LIVING WALLACE THE GUEST OF HONOR

1.      Wearing their light raincoats against the evening drizzle, the two of them, the colonel and the major, left their car and driver between the temple of the emerald Buddha and church of immaculate conception, and proceeded on foot along the concrete path toward Chamadin palace, when they reached the wrought-iron gate set in the ten-foot-high spiked wall surrounding the Spanish colonial palace and the presidential compound , the teller of the two , the colonel , pushed the bell without a moment’s hesitation .

They had rehearsed the operation so many times that no detail escaped them, they knew what to expect and were certain they would not fail.

In response to the bell, a captain of the presidential security command and three enlisted men, each fully armed, emerged from the protective guardhouse and came forward to meet the pair.

The colonel passed their identification papers through the gat. The captain of the security command glanced at the papers and looked up. From his side of the gate, the colonel spoke. “The major and I are messengers from general Nakorn, and we have instructions to deliver a confidential document by hand to president prem sang. You need no to announce us, as our papers indicate, the president is expecting us.”

The captain of the guards shook his head,” sorry, sir. We must announce your arrival.” He unlocked the gate and opened it. “Step inside while I inform the president secretary.” The colonel showed no concern he had been prepared for this. He went into the courtyard, closely followed by the major, and they stood beside the sleepy enlisted men while the captain of the guards ducked into the guardhouse to use the telephone.

The pair could overhear him on the telephone. “Miss kraisri, the colonel and the major have arrived with a confidential message for the president from general nakorn. Are you expecting them? There was a silence as the captain of the guards listened. You say the general’s offices called?

He listened again and nodded in assent. “Very well, Miss kraisi, I will so inform them and admit them.” He hung up the receiver and emerged into the drizzle.

“Yes colonel, the president appointments secretary has been told expect you. She regrets to tell you the president has no time to see you, but request that you bring the document to her.”

Thank you” the colonel replied. “Proceed across the court to the palace entrance. Show your papers to one of the guards inside the entrance. He will direct you to miss kraisri’s office.”

Both the colonel and the major bobbed their heads in acknowledgement, accepted the return of their papers, and headed for the palace entrance. One of the palace doors opened as they reached it and they went inside, a guard studied their papers and once satisfied, pointed to the two flights of marble staircase of them were interrupted by board landing.

“Up those stairs, sirs, then to your right you will see guards in front of the door to the president’s office, his secretary will be expecting you. “Thank you, sergeant.” The colonel preceded the major along the marble entry to the glistening staircase, paused to let his companion catch up and then in step they began to ascend the staircase. Both men found the going awkward, aware of what they were carrying beneath their raincoats. Reaching the gilt console atop the landing, they turned and ascended the second flight more rapidly.

At the head of the flight they saw a lieutenant in full Uniform, a rifle slung over one shoulder, awaiting them outside the reception room. They went directly to him. “we’ve been instructed to hand mademoiselle kraisri a personal document from general nakorn for president sang,” the colonel said. “Yes” the lieutenant replied.” Let me take you in to her.”

He opened the door and led the colonel and the major into Miss kraisri’s reception room. A green metal desk and word processor dominated the room, but there was no one at the desk. “Miss kraisri must be inside working wit h the president,” the lieutenant said. “if you will turn the document over to me, I will see the president sang or his secretary gets it.”

“Let me give it to you,” the colonel said, beginning to unbutton his raincoats. He moved to the guards left, and dug inside for the document. The lieutenant turned fully left to face the colonel and receive the document. As he did so, one hand outstretched to receive the document, the major moved behind him. As the guard waited for the document, the major at his back reached inside his own coat, tugged the long dagger from its sheath, pulled it free, lifted it high, and aimed it at the guards back. In an instant, with great power, the dagger flashed downward while the major’s free palm clamped over the guards mouth to muffle his outcry.

   Inside the vast presidential office, prem sang, president of the nation of lampang, having sent his secretary upstairs to read the latest draft of his agrarian reform bill to his wife, once more hunched over the pile of papers on his oversized desk. He was a small man in his forties, with brown hair, sunken brown eyes, a prematurely lined face, altogether worn with fatigue by his three difficult years as chief executive. His smallness was accentuated by his cramped position on the breadth of the large desk.

His spine ached, and he decided that it was time to stand up and stretch, in doing so, he was able to survey the elegant office, from its parquet floor covered by Iranian carpets, to the mahogany wall paneling punctuated by gilt framed mirrors and a mural of farmers at work at field, to the gold wall sconces and crystal chandeliers. Through the windows to one side, near the presidential seal hanging on one wall, he could see the bulletproof enclosed balcony that encircled the building. There were three doors: one to his reception’s room, another to his downstairs dining room, and the third door that led to the staircase to the private apartment above that he and his wife shared. There was fourth door, not visible, concealed by an extension of the mahogany paneling over its solid-steel entrance. This door opened onto a passageway that led to the garden where the presidential security command had its barracks.

