The General's President (49 page)

In a reversal of the usual procedure, there would be no preliminary conference of diplomats to set things up. In Zurich, they themselves would work out a broad agreement, and a general agenda for subsequent conferences at the foreign ministry level, which would work out the details.

They did not talk about relaxing their military stance. After what each government had done to the other in the last twenty-four hours, it wasn't surprising. But there'd been no sense at all of truculence or suspicion.

Valenzuela would have preferred a longer lead time than ten days. There were various other governments to consider, and he'd have liked to confer with them in advance about their various interests. But he sat quietly. Now was the time to move, he knew, while things were fluid. And Arne Haugen had displayed genius at making things go right.

When it was over with, Haugen, Valenzuela, Grosberg, and Lynch, along with Milstead, went to the Oval Office and relaxed with their choice of bourbon, Scotch, or something hot, discussing briefly what had to be done soonest. In the morning, Grosberg and Lynch would inform their minority party counterparts, and the chairmen of their respective foreign affairs committees, of the forthcoming summit meeting. Okada would release a brief announcement of the upcoming summit to the press at noon.

Also tomorrow morning, Valenzuela would talk to the ambassadors of China and Iran, who were bound to feel twitchy about any possible meeting of minds between Washington and Moscow. He'd assure the Chinese that there was no possibility of agreements infringing on their interests, and the Iranians that they would be conferred with on anything that came up about Iranian interests. If anything did.

He was to stress that the President of the United States wanted the maximum of possible worldwide satisfaction with whatever results the conference might produce, and that the ultimate goals were peace and national self-determination.

The British ambassador would also be contacted; the United Kingdom had been America's firmest foreign policy supporter for a dozen years, in times as embarrassing as Iran-gate and as tense as the showdown between Wheeler and Gorbachev. If the prime minister wanted a quick informal meeting, in say Ottawa or Vancouver, that could be arranged, although privately the president couldn't visualize what they might talk about before the Zurich meeting. Afterward there'd be plenty to talk about.

The five of them dispersed then, and Haugen walked slowly up the stairs, his bodyguards following. Their day had been as long as his.

"When are they going to relieve you guys?" he asked.

"There's a new shift waiting upstairs," Wayne said. "They'll take over when we get there."

There was, and his traveling bags stood beside the door, deposited there by John Zale when they'd gotten back. The president shook hands with Wayne and Gil, then tossed a salute to their replacements before he went into the second floor Center Hall, into the family area, leaving them behind. He felt now as if the air had gone out of him, the starch. He was tired but also relaxed and enormously gratified with the day. It occurred to him that he wasn't fully feeling yet the impact of all that had happened; that later, perhaps in a week or month, this day would loom bigger than any other in his life.
Maybe
, he thought as he opened his bedroom door,
I'll even get to read about it in a history book before I die—see what posterity will make of it.

Lois was not in bed. She'd fallen asleep in her favorite wingbacked chair. Gazing at her, she was as lovely to his fond eyes as on the day they'd married. Her skin was no longer smooth and snug, but there was a softness to it. And paler, he thought, than he'd ever seen it; she'd been an outdoors person all her life, till they'd come to the White House. It occurred to him that the restrictions on life here, in this difficult time, had been harder on her than on him.

He'd intended not to waken her if he could help it. But she'd be stiff in the morning if she spent the whole night in the chair. He touched her shoulder, spoke quietly to her, and as she stirred, he bent and kissed her cheek. Her eyes opened.

"You're home," she said, and smiling, straightened, then got up and kissed him, a kiss that was tender but also sensual. For a moment it seemed to the president that she might be making a pass at him, but if she was, she sensed how drained he was, and let the moment go by.

"Would you like some tawny port?" she asked. "I'd have made hot buttered rum if I'd known when you'd get home."

"Port would be fine," he said. "I'll be getting into my sleeping shorts."

They shared a drink while he summarized for her his talk with Gurenko. He'd already told her, very briefly the night before, about the hit on the Politburo, wondering at the time how Father Flynn would take it when he told him.

Lois in turn described the TV coverage of the earthquakes and his visit to the disaster areas.

