Capitol Chill James Gardiner
"VERY WELL," THE CAPTAIN SAID into the speaker, "bring the pilot aboard." Menesa Hortas hung up the telephone and plunked his puckered frame down onto the dirty blanket covering his poorly sprung bed. He shook his head at the thought of his ship, the grimiest rust-bucket freighter he'd commanded in thirty years at sea.
Despite the shabby conditions, a smile crept over his face as he thought of the hundred thousand dollars that had been wired to his account at a Grand Cayman Islands bank. The smile became a toothy grin when he thought of the other hundred thousand that would be his when the assignment was completed. Hiding cash wasn't just for the rich, and earning the windfall would be so simple. How hard was it to pick up one more piece of unwieldy cargo, head to a spot along his route from San Juan to Boston, stop and wait for instructions?
The telephone rang again. "Cap'n, we're ten minutes from the dock."
"I'll be right there." He ran his hands through his greasy hair.
The Valcress was old before water ever graced her bow, or so the story went. As Hortas made his way along the gangway to the bridge, he couldn't help but think of the really classy vessels he'd once skippered. How unfair that it had taken years to build a good reputation and only one slip to damage it beyond real repair. A little too much drink, a misread chart leading to an accidental grounding and one or two loose tongues had remanded him to this tub, a ship most seagoing souls would have just as soon scuttled. His special financial arrangement was barely just compensation for the bad cards the gods had dealt him.
"Good afternoon, captain," the helmsman said. "This is our harbor pilot."
The pilot nodded, then turned his attention back to his job. "Helmsman, come right five degrees and hold steady for another two minutes."
"Coming right five degrees, holding steady."
The Port of San Juan stretched out before them with open arms enveloping a jewel-like harbor. Dozens of ships plied the waters each week, and the Valcress's wharf was one of the larger, busier facilities. Containerized shipping had eliminated many stevedores. Computer-controlled cranes with nimble, steel arms grasped their cargo prey almost lovingly before hoisting it on or off the deck.
"Tugs are here, sir," the pilot said to Hortas.
"Very well. Take us in."
Half an hour later the Valcress was securely moored. Five of the freighter's six crew members disembarked and placed their feet on solid ground for the first time in two weeks.
After speaking briefly to the wharfmaster, Hortas wandered as close to the steel cranes as caution permitted. Gone were the days when a skilled longshoreman could deftly open a crate and replace a bottle of Scotch with a brick or pull a garment out of a hole the diameter of a quarter. That was such petty stuff. Wire transfers were much better.
Thirty-eight trailer-sized containers were removed, and he stayed to watch forty-one containers loaded onto his vessel. He smiled when he saw one huge, unpainted metal box dangling in the crane's tentacles. It had to be the special cargo, because it was placed perpendicularly to the ship's keel with no other containers stacked at either end. Those had been his instructions.
It was a long night of shore leave. The thought of his riches cheered him somewhat, but the magic of the rum really warmed him. Three hours later, he fell onto his cot and slept fitfully, dreaming of American dollars and island squeezes in suggestively skimpy skirts.
THE KLIEG LIGHTS tended to bring out the best and the worst in people. For Secretary of State Sarah Lander, it was always the best. As President Cameron Archer got a last-minute buff-up from the makeup artist, he wished it could be the same for him.
The East Room of the White House was a mob scene of television cameras, reporters and journalistic papparatzi there to receive the news of Sarah's latest diplomatic coup. She waited beside him in the anteroom calmly glancing through her speech notes while he was being fussed over. Her perfectly coifed blond hair and stylish Channel suits reminded him of Jackie Kennedy. There was one importance difference, though. He had met the former First Lady and had liked her. It was not so with Sarah.
The media compared them to Prince Charles and Lady Diana before the royal split, talking about how his secretary of state wielded political influence and fashionable feminine viewpoint that excited the ideal of woman's suffrage around the world. He hated to admit it, but she was the punch in the arm his floundering administration had needed. If he could have found a man with the same negotiation skills she had, he'd have dumped her in a minute, but she was the darling of the media. Replacing her would have been beyond political suicide. Yet, he mused, the world had survived Charles' and Diana's divorce not to mention the latter's death, hadn't it? Surely, the country wouldn't begrudge him the same need for space. Then the eyes of the world would have been riveted on his history-making accords rather than Armani purses and Gucci shoes. He dismissed the notion with a grunt.
"Ready, boss?" Sarah asked, when the makeup artist moved off.
Her familiarity made him grind his teeth, but, as usual, he didn't want to rile her by reminding her that the most powerful leader in the world deserved better than to be addressed as such, especially by swaggering female subordinates. "Yes," he finally said. "Let's get this over with."
They stepped into the East Room where the assembled multitudes rose to their feet. After suffering through the standard pops of blinding flashbulbs and then the perfunctory fellow Americans greeting sifted through a plastic smile, Archer quickly introduced Sarah and stepped back, glad to watch instead of talk. The crowd rustled down into silence as she began.
"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I'm pleased to report that the United States has entered a new era in its relations with Europe." She held up a notebook. "This is the summary of a great deal of work that's taken place over the last few months. After the official signing ceremonies in Paris early next week, the United States will be a fully participating partner in the European Economic Union. We will have one vote, just like every other member. We will also enjoy complete tariff exemption for all trade with every country in the Union.
"In simple English, this means a dramatic reduction in the roadblocks that inhibit trade between our country and Europe. Of course, we do business elsewhere in the world, especially the Far East, but if you look at the statistics you'll see that, overall, our strongest, historical trade ties are with Europe. Being admitted into the European Economic Union will save American businesses more than twenty billion dollars in needless tariffs per year, every year, beginning next week. As businesses grow and develop, the saving will increase. All in all, it's a very good deal for American industry and commerce, not to mention our general place in the world."
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