Lowering himself into his leather swivel chair, prem sang focused upon the only object on his desk beside the pile of documents. This was silver-framed photograph of his wife, noy, and their son, den. Then his eyes fell on his papers, and once more his mind was occupied by his work. As he had been for months, president prem sang was absorbed by his dilemma. His domain consisted of three islands in the South China Sea off Thailand, Cambodia, and the southern tip of Vietnam. The main island, and by far the largest, was lampang proper, where sang resided in the capital city of visaka. The two adjacent islands, lampang lop and lampang thon, where much smaller, with almost impenetrable jungles and hills, and there the communist insurgents resided troublesome number.

President sang immediate problem was how to satisfy both opposing sides of his population on the main island of lampang, when the ordinary people who were democratic, catholic, English speaking had elected him on a plat form of just distribution of land and wealth, he clung to his slim margin of popularity, on the nearby islands of lampang lop and lampang thon, the communist guerrillas ruled under the leadership of opas lunakul, a pawn of the Vietnamese communist who infiltrated daily.

The communist had been propagandizing effectively that president sang and lampang were puppets of the United States, from whom they received considerable economic assistance, lampangs independence was being eroded by this foreign dependency, they claimed. Only under communism could lampang be truly free and economically sound. But the communist weren’t president sang problem. He had an internal one as well. The head of his army, his close friend general samak nakorn, was in total disagreement with him about the communist.

The general wanted any money that might come from the United States to be spent on troops to wipe out the communist. President sang wanted the money to prop up his domestic economy, which he felt was the best way to defeat any communist threat. President sang sat reviewing the columns of notes on his desk once more, unemployment in lampang was eighteen percent. For the employed, life was hardly better, the average family of five an income of S 110 a month. Dismal, if that could be improved, and land distributed, the communist could be beaten peacefully. There was a knocking on his entrance door, he half remembered, general nakorn had sent a message to be turned over to his secretary or the guard.

With his secretary upstairs, president sang called out. “Come in lieutenant.” The door opened, the president had anticipated seeing his lieutenant, but there was no one. And then there was, the lieutenant lay sprawled in the hall way, a knife in his back. That instant, two uniformed men, unknown to prem sang, stepped over the body of the lieutenant, each carrying riffle. As they raised the riffles, sang was able to identify the weapons. They were automatic Kalashnikov riffles, standard soviet assault riffles, and they were being aimed at him.

Bewildered, president sang jumped up from his desk, shouting, “What is this? Who in the devil?.” In response, both riffles chattered hideously, the muzzle velocity of each, the impact of the bullets, tore away part of sang face, ripped through his heart, penetrated his stomach. The firepower momentarily lifted him off his feet and flung him backward against his chair, where he stumbled and slipped to the floor and collapsed to the carpet in death. As a pool of blood began to form, the two assassins gently closed the door and disappeared.

Upstairs in the dressing room, the president’s wife had been applying cream to her face as she listened to prem’s secretary, when suddenly she was startled by the sounds below. She paused and listened. Firecrackers, she told her self, or maybe more. She snatched her silk robe from a hook, pulled it on, and made her way to the stairs, hurrying down the stairs, puzzled, apprehensive. She burst into her husband’s office. She saw no one, and then, moving closer to the desk, peering behind it, she saw her husbands crumpled body. Then she saw its condition, riddled with bullets, and the dark pool that must be blood, she gasped, and then she screamed. She screamed and screamed. What followed was kaleidoscope of people. Miss kraisri and the servants came on the run. Then palace guards, led by the captain of the guards, soon the police, and doctors, and ambulance attendants, someone had guided her to straight-backed chair nearby, and there noy sang sat paralyzed by shock.

She has been seated there a long while before general samak nakorn and his officers arrived. Even here the stocky nakorn was in uniform, replete with ribbons and medals. Nakorn was questioning the doctor’s as sang’s body was being carried out on stretcher. Next, nakorn was questioning the captain of guards “two of them, you say? The president’s secretary had told you I had informed her to let them in and expect a message. It’s a lie! I never spoke to the president about such a thing. I never had a message for him. It’s a communist plot. When the coroner removes the bullets, you will see they are of Russian origin. This is terrible, unbelievable. Horrible, only later did noy Sang realize that general nakorn was standing over her, addressing her. Normally a gruff, hoarse man, his voice was oddly subdued. He was trying to tender his condolence. “I am sorry, very sorry, madame president,” he was saying. Only then did noy Sang realize that not only was she a widow, but as her husbands vice president, she was now president of Lampang.