She didn't mention her visit to the White House physician, and her husband didn't think to ask. He was starting to nod off before he'd finished his drink.

FORTY-SEVEN

Arne Haugen slept till 1040 hours, wakening at the insistence of his urethral sphincter. He noticed, when he got out of bed, that Lois's side was empty. The door was open into the private north hall, her way of telling him that she'd gone herself to prepare their breakfast. He relieved himself, showered and shaved, then dressed. Walking into the Center Hall, the smell of bacon frying led him into their private dining room. Lois was in the adjacent Kennedy Kitchen, and he looked in on her.

"Hi, Babe. How did you know I was up?"

"I went in to wake you and heard the shower." Grinning, she pointed at a dishtowel humped over something on the counter. "I baked bread last evening. Your favorite—anadama. It's been awhile."

He went to her and kissed her.

"Kissing the cook is always a good idea," she told him, shrugging loose, "but there is good timing and bad timing. Right now I have to check the bacon." She took the frying pan from the hot burner, and after a moment raised the lid. "Done," she said, then peered under another.

"As boss of the kitchen," she added, "I hereby direct you to pour the juice and get something agreeable on television."

Something was bothering her; a slight acidity underlay her bantering this morning, something he seldom felt. He thought he knew why. When they'd first moved into the White House, he'd told her they'd be out by Labor Day—possibly by the Fourth of July if things went well enough or badly enough. And domestically they were going well enough, but he was talking in terms of "the end of the year."

Last October, of course, he hadn't known about weatherwar and seismic war. And he had a better idea now of what might actually be accomplished, and what it would take. And who could he trust to follow through on the programs he envisioned? The education reform he'd soon be springing on them?

After he got back from Zurich, he'd take a few days off and they'd vacation in the mountains at Camp David. Spend weekends there as often as possible. She'd feel better about things then.

So, obediently, he went pitcher in hand into the small dining room, where as always, places had been set by one of the domestic staff the evening before. He poured cider, returned the pitcher to the refrigerator, then checked the television computer for eleven o'clock programs, settling for the Boston Symphony on Public TV.

While he was adjusting the volume, Lois came from the kitchen with a plate of bacon and a platter of fried eggs. Firm-yolked, he was sure, though sunnyside up. By the time he'd poured coffee, she was back again with sweet anadama toast, covered to stay warm.

He held her chair for her while she sat down.

"My! What a gracious gentleman," she teased. "If only my husband could see you; maybe he'd learn a thing or two."

He nodded. "That's what all my girlfriends tell me. At the table or in the boudoir. Ah well, when a girl marries a cedar savage..."

He sat down and stared at the platters. "Do we have breakfast guests I haven't heard about? That's enough to feed a logging crew!"

She shook her head, still smiling, but softly now. "I decided to overlook the calories—that both of us would really splurge on our favorite breakfast."

By the time she'd said it all, her voice had begun to falter, and Arne Haugen had gone watchfully sober, not asking, letting her tell him in her own time.

"Fan ta'n!"
she burst out.
"Haugen, ja' har rili gått och gjört da nu."
("Damn it, Haugen, I've really gone and done it now!") Tears had begun to flow, and he stared, waiting for what would follow.

She dropped the Minnesota
bondspråk.
"Arne," she said, "I have cancer. Of the lymph system. And it's not operable. Colonel Singleton did a scan yesterday, and it's metastasized; it's spread to a lot of different places. He called a specialist over from GWU, and I'm to go there today for extensive examinations. So they'll know what they can do about it.

"They said my symptoms hadn't been typical for my age; that they should have shown up sooner." She tried to laugh then. "You've told me how young I've stayed. Now look!"

The president stared at her, his vision blurring till he could no longer see the tears flowing down her cheeks. She went on.

"And honey ... I don't want to go away from you!"

She broke down then, crying quietly but hard, her body shaking with it, while he sat miserably, unable to think or even wipe his face. After half a minute he heard her giggle, then hiccup. His hand found his napkin and he mopped at his eyes. She was grinning shakily at him.

"I didn't plan to tell you till we'd finished eating. Now go ahead and enjoy your breakfast!"

