Casing the Colors © Week 29

Casing the Colors © Week 29 • • • CHAPTER 47 • • Moscow airport was deserted when Kate and Alexei arrived. A late winter snow storm had reduced visibility to the minimum allowed for landing and eliminated the welcoming party. Instead, a limousine took them to Alexei's apartment in the Kremlin, where his inner circle of political allies and friends were waiting with champagne and a welcoming buffet dinner. A Russian folk band dressed in colorful costumes entertained them with traditional music and dancing. As they entered the apartment, Kate realized she had never seen it before. The public salons were huge, with high-ceilings, parquet floors covered with Persian carpets and darkly massive furniture to balance the larger-than-human proportions of the rooms. When they went into Alexei's private apartment to change clothes, she was delighted to find lighter, more elegant French antiques and modern paintings mingled with the Russian core pieces. Her husband's personal tastes were splendidly at odds with the requirements of his state-imposed public persona. "Relax and enjoy this evening," he said, kissing her cheek. "Just be yourself, Darling, and get to know my friends. Tonight, they are all happy to be together celebrating our happiness." In the reception room, a melange of elegant people from business, government and the arts surrounded them. The leaders of Russia's movement toward a real market economy and democratic government offered toast after champagne toast between excited accounts of their latest projects, everything from a new pharmaceuticals plant in Siberia to the opening of the latest contemporary play in Moscow. All well-dressed, most in French designer labels, and obviously very wealthy, they represented Alexei's independent power base. His closest political allies mixed with them, listening to wish lists for government support and asking in turn for private help with their own favorite public projects. Kate was regaled with welcoming kisses and made to feel at home. It all could have been happening in Washington, she thought, even the simmering undercurrent of nonspecific discomfiture and frustration. But, it was the combination of champagne, vodka and music that finally made Kate Gordon understand that she was in Moscow. As the evening wore on and the guests relaxed into a velvety ease, they began to sing and then dance with the musicians, men and women mingling and swaying with the music in little groups. They finally pulled Alexei and Kate into the center of a large circle and swirled slowly around them, singing as they moved. In the circle, Alexei performed the steps of a Russian wedding dance. The snow fell, unnoticed, as the evening became late night. At midnight, someone threw open the huge French doors leading out onto a terrace overlooking the inner courtyard of the Kremlin. The snowflakes, drawn into the room by the fireplace draft, fluttered for a moment in the warmth and then fell as tiny drops of water onto the floor. The men wrapped the women in their suit jackets as everyone drifted like reverse snowflakes out onto the terrace. There, in the cold and beautifully Russian winter night, they all embraced, their happiness and hopes mingled with the falling snow. • • The next day, Alexei was up early on his way to the never-ending round of meetings and compromises that held his government in place. Kate was left to become acquainted with the household staff and settle into its routine before making any changes. Just before noon, Alexei phoned her. "Katharine, the American Ambassador is sending a car for you. He needs to talk to you." "What's wrong, Alexei?" she asked, fearing for her father's safety. "It's about the Mexican border." She was waiting in the apartment's private foyer when the limousine arrived. The Ambassador's personal aide was with the driver. "Miss Gordon," he began, then retreated and began again. "Mrs. Katerinov, the Ambassador asked me to brief you. Your father and Secretary Stevens are with the President and want to talk to you on the Embassy's secure line. It's about a White House security matter." Her mind rushed over the events leading to the deaths of Jack Wilson, Carlos Miguel and Dave Browning. Was Raqqa's White House source becoming nervous because he hadn't heard from Dave, or had Raqqa told him the truth about Dave's disappearance. Was he demanding protection as the price of his silence? The media hadn't linked the bounty Raqqa was offering for the President and Scott to the events in Geneva because there still hadn't been a TV report of their deaths. But, it would only be a few days at most before Raqqa leaked all the information he must have and started the next round of frenzied attempts to get behind the White House walls, which were so far holding up against all press efforts to breach them. She tried to hope the phone call would offer encouraging news. When she heard the tone of her dad's voice, Kate braced herself for a disturbing conversation. "Kate, I know we agreed to keep the identity of Raqqa's source quiet for as long as possible, but I'm afraid we've reached the end of the line. George Morrison has found out about Dave's death, and he's threatening to go public if we don't guarantee his safety." "His safety," Bill Stevens repeated. "We now know why George was passing on information to Raqqa. It was because of Sheila Wellford and had nothing to do with Scott asking for legal advice about his military activities, as we had surmised." Stu Wellford broke in. "It