel, she said to Gerry: ‘We’ll separate soon after we walk in, as usual, if that’s okay with you.’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘That way, some of the people who are disappointed that they didn’t get to speak to you can have the consolation prize of a conversation with me.’ But he smiled as he said it, so she felt he did not really mind.
The hotel manager met her at the door and led her downstairs, preceded and followed by members of her Secret Service detail. A roar of conversation came from the ballroom. She was pleased to see the broad-shouldered figure of Gus waiting at the foot of the stairs, looking devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo. ‘Just so you know,’ he murmured, ‘James Moore showed up.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll deal with him if I run into him. What about Prince Faisal?’
‘He’s here.’
‘Bring him to me if you get a chance.’