The Diplomatic Coup Page 15

  It was still only six thirty and the only familiar face in the cafeteria belonged to Ira, gloomily reading The Jerusalem Post. “Good morning, may I join you?” Delphine asked, summoning her brightest fake smile.

  “If you must.”

  “Is there another column by Mark Lazarus today?”

  Ira shot her a poisonous look. She’d been worried about her own appearance but Milstein looked awful. His eyes were red and watery, his complexion sallow, almost greenish, and skin hung around his basset-hound jowls in folds. Even across the table, he emanated a nasty, old, stale smell, like days-old dirty socks.

  “Ira, are you OK?”

  “Damned acid reflux. Every night it torments me. Sometimes, it feels like I’m having a heart attack.”

  “Don’t say that. I’ll never forget the sight of poor Don collapsed right next to me. God forbid that should happen to you.”

  “If I’d been the one to have the heart attack, nobody would have been surprised. Instead of which it was Mr. Fitness who never missed a day of jogging and counted every calorie he put into his mouth. Go figure!”

  Delphine suddenly remembered that Ira should been the one sitting next to her that evening but Don had switched places with him. Interesting.

  “What?” Ira asked, seeing her expression.

  “Nothing. I mean, I just thought of something I have to do later. But what does your doctor say about your condition?”

  “The usual crap: stick to a blander diet, avoid French fries, steaks, hamburgers, wings, chili – all the stuff they keep serving us on the plane every five minutes. And he tells me I should stop drinking coffee. I’d rather kill myself, like that poor sucker Dick Levin.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “Hadn’t you heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “Dicky committed suicide. They found his body last night. Poor jerk swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills.”

  Delphine was so shocked she almost stopped breathing. The whole world was collapsing around her ears. Wherever she turned, she saw death.

  “And what am I supposed to do at a fancy banquet, like the one Saudis put on the other night?” Ira continued, Levin dismissed from his thoughts as if he’d never existed. “They get insulted if you don’t eat their food.”

  They were joined by Todd who sank into a chair like a walrus flopping on an ice floe. “Have you seen Jens?” he asked irritably. “He’s not picking up his phone. I called Bridget but she doesn’t know anything—as usual. I need a reaction to the Levin story. Are you OK Delphine? You look like crap.”

  “I hadn’t heard about Undersecretary Levin until this minute. I’m in shock. Why would he do such a terrible thing?”

  “Who knows? Deep secrets of the human psyche,” Todd said. “But don’t go blaming yourself. You did what any of us would have done in the same situation. We all wished we’d been there instead of you when he fell in the Pacific. We’d have nailed him, same as you did.”

  “I spoke to him on the day he resigned. He sounded fine. He was determined to stick it to Secretary Dayton to get his own back. He was looking forward to making her life a misery.”

  “Can we quote you on that?” Milstein asked.

  “It was off-the-record.”

  “So what? He’s dead,” said Todd.

  “It doesn’t feel right. He told me in confidence. Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean I can break my promise. I still can’t believe it.”

  “Probably couldn’t take the heat. Jens has got some nerve disappearing on us at a time like this. Where the fuck is he?” Todd fulminated.

  The whole conversation was surreal. First Levin’s death and now they were was talking about Erik when she knew—and was the only one who knew—that he too was dead.

  “I wouldn’t care if I never heard from the sonnafabitch again in my life,” Ira muttered, pressing one hand against his chest, unaware he’d get his wish.

  “What’s he done to you now?” Todd asked.

  Ira mumbled something about having been sold a “bum steer.” This prompted a new thought for Delphine. Could Erik have been the one who leaked the Muqtadir story to Lazarus? He’d been in the room when Secretary Dayton described her secret meeting – the one that had never happened. Perhaps, she already suspected Erik was leaking information and had made up the story to test his loyalty. But even if Erik was Lazarus’s source, why was he dead? Nothing made sense.

  “We were supposed to go shopping together in the Old City this morning for a gift for poor Don’s son. If he doesn’t show up soon, I’ll just have to go without him,” Delphine said. “Would either of you guys like to come?”

  Ira declined with a sneer saying he had better things to do than buy camels you couldn’t even smoke. Todd said he knew the absolute best shop in the Old City with the cheapest prices and finest merchandise which he’d be happy to show her. “But let’s go up and knock on Erik’s door first, in case he’s back. I really do have questions I need answered.”

  Delphine agreed, although she knew the room would be empty.

  Erik had been staying on a floor reserved for senior State Department officials. Each room had its occupant’s name stuck on the door with suitcases standing outside ready to be taken to the airport.

  “Looks like he overslept. He’s going to miss baggage call if he’s not careful,” Todd said, noticing there were no bags outside Erik’s room. He rapped on the door a couple of times. “Damn it, where the hell is he?”

  “Probably with Dayton. They have a big speech to work on for the ceasefire signing ceremony this afternoon,” Delphine said, lying without hesitation.

  Todd knocked once more and kicked the door in frustration. “Screw him, asshole. OK, so we’ll go without him. Meet me in the lobby in 10 minutes?”

