Last Snow - Eric van Lustbader [66]
There was silence for a moment as everyone looked to President Carson for an answer. He’d staked much of his reputation on this rapprochement with Russia. He’d expended a great deal of political capital on the two bills the Congress had failed to pass. If he failed with the accord with Yukin he risked being dead in the water for the rest of his term—and forget about a second one. No matter his private thoughts on the subject, everyone present knew the president had no choice.
Carson looked over for the young boy, but he was gone now, bundled into the back of one of the anonymous-looking limos. Was he crying still, or had he put his stoic face back on in front of his family? It’s going to be all right, Carson thought. Then, his attention returned to the matter at hand, he sighed. “The General is right. For the moment we bury this intel; what we have spoken of here today goes no further.” He turned to his CIA chief. “Bob, in the meantime have your people follow up on this intel. I want specifics. If and when your boys unearth a smoking gun, we’ll move on it, but not a moment before. And Dennis, continue to pursue all avenues regarding the investigation into Lloyd’s death. If there’s something to it I want to know about it pronto. Okay?” He nodded. “Good. Thank you, gentlemen, for your valued input and opinions. Now it’s time to return to Moscow. General, you have just under two hours to get your kit together and hustle on over to Andrews. I want you with me when I meet with President Yukin again. Dennis, you’re with me.”
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AS SOON as they were in the presidential limousine and on their way to Andrews Air Force Base, Carson turned to Dennis Paull, his longtime confidant, and, slapping the CIA white paper against his thigh, said, “To be honest, Denny, this report concerns me, especially Yukin’s designs on Ukraine. The incursion into Georgia was bad enough, but if he decides to make a move against Ukraine how can we stand idly by?”
“The report is intel, and like all intel it shouldn’t be taken as gospel,” Paull said as he settled back in the plush bench seat. “Besides, after six years of constant battles, our military is in need of withdrawal from the field, the men need time to stand down. But even if the intel is correct it wouldn’t change a thing, would it? Your intent is on record, your position clear.” Pulling a cigar from his vest pocket he stuck it between his teeth and went searching for a match or a lighter. “It doesn’t matter what action Yukin takes or is planning, it doesn’t matter if you like the sonuvabitch or if you hate him. The accord has got to be signed and with all due haste.”
“I agree, but Brandt has been urging me to rush past minor points in the negotiations.”
“Ignore him, get what you want out of Yukin,” Paull said firmly. “But I must point out with the security accord signed Yukin’s hands will be tied, he won’t be able to follow the scenario Bob has outlined, not with us as allies. No, the best way to stave off Russian expansion is to follow through on your promise as quickly as possible.”
Carson threw the dossier aside. “In office less than ninety days and already my hands are dirty.”
“The nature of politics is to have dirty hands,” Paull astutely pointed out as he lit the cigar. “The trick is to govern without being concerned with your dirty hands.”
“No, the trick is to wash them constantly.”
Paull puffed away contentedly. “Lady Macbeth tried that without success.”
“Lady Macbeth was mad.”
“It seems to me that madness is inherent in politics, or at least a preternatural ability to rationalize, which can be a kind of madness.”
“The ability to rationalize is a trait common to all humans,” Carson observed.
“Maybe so,” Paull said from within a cloud of aromatic smoke, “but surely not on such a massive scale.”
Carson grunted. “Anyway, it’s not the first time I’ve gotten my hands dirty.”
“And we both know it won’t be the last.”
Reaching over, Paull pressed a button and the privacy