She broke down again, and getting up, her husband walked around the table and knelt beside her, circling her with an arm, holding her against him. Saying nothing till her weeping had eased again. "You and I have never had a genuine crisis in the family before," he said quietly. "We'll just have to get used to it. We'll handle it all right, you and I."

She nodded, then kissed him, their wet cheeks touching. "Well," she said, "I'd better go wash my face. Maybe I'll feel better then."

***

After a few minutes they actually ate a bit. She was to see Colonel Singleton after lunch, and they'd ride the half-dozen blocks to the university hospital in Singleton's personal car, to avoid notice if possible.

"And sweetheart," she said, "you've got a lot of things to take care of downstairs. For a lot of people. We'll let the doctors take care of me."

After a little bit he did go downstairs. The Secret Service men could tell something was wrong. So could Martinelli, and so could Milstead when he came in. But once the president got underway, he worked as well, and as rapidly as usual, although his family crisis was never far from his consciousness.

At mid-afternoon he stopped at Singleton's office and left a message for the doctor to call when he got back. Half an hour later Singleton called, and Haugen had him come to the Oval Office. Treatment would be immunotherapy, the colonel said. She'd be in the hospital for at least a week; perhaps as long as two.

Only time would tell what the treatment would accomplish, but the first lady was in most respects an unusually ealthy woman. Certainly her case was far from hopeless. Dr. Hummerick, at GWU, was one of the best in the evaluation and treatment of lymphomas, and he estimated that the odds were perhaps thirty percent for a complete remission. The least they could hope for was a considerable palliation, and perhaps years of not uncomfortable life continuance.

Well
, the president told himself when the doctor had left,
thirty percent's not bad. We'll see how it goes.

Meanwhile though, death seemed more serious to him now than it ever had before.

***

That evening, as he and Lois often had, he invited Father Flynn to supper. And told him. Flynn hadn't heard yet; remarkably the situation hadn't leaked, not even her hospitalization! Partly, the president told himself, because the White House Press Corps was no longer located inside the White House; that and the loyalty of the staff.

When he and Flynn had finished dessert, Haugen excused himself to call Liisa. "Hi, honeybunch," he said. "How're you guys doing?"

"Just fine. It went up nearly to zero in Grand Forks today! Up to minus three degrees!"

Haugen laughed. "Don't feel too bad," he said. "Think of it as minus twenty Celsius."

She made a rude noise at him.

"How's Ed?" he asked. "Can he pick up the other phone?"

"Just a minute, daddy." He heard her call out, away from the voice pickup. "Ed, the President of the United States wants to talk to us both."

Her husband picked up the phone in his office, an old-fashioned instrument without visio, and Haugen told them about Lois. "If it's practical," he said, "I'd like to fly the two of you to Washington tomorrow for a few days. Lois would really appreciate it; she was feeling pretty down today."

It was Ed Ruud who replied. "Geez, Arne, it would be awfully darned awkward for me to go tomorrow. But I could batch while Liisa goes, and fly there myself on Friday night for the weekend."

"Sounds good. And I was hoping Liisa could be here while I'm in Zurich," Haugen added, "meeting with Premier Gurenko."

"Sure, daddy. I want to be there."

"Absolutely, Arne. Jesus Christ! We both want to do all we can to help."

"Thanks, both of you. I'll wire you the money tonight. It'll help your mom, and take a lot of pressure off me."

When he'd disconnected, he phoned a money-order, enough to more than cover their costs, then settled down to talk with Flynn again.

"Lois would like to see you too," Haugen said, then grinned. "But it's best not to arrive in clerical garb. We wouldn't want her to think you were there to administer the last rites."

Flynn winced at the attempted humor. "Of course."
And I'll pray for her
, he told himself.
She'd appreciate it, even if she didn't expect it to do any good.

Neither man said anything for a while. Then Flynn broke the silence. "There's been a lot of suffering this winter," he said. "South Africa and Iran torn by war, the rest of the world by depression, hunger, fuel shortage. And now we've had weatherwar." He shook his head. "It amazes me when I read the public opinion surveys; I wonder if morale here is really that good, and if people really are that optimistic."