State of Siege - Tom Clancy [112]
Chatterjee felt herself flush. The bastard. The bullying bastard. "Mr. President, I do not respond to threats." "But you do," the president said. "You responded to that one, quickly and openly." It took her a moment to realize that he was right. "No one likes to be pushed," the president said, "and that's all we're doing here. What we need to do is to find a nonconfrontational, nonthreatening solution to this problem. One that's going to work better for everyone." "Such as?" she asked. As frustrated as Chatterjee was, she was still a diplomat. She would listen. "A more productive way of appeasing those irate delegates might be if the United States were to begin paying all of its two billion dollar debt," the president said. "The delegates would have more money for UN programs back home, such as the World Food Council, the Children's Fund, the Institute for Training and Research. And if we work this right, they'll feel as though they've won something. They will have won American capitulation on the debt issue. Your own status will not suffer," he pointed out. Chatterjee looked at him coldly. "Mr. President, I appreciate the thought you've put into this. But there are legal issues that cannot be dismissed."
The president smiled. "Madam Secretary-General, almost twenty-five years ago, a Russian-Alexander Solzhenitsyn - said something at a commencement address that this lawyer never forgot. "I have spent all my life under a Communist regime," he said, "and I will tell you that a society without any objective legal scale is a terrible one indeed. But a society with no other scale but the legal one is not quite worthy of man either." his
Chatterjee regarded the president carefully. This was the first time since she'd entered the Oval Office that she saw anything in his eyes, in his expression, that approached sincerity. "Madam Secretary-General," the president said, "you're exhausted. May 1 make a suggestion?" "Please," she said. "Why don't you go back to New York, rest, and think about what I've said," the president told her. "Think about how we can work together to establish new moral objectives."
"Instead of deciding old ones?" she asked. "Instead of rehashing divisive ones," he replied. "We need to heal the divide, not make it wider." Chaterjee sighed and rose. "I believe I can agree to at least that, Mr. President," she said. "I'm glad," he replied. "I'm sure the rest will fall into place."
The president came from behind his desk. He shook her hand and walked her toward the door.
The secretary-general hadn't expected the meeting to unfold like this. She had known the president would resist her demand but thought that she'd be able to use the press to sway him. Now, what could she tell reporters? That the president had been a bastard. Instead of turning over an American father, he'd offered to put the UN back on sturdy financial footing and help thousands of fathers in underdeveloped countries worldwide.
As they crossed the thick blue carpet with the gold presidential seal, Chatterjee thought how ironic it was. Coming to the White House, she'd felt unclean because diplomacy had died. Yet here, in this room, it had just been practiced with skill and intelligence. Why, then, did she feel even dirtier than before?
Washington, D. C. Sunday, 12:08 P.m.
Paul Hood had been in enough politically and emotionally charged situations, both in government and on Wall Street, to know that the outcome of important meetings was often decided before the meetings were called. Key people, often no more than two, spoke or got together beforehand. By the time everyone else arrived, the talk was mostly for show.
This time, there wasn't even a show. Not inside the office, anyway..
Hood had waved to the press on his way in but declined to answer any questions. When he entered the Oval Office, Ambassador Meriwether was chatting with the president's executive secretary, forty-two-year-old Elizabeth Lopez. The two were comparing perspectives on the previous day's activities. They stopped when Hood arrived.