  Delphine nodded and he returned to the elevator leaving her standing alone outside the door. Mon Dieu, she thought, it was terrible keeping up this pretense while Erik’s body still lay waiting to be discovered. And when they found him, they would take him to a police lab where they would cut him up and prod him and probe him and test his organs, treating him like a cold slab of human meat.

  An alarm clock clanged inside the room. Ten seconds later, it stopped in mid-ring. Suddenly, Delphine was on high alert. Someone was in there. She stepped hurriedly around a corner to the elevator bank, her heart hammering so hard she could feel it in her mouth. Probably it was a hotel staff member or someone from the State Department checking on their colleague, she told herself—but she wasn’t convinced. She’d sensed a sinister aura on the other side of that door. For the second time that morning, Delphine felt her flesh creep.

  The smart move would have been to leave and forget she’d ever heard that alarm. Unfortunately, it seemed she wasn’t smart. Almost twitching with anxiety, Delphine peered around the corner like a child playing peek-a-boo. The corridor was empty. Then something strange happened; she started hearing music – specifically, the theme to “Mission Impossible.” At first she thought it must be coming from one of the rooms, but the sound was right inside her head. She tried to make it go away. It was so intrusive she hardly noticed an elevator chime right behind her until the door opened and Bridget Daly emerged.

  “Hi Delphine, how you doing?”

  “Um, fine thanks.”

  Bridget glanced quizzically at her, sensing something was not quite right. Fortunately for Delphine, the elevator returned at that moment.

  Waving goodbye, she stepped inside and ascended a few levels where she waited a couple of minutes, telling herself it would be sheer madness to even thinking of going back there. Clearly, she was certifiable. When she returned, the corridor was deserted again. Obviously she couldn’t stay long without attracting attention. Yet she remained.

  A minute later, Delphine heard a door softly open and poked her head around the corner. The corridor
was dimly lit and she was at least 10 yards from Erik’s room so she couldn’t see very clearly. But the figure that emerged was definitely male, above average height, light haired and wore a dark suit, possibly blue or gray. Unfortunately, that description fit a dozen members of the U.S. delegation including all the security guys and probably scores of other hotel guests as well. The man walked quickly to the fire escape and disappeared. Delphine considered following but the theme inside her head returned with its pounding beat – slow slow fast fast—as if to warn her. It only faded when she descended to the lobby where Todd was waiting.

  “What do you know about Erik?” Delphine asked half an hour later as they approached the walls of the Old City. It had turned into a cool, breezy day with fluffy white clouds scudding across the sky.

  “What do you mean?” They passed through the Jaffa Gate and proceeded down one of the narrow covered passageways of the Arab market.

  “What kind of person is he?” she said, keeping her voice casual. “What does he do when he’s not at work? Is he married or single?” She had to force herself to maintain a normal tone.

  “I’m pretty sure he’s single. I’ve never seen him with a woman. There were rumors about him and Dayton a few months ago.”

  “Yuck,” said Delphine.

  “Yeah, hard to believe anyone would want to have sex with her. I never believed the rumors anyway. Why are you interested in Jens all of a sudden? Do you want to date him? He’s not the one for you.”

  “Nobody’s the one for me,” Delphine said gloomily, thinking of Jason.

  “What about me? We’d be a great couple. I’m a terrific lover and we’re both highly intelligent and successful. Just think of the fantastic babies we could make.” He started singing in a low-pitched warble, “Voulez vous couchez avec moi, ce soir?”

  “Aren’t you married already, a fine looking man like you even if you have a few extra pounds around your middle?”

  “Ah. So cruel!”

  “I’m a reporter. I tell what I see.”

  “Right.”

  “So, married?”

  “Divorced, no kids.”

  “Do you think Erik might be gay?” By now, they’d plunged down deep into the market which gave off a pungent smell of cumin and donkey droppings. It was still early and many of the stalls were shuttered; others were just opening. A few tourists brushed shoulders with Israeli soldiers armed with sub-machine guns. Todd strode firmly on – he obviously knew where he was going.

  “What does it matter? He’s a spokesman. His job is to answer questions, preferably truthfully. If he does that, I don’t care if he fucks goats.”

  Delphine sensed it was time to change the subject. “Do you think Dayton will run for President?”

  Before Todd could answer, they reached the shop he’d had in mind and he was greeting the storekeeper like a long-lost brother. It only took a minute to pick out a carved camel from the fifty on display, but Todd insisted on haggling for a quarter of an hour until he’d beat the poor man down from twelve dollars to seven.

  As they retraced their footsteps, Delphine reminded Todd of her previous question.

  “A year ago, I’d have said she wouldn’t run. After all, why take a dead end job like Secretary of State if you’re aiming for the White House? And it’s very difficult to challenge a sitting President for your party’s nomination. But now, I’m pretty sure she wants to go for it.”

  “Why is Secretary of State a dead end job?”

  “I meant in domestic political terms. Obviously it’s an incredibly powerful position in foreign policy but it’s a lousy place from which to run for President.” His voice took on a didactic, professorial tone. With Delphine as his captive audience, Todd was in his element.

