Casing the Colors © Week 22

Casing the Colors © Week 22 • • • CHAPTER 39 • • When Kate arrived in Paris, a message from Paul Taylor was waiting for her at the Embassy. She found a quiet office and phoned him. "Kate, I've got a big problem on my hands. The Pope won't even consider hiding, as he puts it, while the world is in trouble. He wants to try to mediate. He says he will go to the Middle East to talk to Arab leaders or do anything else that might help. But, he will not stay hidden in England." "Can you keep him away from the media for an hour or two?" she asked. "Maybe, but not much longer, and only if I tell him we're working on a role for him." "With the counter-attacks in Sicily and Mexico underway, maybe the fundamentalists are ready to talk," she said. "We could ask for a meeting in Tunis or Paris. The best person to set it up is President LeNoir." "Phone Germany and England and get their okay," Admiral Taylor said. "I'll square things with the Pope." An hour later, Kate had allied agreement for the Pope's intervention as mediator, although they were skeptical. Bill Stevens agreed to let France make the Arab diplomatic contacts. Kate phoned Alexei to tell him. "Let's continue our original plan, too," he said. "These revolutionary bastards won't stop except to get ready for the next round." It was the first time she had heard Alexei swear and his words were very much those her father would have used to describe the fascists and marxists of the world. It was a litany, a passion for these men who had spent their entire lives entangled in the small and great wars of the 20th century, clawing their way out of savagery again and again, only to find another petty or genuine monster waiting. The years of struggle were reflected in their weary voices. "Stay at the Embassy until the French call you. When you see LeNoir, tell him I would like to be included in the conversation by telephone." Three long hours later, after pacing and trying to keep herself busy by reading State Department reports coming in over her secure website, she was invited to the Elysée Palace. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting, my dear," the old president said as he kissed her cheeks, "but it took several hours to arrange all the details for the meeting." She delivered Alexei's message and followed LeNoir into another office, one meant for work instead of glittering French public diplomacy. An aide phoned Alexei and the conversation continued. "My staff has spoken to Iraq, to General al-Mektari," President LeNoir said. "He is willing to come to Paris. He said he would like to help but he is not certain he can influence the terrorists. I suspect that if al-Mektari comes to Paris, he won't leave. Would this matter, Alexei?" LeNoir asked. "I don't think so," Alexei replied. "Let's use what we can of him. He may be able to tell us something that will help." "He will arrive tomorrow afternoon," LeNoir said. "I have arranged for Katharine to go with me to visit Maurice Julien early tomorrow morning. He is the key to the plan." "Who will meet with Mektari and the Pope?" Kate asked. "The United States requests that Admiral Taylor remain with the Pope during the meeting." "General Mektari asked for me and the Pope," President LeNoir answered, "but I feel sure Admiral Taylor would be acceptable." "And perhaps my wife," Alexei added. "Of course. Now, my friend, if you are happy with our arrangements, I will tell Katharine something about General Julien and his potential for helping us set up your plan." "Just don't leave General Julien alone with her," Alexei laughed. "He's even more dangerous than you are, Monsieur le President." Jacques LeNoir was still chuckling as the line closed. He led Kate back to his showcase office where champagne was waiting. "General Maurice Julien is retired now, but he served with great distinction and he understands North Africa better than anyone I know. He speaks Arabic fluently and keeps his political and military ties very current. We use him often in our diplomatic dealings with the Maghreb. I believe you know something of the Maghreb, too," he added. "I've spent time in Tunisia and Egypt for two clients with extensive business interests there," Kate answered, "and I've come to love the African desert." "Alexei was right to warn me. I'll take care to keep my eye on you when we visit Maurice. He is a Bedouin at heart." His eyes sparkled with delight at the prospect of introducing Maurice Julien to Kate Gordon. "My limousine will call for you at 4 a.m. I apologize for not spending this evening with you, but I have obligations. Tomorrow I will show you the lights of Paris as they fade into day." "I think Alexei should be more worried about you than