Ultimatum 2. Richard Rohmer

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Ultimatum 2 - Richard Rohmer

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      “No, Jason. No. I don’t want any staff in on this. The President’s instructions are too delicate, just as our relations with the Russians are too delicate. You and I will prepare the plan of action.”

      Crisp had been there before with the Secretary. He had brought a pad of paper and was prepared to be the steno.

      “First, I must have a full background on the operative legislation, such as Nunn-Lugar, under which Congress has authorized money for the elimination of the Russian nuclear waste.”

      “Or its secure storage,” Crisp added.

      “All of this was presented in the President’s briefing today but I have to have it. The name of the main briefing person from Energy is Dr. Rob Ross. The President’s Chief of Staff can find him for you.”

      “Okay.”

      “And I want Ross to be seconded to me full-time until this mission is accomplished.”

      “What if his Secretary says no, he can’t do without him?”

      Both brows lifted above those deep brown, unwavering eyes. “Jason, you must be joking! If I want him I must have him. The President will so order. Got it?”

      “Yes, ma’am.” The Secretary had not yet invited Crisp, some twenty years her senior and now the top civil servant at State, to call her by her first name. Crisp reasoned that she lacked the inner strength to do so. She was Afro-American. Made it up the hard way. Totally disciplined. But a sensitive human filled with both confidence and insecurity. Whatever.

      “I’ll talk to my counterpart at Energy.” Crisp made a note.

      “If you have any resistance back off. I’ll handle it from there. I want a meeting with Dr. Ross tomorrow.” She pecked away at her ever-present laptop. It went everywhere with her like the Queen’s purse was always on the left arm. Some media wag had made the equation, noting that no one knew what was in the Queen’s handbag, just as no one knew what was in the Secretary’s laptop.

      She called up her schedule. “Try two p.m. tomorrow. Tell him I want a repeat of the briefing he gave the President with copies of all the relevant give-to-Russia legislation. Also documentation on all of the nuclear money given to Russia so far and what is pledged for the future. I’ll need a track of who, what Russian body or bodies, has received the money. What agreements the Russians have signed.”

      Crisp was writing as quickly as his pen could move. He was comforted by the knowledge that what Herself (as he often privately named the Secretary) was saying was being recorded, a backstop to his notes.

      “Keep in mind,” she said, as her eyes went from the computer to Crisp’s intent face, “that Ross doesn’t know — not yet — about the President’s instructions to me about...”

      “The ultimatum.”

      “Exactly. It’s Ross’s idea, but you and I are the only people who know what the President wants to do with it. I want to keep it that way.”

      “Understood.”

      “If your notes make any reference to the word...”

      “I haven’t used it.”

      “Good. And edit it out of the tape of this conversation as soon as we’re finished.”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “The next item is arranging a meeting with Russian Deputy Prime Minister Ivanov. He will be representing his President for the Norwegian prime minister’s wedding — and I will be there representing our President. Convenient coincidence.”

      She went back to her computer for the dates. “The wedding is on June tenth, thirty-six days from now. I’m scheduled to arrive in Norway the day before at noon. We can change that to two days before on the eighth. Bookings are made in Oslo at the Holmenkollen Hotel for all of my team plus secret service. You’ll be minding the store here.”

      “To my regret. Are you sure you don’t want me with you when you’re head to head with Ivanov?”

      “Nice question. I’ll have to think about that.”

      “On the other hand, Secretary, you’re the expert on all things Russian.”

      She paused as the question turned over in her mind.

      “I’ll come back to that question.” She was thinking about the logistics of the meeting. “Frankly, I don’t want to make a public show of getting together with Ivanov. It should be private, away from the media. I don’t want them to know about it — when we’re meeting or where. Nothing.”

      Crisp replied, “In that event you don’t want to do the Oslo International Airport. If your aircraft...”

      “Probably one of the President’s Air Force One aircraft.”

      “If it’s seen by the media at the Oslo airport there’s really no way to have a secret meeting there. And a meeting — secret — in the hotel at Oslo wouldn’t be possible. Too many leaks.” Crisp had a suggestion. “There’s a remote but well-equipped airport about an hour, air time, to the west of Oslo on the Norway coast at Stavanger. U.S. aircraft are in there frequently. We could arrange a secure meeting there. Ivanov could fly in; the aircraft could park next to each other. The meeting could take place on his or yours.”

      The Secretary smiled her approval. “I like that, Jason. Yes. It sounds good. See what you can do to make it happen.”

      “I can take a direct shot at Ivanov’s staff to make the arrangements.”

      “Yes. And Stavanger. It would work perfectly. I haven’t met Ivanov. I hope he’ll be interested in meeting me.”

      Crisp smiled knowingly. “I suspect he’ll be keen, really keen, to meet with you, Madam Secretary.”

      She grumped, “God, I hate that ‘Madam’ stuff. It really should be ‘Miss’ or just plain ‘Secretary.’”

      “Of course, Secretary, I understand. I’ll have to make special arrangements with the Norwegian government — permission, security, all the protocol things. And a helicopter to take you from Stavanger to the hotel in Oslo.”

      “Why not take my aircraft from Stavanger to Oslo?”

      “Because the airport’s so far away from the city, close to an hour by car. If we do Stavanger the helicopter is the best bet.”

      “Do Stavanger.”

      “Okay. Now how do we ... what do we tell Ivanov the topic is, the subject of this special secret meeting?”

      “I’ll draft a letter, as the President has instructed. I’ll run it by you to make sure I haven’t used any undiplomatic language. You can use it to open the door with Ivanov’s people. Give me a few minutes to put something together. I’ll call you when I’m finished.”

      The draft the Secretary composed on her laptop read:

      The President of the United States has instructed me to arrange an urgent, private meeting

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