In the glass enclosed control room in TNTN (the national television network) bureau on M street, hy hasken settled his lanky frame in an armchair beside the one occupied by his editor, sam whitlaw. The visit withlaw from New York to Washington, D, C was to be of short duration. One of the initial matters on his brief agenda was a talk with hy hasken, the network’s white house correspondent.

After Hasken’s broadcast stint had ended, Whitlaw had telephoned him in the White house pressroom. “Hay, I want you to came over and join me in watching the seven o’clock news.”

Hasked had arrived just in time for the evening news and prepared to observe himself on the television screen I front of them.

Waiting for his own segment, Hasken tried to make small talk with his superior. But whitlaw’s concentration was on the news, his life’s blood. So Hasken waited in silence. At last he saw himself on the television screen, microphone in hand, planted in Lafayette Square with the front façade of the White House in the background. Hasked tried to see himself as the millions of viewers out there saw him doing his stand-upper. Actually, he saw himself as his audience-long-time acquaintances-in a living room might see him. He was slender with sandy hair brushed to one side, a high forehead dulled by studio makeup, alert blue eyes, a long nose and small mouth, and a staccato, resonant, faintly prosecutorial voice and tone. Watching himself, Hy Hasken listened. “The most significant news to come out of the white house today is that president Matt under-wood is preparing to meet with Madame Noy Sang, president of the island of Lampang, a nation crucial to the immediate interests of the united states. “Just one year ago this week, president Prem Sang of Lampang was assassinated by persons unknown, thought to be hit men representing the Communist insurgents who have been growing in power on two neighboring island that fall under the jurisdiction of Lampang. The assassination of Prem Sang brought his vice-president to the presidency. His vice-president happened to be his youthful wife, Noy Sang. If this seems odd to Americans, it must be understood that the politics of Lampang carry over a social structure known as the extended family. A president always has, as his running mate and heir, his wife or son or another close relative. In a way this makes sense, for no stranger ever ascends to the presidency, but instead the replacement is always someone close to the president, one whose thinking is presumably compatible with the presiden’s own.

“This has worked well in Lampang. Upon Prem Sang’s death a year ago, his widow Noy Sang was able to slip effortlessly into his office, fully conversant with her husband’s ideas and goals. For a year, Noy Sang has served as president, and in this mourning period she has not traveled at all but has remained in lampang to acquaint herself with her country’s internal affairs. “In the past year, Madame Noy Sang has become more acutely aware of Lampang’s dependence on the United States. Now, with her mourning period behind her, Madame Sang is making her first trip abroad-a visit to the United States. She arrives this evening. After an overnight rest at Blair House she will come to the White House tomorrow for a business luncheon with president Underwood. “This meeting tomorrow is crucial for both sides. On the Lampang side, there is no question that Madame Noy Sang is looking for a loan in the millions, one that will bolster her economy and be welcomed by her citizens, who are seeking social help and assistance in the land-distribution program now under way. The United States, in turn, needs something more important and more costly. The United States needs a large and modern air base on the island of Lampang. “To understand the importance if this air base one must visualize where Lampang is located. Most viewers have heard of Lampang from time to time. Many may forget its strategic importance to America, which is second only in importance to the Philippines in the same general area. “Lampang lies to the west of the Philippines, on the edge of the South China Sea and near the Gulf of Thailand. The main island, two thirds the size of Luzon in the Philippines, is south of Cambodia and Vietnam, yet still in the vicinity of the people’s republic of china. Lampang faces three Communist countries, two of whom openly receive weapons and aid from the Soviet Union. To complete our own anticommunist ring of islands in the Pacific Ocean, the United States Need a major air base on Lampang. “Obtaining this critical air base will be President Underwood’s principal goal when he meets with Madame noy sang tomorrow. Can he get it? There are obstacles. Madame sang, like her husband before her, is under growing pressure to keep her nation free of dependence on the United States, and from American demands and influences. Much of this pressure comes from the local insurgent communist who want to take over lampang. At the same time, Madame noy is a political moderate with a known affection for the United States and American ways, which began when she attended Wellesley collage here in her twenties. But the key fact is that Madame noy sang need something of immense value from the united States a large cash loan to bolster her economy and she is well aware that to get, she has to be ready to give.

“So the luncheon tomorrow between President Underwood and Madame Noy sang appears to be more than a social meeting. It is a confrontation that involves a trade a off. Will the trade off take place? We hope to report the outcome to you tomorrow. This is hay hasken of TNTN at the white house.” Sam withlaw jumped up and switched off the television set. Returning to his chair, he faced hasken. “Hy, I’ve seen your segment twice today. Earlier I saw it live and just now I saw it again on video tape I want to speak to you about it the question I have is why?

