Murder in Foggy Bottom - Margaret Truman [50]
She watched him join a group of people a few yards away, and was tempted to catch his eye again and accept his invitation. It had been a stressful week with Joe; a pleasant evening in a restaurant with this Craig Thomas was appealing. It wouldn’t be cheating to simply go to dinner, nothing more than that. But she didn’t follow through. Joe expected her home right after the job, and she was looking forward to enjoying the music with him at Blues Alley.
She flipped through a small notebook in which hundreds of song titles were arranged by composer and chose “I’m Always True to You in My Fashion.” Cole Porter said it all.
Chapter 16
The Next Day
The State Department
Diplomatic Security Special Agent Bruce Wray sat behind the wheel of the long, blue diplomatic sedan in front of “Main State,” as the State Department building is called by those who serve it. A second vehicle, identical to the first, was parked directly behind. The radio in Special Agent Wray’s car was tuned to an all-news station, the volume low.
Inside the building, Elizabeth Rock conferred with staff in her warm, wood-paneled inner office, light from lamps giving life to the burnished boiserie. Multiple photos of her daughter and two grandchildren, the Secretary of State with numerous heads of state, plus memorabilia testifying to her lifelong love of baseball provided an eclectic background for the meeting.
“These are the latest briefing papers, Madam Secretary,” her confidential clerk said, handing her a file folder, which she placed on a growing pile.
Rock turned to Eva Young, her chief of staff. “The president is still in the meeting?”
“Yes, ma’am, with Director Templeton and Mr. Hoctor. Mr. Cammanati says it’s due to break any minute.”
Rock looked up at a stunning antique clock on the wall, a gift from her daughter. “You’d better call flight ops and tell them we’re running late,” she instructed her COS.
Her executive assistant entered the room to inform Rock that the assistant to the Russian ambassador to the United States, Nikolai Sorokin, was on a secured line.
“Excuse me,” the Secretary said, standing to go to a small room off her office to take the call. “Fourth call today from the charming, insufferable Counselor Sorokin,” she said over her shoulder.
In her absence, those at the meeting relaxed and exchanged small talk until Rock reappeared. She hadn’t even resumed her seat when her chief of staff opened the door: “The president, Madam Secretary.”
Rock took this call at her desk.
“Yes, Mr. President… No, I’m running late, should be leaving here in ten minutes… What?… Oh, yes, sir, the meetings in Moscow are set.” She laughed at something the president said. “I wouldn’t miss them, Mr. President. Thank you.”
She hung up and said, “He wants me to be sure and get back in time for the play-offs.”
Her assistant secretary for public affairs, Phil Wick, silently thought that considering the severity of what was happening, and the gravity of the Secretary’s sudden trip to Moscow, the president should be thinking of things other than baseball. Wick hated baseball, something he kept to himself.
“Ready?” her chief of staff asked.
“Yes, unless you have something else for me, Eva.”
Nothing was offered.
“Let’s go then.”
Special Agent Wray had been notified on his cell phone that his passenger was on her way. He stood erect at the open car door and watched her exit the building, trailed by members of her staff and two uniformed security guards.
“Good afternoon, Madam Secretary,” Wray said sharply.
“Good afternoon, Bruce. Any score?”
“Two-nothing,” he said. “Yankees. Top of the third.”
“Is Ripken playing?”
“No, ma’am. Erickson’s pitching.”
“Plenty of innings left,” Rock said, climbing into the backseat, where she was joined by Phil Wick and Eva Young. Wray closed the door, got in behind the wheel, and slowly pulled away,