seems, Sweetie, that George and Sheila have been occasional lovers for several years. That was the hammer Raqqa used with Jack Wilson, who was foolish enough to gossip about their affair to Dave Browning when he was drunk. Dave Browning, who was already bought and paid for by Miguel, and Raqqa used the information to muscle George. We're searching for the direct connection between Sheila and Raqqa in Los Angeles. She must know Raqqa or someone close to him without realizing it." "Are you sure?" Kate asked. "I can't believe Sheila could be involved in a thing like that." Her mind went numb as Stu continued. "Sweetie, we're all as shocked as you are. We don't have all the answers yet. But, we've checked the story George Morrison told us when we interrogated him. As far as we've traced it, it tracks." "What do we do now? Hope Scott finds Raqqa before he blows the whistle on Sheila." "We have enough evidence to support a treason charge against George Morrison," General Gordon said. "We will deal with him and hope that Raqqa gets the message. If he comes after Sheila publicly, we'll hunker down and try to tough it out." "It won't be easy for a terrorist to make out a case against the wife of the President of the United States," Stu added, "especially when we control the media. We'll just have to trust our instincts and pray for a little luck." "What do you want me to do?" Kate asked. "Should I tell Alexei?" "Of course," Bill said. "Otherwise, Raqqa could blindside us." "Are you going to isolate Sheila?" she asked. "Hell, no," her father replied. "That would be the end of our chance to trap Raqqa. We'll get back to you, Honey. Meanwhile, I'll be working with Scott and Phil Carlson. We've got a million refugees in Texas and Arizona, with more coming every hour. Phil's quartermaster section is struggling to feed them, let alone find shelter for all of them." "What about the military situation?" she asked. "We're concerned about what Raqqa may do to fill the leadership void now that Miguel's dead and what his retaliation will be," Stu said. "I think we're going to take a big hit." "Undoubtedly," General Gordon agreed, "but that may be okay if it forces Raqqa's hand and we get a shot at him. We've got to sign off, Kate. Don't be too hard on yourself for not figuring out everything about Sheila and the others. None of us wins a blue ribbon for perspicacity," he added. She put down the phone and sat in the silent Embassy office, trying to find in retrospect the signs that should have alerted her to Sheila's liaison. She phoned Alexei and asked him to come to the Embassy for lunch. "I can't Katharine, unless it's an emergency." "No, Darling, it can wait until this evening," she said, turning over the alternatives. A light flashed in her head and she picked up the phone and asked for a secure line through to General Julien in Rabat. Maurice was enjoying a morning of sun and reading in the little garden outside his palace suite. When she gave him the news, he sighed. "My dear Katharine, Sheila is by no means the only woman who has taken a lover. It's not at all unusual and it certainly had nothing to do with your relationship with Stuart Wellford. Don't blame yourself. Be happy with Alexei, if you are foolish enough to prefer him to me." She heard the mirth in his voice and laughed. "Maurice, you are a devil. Don't you ever take anything seriously?" "Yes, Katharine, you. That's why I tease you. Don't you know that pleasantries are a sign of love?" "I know that you tease me unmercifully, Maurice. One day I'm going to get even. Fair warning." "I hope so, Katharine, I hope so. Do you want me to tell President LeNoir or the king?" "What do you think we ought to do?" "Stay quiet for 48 hours," he replied. "Then, if everything is still calm, I'll speak to Jacques LeNoir. Let's leave the king blissfully ignorant for the time being. He's happy with his new role. Let us not disillusion him too soon." She put down the phone, feeling infinitely better for having shared the information with Maurice. Later that evening, Alexei reacted in much the way Maurice had, except that he was more considerate of her sense of responsibility for Sheila's affair with George. "Sheila no longer loved Stu, Darling, or she would have demanded more of him. Don't let it become bigger than it is. The real question is what impact her liaison will have on the Alliance and America's rebellion." "As for Scott, he must have known you were comfortably settled into a relationship with Stu. If he had confronted you, his own facade would have been shattered. Katharine, you can't live with the ghosts of what could have been and be my wife, too. Leave the past as a pleasant memory." "But, Darling," she said, feeling the tears well up in her throat, "how can I ever be sure it wasn't my fault, that I didn't..." Before she could finish, Alexei was holding her at arms length, looking directly into her eyes. "My dear wife," he said firmly, "you are a lovely, intelligent woman and you know that whatever happened had nothing to do with you, but with other people's needs." • • The next morning, Kate received another shock when the American Ambassador informed her that US Attorney General George Morrison had been killed in an automobile accident on his way home from the White House late the previous night. Russia and the rest of Europe were deep in their own problems and made little of the accident. The official White House release expressed deep sadness and noted that a new Attorney General would be appointed after due consultation.