General Julien," Kate said, smiling at the courtly old man, who still obviously loved to charm women. • • • The next morning, Jacques LeNoir gave Kate her private tour above the Parisian dawn before the helicopter headed toward the Loire Valley. They landed on the lawn of a chateau between Blois and Tours on the banks of the Loire River. General Maurice Julien was standing at the front entrance of his home, immaculately dressed in uniform, as if he were still a military commander waiting to greet his staff officers. It was 5 a.m. "Jacques, my dear friend," he said, "welcome. And Miss Gordon, I am honored by your visit. Tell me, how is your father?" he asked in charmingly accented English. "We are old friends, he and I." General Julien's family had centuries of money and power behind it. The result shone out of every corner of the chateau. Aubusson carpets framed exquisite Louis XIV and XV chairs and commodes, in a setting mixed with First Empire pieces marking the French ascendancy in Egypt during the Napoleonic period. Heroic paintings by David and 18th century aristocratic scenes by Watteau hung alongside the occasional Picasso and Monet, telling of more recent generations of family wealth and taste. Kate would happily have spent a week just wandering through the chateau's halls and salons, looking at the Sevres and Limoges porcelains mingled with Chinese vases and figurines. General Julien's possessions reflected a world in which the present crisis was simply an inconvenience. Kate Gordon marveled again at the French calm in the midst of the terrible events sweeping across the world. Perhaps the ownership of a long and narcissistic past made its possessors sure of their ability to survive. They ate breakfast in the garden room, a haven of green plants and flowers protected from the cold dawn by glass walls. General Julien served a light but excellent meal of fruits, cheese, yogurt, croissants and breads and French tea, not as strong or perfumed as English tea but comforting in the early morning. President LeNoir had briefed the General about the reason for the visit and asked him to be prepared to discuss ways for France to help. "I am flattered, honored to be sure," General Julien said. "Certainly, Jacques, I will do whatever I can. North Africa undoubtedly holds the key to any possibility of a negotiated peace." Kate said, "General Julien, you must know President Katerinov, as well as you know my father. Their view is that the West must win, not compromise. Otherwise, our final history will be written in Arabic by conquerors who will have destroyed not only the West but their own culture as well." General Julien made no response, instead asked a servant for fresh tea for his guests. He sat back in his chair and slowly stirred sugar into his cup while Jacques LeNoir and Kate Gordon listened to the first sounds of the morning. Finishing his tea, the General said, "Let's take a walk. This is my favorite time of day. I'll get capes and boots for us." They laughed together as they pulled on rubber wellingtons over heavy wool socks. It was an unlikely picture, the ninety-year old former president of France, the retired French General, twenty years younger, and the daughter of the Chairman of the United States Joint Chiefs of Staff. "You know, Maurice," Jacques LeNoir said as they left the garden room and stepped into the cold, damp air, "the Pope is trying to mediate. What we need is something different from you. But, perhaps Katharine can tell the story better than I." Fog was rolling up onto the plateau above the river. Their boots left marks on the wet grass as they walked. Kate wrapped herself more tightly in her French military cape and settled into pace between the two men. General Julien's profile, set sharply against the milky fog, was chiseled and gaunt but not haggard. His perfectly coifed white hair seemed even whiter against his deeply sun-tanned face. He wasn't tall, but his back was straight and his step precise. "Miss Gordon, please do an old man the favor of calling him by his first name. I couldn't receive a finer gift," General Julien said, "and, if I may, Katharine," he laughed as he put his arm around her shoulder, "I will try not to take advantage of your kindness." Jacques LeNoir strolled silently beside them, Alexei's fobbed-off warning about Maurice Julien turning in his mind as he listened to his old friend charm the young American he had promised to help. Kate outlined the connection between Raqqa and Carlos Miguel and their link to the suspected White House security leak. She asked the General if he could find a way to begin a pincer action against the terrorists using the leak. "My family has known the ruling family in Morocco for