  “In the early days of the Republic, being Secretary of State was a stepping stone to the White House. Jefferson, Madison, Monroe – they were all Secretaries of State. But those times are long gone. We haven’t had a Secretary of State win the presidency for over 150 years.”

  “Why not?” Delphine asked.

  “Secretaries of State don’t have their own political base. They serve at the president’s pleasure. Also, American elections are always decided on domestic issues like the economy unless the country’s at war.”

  There was so much Delphine would never understand about America. In her country, foreign policy was considered the highest calling in politics. After all, what could be more important than spreading France’s remarkable culture and civilization, its cuisine and couture, its essence of civilization around the world?

  “But Julia Dayton’s different from other Secretaries we’ve had,” Todd continued. “She’s been a governor and served in the Senate so she does have the domestic résumé to run and she’s definitely got the political talent. Crowds really respond to her; women find her inspiring and she has that streak of ruthlessness you need to get to the top. I’m just not sure about a single woman running. It would help if she could conjure up a loving family.”

  “Elton Schuyler?”

  “Marrying Schuyler would be a start but a kid or two would be even better, even if they were grown up. I guess that’s not going to happen. Still, her party knows they’re in trouble with the economy in such a deep hole and the President so unpopular. They’re desperately looking for a savior. If she could deliver a big foreign policy success …”

  “Like a Palestinian-Israeli peace agreement?”

  “Exactly! If she could pull that off, she’d be in the cat-bird seat.”

  “The what?” Yet another Americanism Delphine did not know.

  “It means she’d be sitting pretty. And if she did marry her billionaire boyfriend, she’d be the best-financed candidate in the field. She wouldn’t have to waste time raising money. She could get it all from him.”

  “He seems like a nice man. He gives a lot of money away to charity.”

  Todd shook his head. “You’re such a child sometimes. Nobody builds a fortune like his without being ruthless. If he gives to charity, it’s for tax purposes. Haven’t you read his book? He calls his business philosophy The Six D’s.”

  “The what?”

  “It describes how to deal with rivals. I can’t remember them all – but one of them is defeat and another is destroy. Anyway, if we hear wedding bells for Madam Sec. any time soon, you can assume she’s running. So Delphine, when’s our first date? How about next week after we get home? I’ll show you a good time.”

  Delphine gave him her most withering look.

  Back at the hotel, there was the usual bustle in the lobby before departure with a long line of happy State Department people waiting to check out. The mission was a success and everyone was looking forward to heading home. They obviously didn’t yet know about Erik’s death. Delphine saw several security officers on line and shuddered. Could one of them have been inside that room? The notion seemed absurd. Her mind overflowed with theories but none made any sense. She took refuge in the press room pretending to be absorbed in her work until it was time to leave.

  Two hours later, Secretary Dayton’s motorcade was speeding down the highway to the airport. None of the reporters commented on Erik’s absence. They just assumed he was riding with Secretary Dayton in her limousine.

  They boarded the plane for the short hop to Aqaba. As usual, members of the security detail took seats in the press section, except the one next to Delphine, once occupied by Lisa, which they left vacant. A couple of agents greeted her warmly, which only made her jumpier. The plane no longer felt like a refuge.

  The ceremony itself passed in a blur. The big news was Secretary Dayton’s announcement that she intended to organize a Middle East peace conference in the near-future which sent all the reporters scurrying for phones and frantically typing into their computers. Filing time after the ceremony was a relatively generous 90 minutes.

  Ten minutes a
fter takeoff on the flight back to Washington, Jason came back and sat down next to Delphine. He’d changed out of his crumpled clothes since the morning. Suddenly, he felt like a stranger, this man who’d shared her bed. And yet her body still responded to him. She could smell his fragrance, clean and faintly woody.

  “I want to apologize,” he said softly.

  “De rien. It’s nothing.”

  “I regret snapping at you.”

  “I said it’s nothing. Forget it.”

  “Can I call you after we get home? We could spend some time, get to know each other better. If you like.”

  Delphine hesitated. “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “You can’t deny there’s something pretty special between us and it’s not just great sex.”

  “For God’s sake, the whole plane’s staring at us.”

  “So what do you say?”

  “Have you seen Erik Jens this morning?”

  He looked genuinely puzzled by the change of subject. “Why?”

  “A few of us back here had some questions about the signing ceremony. Maybe you could ask him to come back if he has a minute.”

  “Sure. No problem,” he said, unable to disguise his bruised feelings. If he felt any guilt, he wasn’t showing it. Did he really not know Erik was dead?

  “Thanks.”

  Silence.

  “So will you give me your number?”

  Delphine hesitated. Could she trust him? All she had to go on were her instincts – and her suspicions and fears.

  “It’s not a secret. If you want to call, call.”

  They refueled at Shannon and landed back in Maryland after midnight local time. As an exhausted Delphine drove home, a local radio station was discussing Erik’s murder. After discovering his body, the Israelis had searched his hotel room where they found pornographic videos involving juvenile boys, the host recounted with undisguised relish. Delphine could almost hear him licking his lips. Sex, murder and secret depravity at the heart of the government –a big, juicy story. How great was that for ratings?