Chapter 30
The two black Chevy Suburbans with tinted windows went through the White House gates, after having been thoroughly inspected top to bottom by the Marines on guard, despite the fact that the drivers had flashed their FBI and CIA badges.
“Better safe than sorry,” said the Director of the FBI with a smile to his CIA colleague once they reached the main entrance. Followed by their assistants, they were then shown to the Oval Office where they sat down on facing sofas.
“Every time I’m in this room I am reminded of President Taft who in 1909 decided to expand and renovate the West Wing,” said the Director of the FBI.
“Yes” added his CIA counterpart. “For him the Oval Office was a symbol of a modern President with greater day-to-day control over the government than his predecessors.”
“Gentlemen, the President” announced an usher. The four men stood as the President entered, accompanied by his press secretary.
“Good morning. I think it would be best if you sit closer to my desk” said the President.
Everyone moved. The President was dressed in a dark gray suit and wore a striped tie. Next on his agenda was a long talk with the new President of Venezuela.
“Let’s focus on the death threats and plots uncovered to date,” said the President.
The Director of the FBI spoke next. “Mr. President, ever since September 11, 2001 – thanks to the collaboration between domestic and international agencies – we have identified more than forty terrorist plots against the U.S. About fourteen of them aim at your demise. Killing Osama Bin Laden did not put an end to international terrorism. We are still the preferred target. Resources invested in security must take into account all possible forms of aggression.”
The President turned to the Director of the CIA for his input.
“After the tragic terrorist attacks in Rome all information gathered confirms that the target has changed. Now they want to do something with worldwide implications. And that can only be the assassination of the President of the United States. An attack on you would have double value for them. First, it would be a terrible blow to our image. Second, the fact that you have openly stated to be in favor of renewable energy has made you the enemy of the whole oil producing world: drillers, refiners, gas companies, coal companies, car manufacturers as well as fuel distributors. The convergence of all these interested parties is pushing international terrorism into the arms of domestic terrorists who have always been against Washington.”
“When I ran for President I was fully aware of the risks,” commented the President. “It goes with the job. What you have to do is mobilize all your resources and avoid making the kind of mistakes that happened in the past due to the rivalry between the FBI and the CIA. You answer to me and to Congress. You know that.”
The two Directors nodded in agreement.
“OK. Now let’s deal with my personal image. John, what do the latest polls say?”
“It’s not too good, Mr. President. We are under 30 percent and that’s very low. A lot of people are unhappy that we haven’t yet recovered from the recession. Unfortunately, as you well know, the recovery macro-economic indicators are very weak.”
“Come on John… Please don’t just repeat what the FED and economists tell me: the GDP is down and bankruptcies and unemployment are up. The latest measures to pump money into the system and cut taxes are the only solution. It’s your job to curry the favor of the media and silence the critics. Now, listen and try not to raise any objections. I’ve decided to pay a visit to some small towns, especially in the states where I am hated. Since my second term is ending and I don’t have to worry about campaigning in Ohio, I want to go to Arizona and Nevada. I want to meet with the people who live around lakes Havasu, Mead and Powell. I want to go there and remind folks that ever since 1936 American Presidents have had a clear vision on how to govern the country. We should not focus only on domestic matters with the typical myopia of American politicians solely interested in being re-elected. The Presidents who took on controversy and personal risk gave life to the desert and brought water to Nevada, Arizona and California. We have to do the same. We are undergoing a change in cultural paradigms. We are moving from oil and fossil fuel to renewable energy. We must do this for future generations. I believe in this. That’s why I want to start with a town hall meeting in Lake Havasu. And you, John, have to promote the hell of out these visits – even if we have to deal with a lot of opposition. As for security measures, take care of them.”
The President stood up and shook everyone’s hand before leaving for his meeting with the new President of Venezuela.
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Chapter 31
Michael Bardi called Rachel’s private number. It rang for a long while until she answered, “Oh, is that you? I am in a meeting.”