several generations," he replied. "I talk to the king several times a month. Perhaps, Jacques, if Miss Gordon were to accompany me as a sign of good faith, we could persuade the king to intervene." "It could be an opportunity to open doors," Jacques LeNoir answered. "I think the visit must be secret," Maurice Julien said. "The facade of support for Arab values is important for the king and for everyone in North Africa. They will have to live with the results of this unhappiness, whatever the outcome." "But, we would ask his support to trap Raqqa," Kate replied. "Do you think the king would agree to help?" "We can only ask, my dear," Maurice said. "Meanwhile, we can hope the Pope is successful with his negotiations," he said dryly, looking down over the peaceful Loire. They walked back to the chateau and had a last cup of tea. Then Jacques LeNoir and Kate Gordon boarded the helicopter to return to Paris, where LeNoir would welcome the Pope at noon. As they said their good-byes, Maurice Julien asked Jacques LeNoir for an unmarked plane for the trip to Morocco. "When will you leave?" "This afternoon. You will find me at the Elysée Palace after your meeting with al-Mektari. This morning, I have a lot to do to organize our visit to Rabat." • • • When Admiral Taylor and the Pope arrived in Paris later in the morning for their meeting with General al-Mektari, they were escorted to the Ecole Militaire, where President LeNoir and Kate Gordon were waiting. The Pope was full of optimism, convinced that the general would be able to influence Raqqa and the terrorists. When Jacques LeNoir explained the tenuous position al-Mektari occupied and the uncertainty whether the general could do anything, the Pope simply said, "If they are willing to send him to talk to us, there is reason to hope." Jacques LeNoir's staff had chosen the Ecole Militaire for the secret but risk laden meeting. It was easy to install the extra communications links needed between the Ecole and the French Air Force group positioned at Orly Airport, where al-Mektari's plane would land. It would also be easy to bring him to the Ecole by helicopter without crossing the entire city. For the same reason, the French Air Force escort had met the Iraqi military planes and led them out over the Atlantic and into Paris from the southwest to avoid the planes' cameras recording the position of the French and American troop placements in the south of France. As the small group listened by radio to the final approach of the two Iraqi planes bringing General al-Mektari to Orly, they suddenly heard excited voices shouting in rapid fire French over the communications link. The Iraqi planes had raised their noses and headed for the center of Paris. The French escort commander ordered them to return to formation. Other French planes on alert in the area heard the radio exchange and closed in on the renegade aircraft. The Iraqi pilots ignored the first warning shots and were over Paris in seconds. The alert French security guards hustled Jacques LeNoir and his group out of the Ecole Militaire and into their two limousines as the noisy radio exchange continued. The limousines sped toward the Pont Alexandre III and headed for the safety of the Elysée Palace as the first explosion detonated over the Ecole Militaire. The limousines and motorcycle escort ran over sidewalks and between lines of mid-day traffic as the bewildered Parisians watched smoke billow into the sky above the Ecole Militaire. One Iraqi plane had hit the Ecole. The other was destroyed in mid-air, shot down by pursuing French mirage jets. The planes, loaded with explosives, had been flown by suicide pilots intending to kill al-Mektari and the welcoming party along with him. The area between the Invalides and the Eiffel Tower was badly damaged and more than a hundred Parisians had been killed. The city was paralyzed, but in Montparnasse and to the south toward Orly, people crowded into the streets to watch the sky. A half hour after the attack, the newsroom of Le Monde received an anonymous call confirming that General al-Mektari had been assassinated. The message of the nameless caller was curt. The general was no longer needed in the fundamentalist fight. While the Pope prayed for al-Mektari and for peace, Admiral Taylor tried to calm President LeNoir and Kate Gordon, shaken by the high-speed rout and retreat. General Julien, who had arrived at the Elysée Palace before the incident, was more pragmatic. "We will require a military escort for our flight to Morocco," he announced, "in case our flight is more exciting than we would like it to be." "Yes, and may you have success in convincing our Arab friends to help us before they become expendable, too," LeNoir replied.