Читать книгу Ultimatum 2 - Richard Rohmer - Страница 13

Rob Ross’s time with Carl Elton, the American Ambassador to the Court of St. James, was full of fun and typically of little substance or, as the Ambassador called it, meat. The old boy — old to Rob — was in his early sixties, outgoing, gregarious, lean, but flush of face. He had stringy grey hair, his own teeth, and sharp, intense brown eyes. He was a political appointee, as tradition allowed the president to choose his own person for that plum London office. Elton, a multi-billionaire from long-time investments in television stations and outdoor advertising, had been a main fundraising force and contributor to the President’s run for the party nomination and then for the presidency. Shortly after his man had won the Oval Office, Carl had made it known that he would covet the London appointment, if the president-elect was inclined to give it to him. He was so inclined, and with the approval of the Senate — despite a few naysayers — Carl Elton was appointed the U.S. Ambassador to the U.K., one of the most prestigious foreign posts.

Special Ambassador Ross arrived in an Embassy limo at the secured underground entrance to the U.S. Embassy at the west end of Grosvenor Square just minutes before his scheduled four o’clock appointment.

Elton received his guest in his spacious, high-ceilinged office in the building’s northeast corner overlooking the square and the monument to President and General Dwight D. Eisenhower. At the far end of Grosvenor Square sat the appropriately diminutive Canadian High Commission offices and the residence of the incumbent high commissioner. In the British Commonwealth the member countries, such as Canada, did not send ambassadors to London — though they were, in fact, the same — but high commissioners, because they were affiliated with the monarchy. Canada, once a colony but now independent, still had the British monarch as its titular head. All that had gone through Robert Ross’s computer-like mind as his limo passed the Canadian building on its way to the American Embassy.

Carl Elton, the perceptive, intuitive entrepreneur, made his colleague comfortable, called for a drink for each of them — Californian red wine for himself (never French) and white for his guest. “Call me Carl” was among his welcoming words.

“You’re at the Stafford. My favourite hotel. And that American Bar. Wonderful, with all those pictures of the American generals and admirals in the entrance from the hotel’s main-floor sitting room. Mind you, there’s one Canadian Air Force general’s photo contaminating the montage.”

“Yes, I saw that. Air Force, author, lawyer, most decorated Canadian citizen. Forgotten his name.”

“And let me tell you, young man, just forget about Canada when you’re wheeling and dealing here or with the Russians. The funny people who live to the north of us in that cold, bleak country are always bitching about what we’re doing to them. I’ll tell you, Rob, they’re a PITA.”

“A what?”

“No, I’m not talking about the bread. I mean, they’re a pain in the ass. A PITA! Get it?” He laughed. “Anyway, Rob, I know what your terms of reference are. Something about inspecting the Russian nuclear waste situations, that sort of thing. Believe me, I don’t know the first goddamn thing about nuclear stuff — nothing. Television, the Internet, films, outdoor advertising — that’s my bag.”

“And you’ve made a big bag out of it, Carl. A big one.”

“You’ve got that right. And so have my four wives — former wives. Over here I’m a single and, boy, do the Lady this, the Duchess of that, all the loose women — I mean widows and divorcees — do they ever think I’m a catch.”

“And you are, Carl. You are.”

“You are, too, young man. Understand your EA’s travelling with you. Fabulous woman, I hear. Miss America runner-up with a pair of the best and longest legs east of the Mississippi.”

“That is absolutely true. Absolutely. But what she does for me when I’m in Russia is protect me.”

Elton was surprised. “What d’you mean, protect you?”

“From the Soviet days the Russians still haven’t overcome their obsession with blackmailing Westerners, particularly government people like you and me. They’d give their eye teeth to get me on film in a sexually compromising position with some prostitute or an agent of their Federal Security System — used to be the KGB.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean. They’d love to have our balls for bookends.”

“What my Sue does when she travels with me is totally remove that blackmail opportunity.”

“Which is why your relationship, close, I expect, is tolerated by the Washington hierarchy, if I can call it that.”