“You disappeared from sight. Can we get together?”
“How about 2 p.m. at Café Milano?” “Perfect.”
Café Milano was the “in” place in Washington DC. If you wanted to see someone important from the worlds of politics, economics or entertainment (passing through), the best place was at this restaurant. The place had had a number of owners, but the most recent one, Franco Nuschese, had put it on the map thanks to a clever public relations campaign. As for the food, you’d be disappointed if you thought you’d eat as in Italy. Despite its loft status, Café MIlano still had to satisfy American taste.
Michael was lead to the table he had reserved at the back of the dining room. He had chosen it to distance himself from the restaurant’s cacophony. After two glasses of wine the sound level of the clientele’s conversation and laughter ‒ especially of the pretty young women ‒ would climb above 100 decibels.
While waiting for his guest who was late, as is the habit of many women, Michael noted the meals served at nearby tables. He recalled with amusement a scene from Stanley Tucci’s cult film “Big Night” that told the story of two brothers who had opened a restaurant in the U.S. and served authentic Italian food. Among their first clients was a married couple. The wife was an overweight
virago who dominated her skinny husband. They order a precious risotto with truffle. When served, the wife – irritated at having to wait twenty minutes – exclaims, “Where are the meat balls?”
“Here I am”, said Rachel. She was wearing a tight fitting power suit. As she approached the table all male eyes were fixed on her.
The waiter greeted her by name, “Good afternoon Ms. O’Hara,” and handed her a menu. Rachel ordered rockfish and a glass of Sauvignon. Michael looked at her admiringly.
“What is going on Rachel?” he asked. “Pardon my being indiscreet, but is something wrong? Everything OK at work? It’s been days since we met to go over our revisions...”
Rachel brushed back her red hair and sipped her wine. Then, without looking at her companion, she replied.
“Please don’t act like a hyper-protective whiny Italian lover. I have a lot of work to do and have changed clients. I no longer work for Gutierrez’s group. I thought I had told you.”
Michael tucked into his osso buco that, in typical Italian American fashion, had been served with a side dish of linguine.
“No, I haven’t heard from Gutierrez in a while. Do you like your new work?” he asked. He felt the conversation had become formal – through no fault of his own. Rachel, meanwhile, was savoring her baked rockfish served on a bed of spinach.
“Yes, they pay very well and in exchange they suck you dry. But it’s something interesting that involves a lot of travel abroad.”
“Does this mean we will be seeing less of each other?”
Rachel stopped eating. She turned her head towards Michael and in an icy tone said, “Listen Michael, let me speak frankly. Everything has a beginning and an end.”
“Are you firing me?” asked Michael with a fake sad smile. He had long understood that for Rachel he was just a toy. But he had played along because she was involved in matters he needed to figure out. As a secret agent Michael had no private life and did not allow himself to wallow in sentimentalism.
“I’m not dumping you. You don’t get it. I like you a lot and having sex with you is great. It’s just that I am under a lot of pressure to prove that I am much more than a pretty pussy. I think it’s best to cool off for a while, also because in two days I have to go to Dubai for a week and then to Germany. But please, don’t be too dramatic – we are both well-seasoned adults. I also feel really guilty because I could not find time to visit my daughter in weeks.”
Rachel had raised her voice and the people at nearby tables pretended not have listened in, even though they were smiling at what they had heard. Michael ordered two espressos. He made it clear he didn’t want any lemon peels – another Italian American invention. After paying the bill, Michael helped Rachel from her chair. They walked out together. Once again all the men, clients and waiters included, focused on Rachel. This time, however, the women allowed themselves to gaze longingly at Michael’s wide shoulders and tight buns.
Once in the parking lot, Rachel got into her car and drove off. Michael Bardi unlocked his titanium, ultra-light Bianchi racing bike and began pedaling away. Rachel was slipping away. What on earth was she working on?
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