“You’re right. And that’s a good word — hierarchy. So I can say to you, Carl — though you and I’ve just met — I can say that as a single here in London, the most geopolitically influential city in the world, and as the representative of the most powerful nation, the superpower — I assume that you really have to take the utmost care, utmost in what you do with women and which women you do it with.”

Elton sat back, his mind working over Rob Ross’s words. “Yeah. I’ve given that a lot of thought. Sure I worry about AIDS and social diseases. And I’ve been fairly discreet so far...” His voice trailed off momentarily. “But that’s not why you’re here, Rob, to give paternal advice to an old fart.”

“No, it isn’t. As you know, I’ve had my meeting with the Prime Minister. What a great guy he is.”

Elton agreed. “But he can be a cruel, mean sonofabitch if he has to be. Running a government in this country isn’t easy, let me tell you. Mind you, I’ve never run a government so I’m no expert!”

“Well, you’ve certainly run big businesses successfully, so you have a good handle on what makes people or governments act the way they do.”

“Yeah. I suppose you’re right. As I indicated, my briefing note from the Secretary tells me why you’re here, what you’re doing for the President. No details, but enough. You have a fascinating task ahead of you, a very important responsibility to say the least. If you can deal with the Russians, get them on side, it will be a great service for our country.”

Ross almost flinched at that little speech. But Elton was right. “Yes. Well, Carl, it isn’t going to be easy, particularly with the Russians. They don’t trust us. It’s part of their Cold War psyche. We were the enemy right from 1945 and in a sense we still are. I don’t know what it’s going to take to turn them around.”

“Neither do I. But the way our two presidents get along is helping improve the situation. What’s made matters difficult is that the American economy is booming while Russia’s is a shambles. I can tell you trying to do business there is next to impossible — as the mining and oil firms that have had a shot at exploration have found out.”

Ross observed, “But McDonalds has done all right in Moscow, thanks to a Canadian, George Cohon, who persevered.”

“What will you do for a translator? Pick one up when you get there?”

“Don’t need one.” Ross grinned at his host. “I have a Russian mother. Real name is Zolotkov. And I speak and read Russian as my first language along with American English.”

Elton was astonished. “You’re kidding! On second thought there’s a slight Slavic cut about your head structure.”

“Throw Jewish in there, too, and you’ve got it.”

“A modern-day Tony Curtis and just as handsome as he was in his heyday. Friend of mine, great artist. So you won’t have any trouble handling those Russkies. Just don’t let them vodka you into oblivion.”

“No way. My mother taught me all the vodka tricks, like eat a ton of bread before you start drinking. Or have a courtesy card that says, ‘Sorry, no vodka. I have a bad stomach ulcer.’” He reached inside his suit coat for his wallet and pulled out an “ulcer” card. “There you are. You won’t be able to read it. But that’s what it says.”

“Unbelievable. You sure think of everything,” Elton muttered as he fingered the card, then handed it back. “You’re out of here tomorrow morning?”

“Yes. Direct from Biggin Hill to Murmansk. Meet up there with the commander of the Northern Fleet, Admiral Vladimir Kuroyedov, and with Nikolai Yegerov, Russia’s deputy atomic energy minister and possibly a representative of the Mayak Chemical Combine. That’s the big nuclear installation in the Urals where they dismantle nuclear warheads and where spent nuclear reactors out of the submarines are supposed to go for reprocessing, though they aren’t getting there. I know Nikolai. We’re good friends.”

“What about dinner tonight? I’m hosting a little black tie shindig at the Ritz. Just a few people, about thirty. One of the royals will be there with his mistress, people like that. And I’m dying to meet your executive assistant. I hear she’s a knockout!”

“Sue brought an evening gown — it’s a real body-clinger — just in case. And I always have my black tie. The answer is yes, thank you. Time?”

“Between 7:30 and 8:15. I’ll have a car for you in Blue Ball Yard at the back entrance to the Stafford’s American Bar at 7:25. Okay?”