Why what? Hasken said, bewildered. “Why a whole segment on prime time about lampang? Who gives a damn about lampang? But you heard me “hasken protested, its strategically important. It fills a big hole in our defense perimeter. You consider the Philippines important, don’t you? Well, it’s on our side. Lampang is just as important, only it’s not on our side.” Withlaw shook his head. “Ill bet you ten to one that half your viewers haven’t the faintest idea where it’s located.” Maybe not, hasken conceded, but it’s story.

A poor one, and President noy sang coming here to discuss it with Underwood. Among world leaders, noy sang must be one of the least known, “She just been in office one year, ”hasken said. “ give her a chance, she’ll be better known after tomorrow.” I doubt it hy.”

“ Besides, in herself, she’s dramatic. I mean just a year ago her husband was assassinated. She was his vice-president-in itself unusual-and was sworn in immediately. Furthermore Hasken hesitated “she’s a looker. She could catch on.” Maybe, but unlikely,” Whitlaw said.” Another good-looking woman in the White House isn’t going to mean much when we have a first lady who was once Miss America.”Whitlaw sighed.”Certainly you could have found a better lead piece for prime time.” Throwing up his hands, Hasken said, “there is no better lead piece, at least none that I was able to find, my problem was and is president Underwood. As I’ve said many times on the air, he’s a lazy president. He simply doesn’t generate news.” Hasken thought about it, he had known Underwood from very early on, when hasken himself was a beginner at TNTN and Underwood had reached his zenith on television as the most popular and beloved anchorman on the air. Underwood’s partially gray mop of hair, finely chiseled features, somewhat seamy, certainly kind, and his warm voice has made him a household name, what made him even more colorful was that he had actually married a former Miss America, Alice Reynolds, who did women’s features for the network. When hasken had graduated from Columbia University in New York and obtained a lowly job at the network, Matt Underwood had reached his peak.

Early on, hasken had stood in awe of he renowned anchorman. Than gradually, as he learned more about television, hasken admiration for Underwood had diminished. Hasken had been a curious and aggressive reporter. his disrespect for Underwood had grown out of the fact that the anchorman lacked curiosity. Underwood was what hasken secretly called a “reader” dig up the goods on any story, foreign or domestic, and Underwood read it to his strength was not his originality but his absolute sincerity. Hasken thought his superior counterfeit. An actor not dumb at all, quite smart actually and with wide range of knowledge about many things, his real strength was in his ability to convince millions that what he spoke was his own and the truth, people believed in him as youngsters  might believe in their fathers. Then abruptly Underwood had left TNTN for politics. When a senator from New York died in office, there was the remainder of hi term to filled, the governor a fan of Underwood’s and aware of his incredible popularity, had made the daring choice of television anchorman for senator to serve an uncompleted term. From his experience as a reporter, Hasken knew that joining the pack in Congress often obliterated a man or woman. But Matt Under-wood was different. Underwood simply transferred his popularity from television to the United States Senate. He continued to be more than ever the media darling. When the time came for seeking    presidential nominees, Underwood was in effect drafted by his party. In the primaries he ran away with Iowa and New Hampshire, and in the election he swamped his opponent in a landslide. And so the White House was occupied by a former television anchorman and a onetime Miss America. Meanwhile, Hy Hasken, with all his initiative, had moved up swiftly in the network ranks, and two years ago he had become TNTN’s White House correspondent. Hasken didn’t like President Underwood from the outset. He was a lazy president, as lazy as Calvin Coolidge had been, and presently Hasken began to say so on the air. This drew fire from the president and his chief of staff, Paul Blake, but Hasken persisted in his criticism of a president who held almost no press conferences and rarely received foreign leaders. How his staffers had got him to sit still for a lunch with the female president of Lampang was beyond Hasken. Nevertheless, Hasken thought it a story and had used it today. And his editor, Sam Whitlaw, had objected. The story was too dull. Hasken reached back for the thread if his conversation with Whitlaw, and after some difficulty found it. “Let me repeat,” Hasken resumed, ”this president simply does not generate news. I’ve got to go with something, so I went with what I had.” “There was not another news lead you could find?”Persisted whitlaw.

“Nothing, Sam, believe me. The only scrap of real news I can imagine would be word that Matt Underwood has decided to run for reelection and grab a second term. That would be news. I happen to know the first lady wants him to run again. So does Chief of Staff Blake. It would give them both continuing power. But I suspect Underwood doesn’t want to run again and doesn’t intend to. I say again, he’s too lazy for the job and bored by it.” But Alice Underwood wants him to run? Oh yes, she adores the limelight and all those photo opportunities.”

“Well, why don’t you say that on the air? Hasken looked helpless. “I’d like to, Sam but I can’t prove it. I am a good investigative reporter, maybe the best, but what I investigate has to be provable. I believe the first lady wants him to run again. Yet I don’t have a shred of proof.” Whitlaw seemed enthusiastic at least.” Then go out there and beat the bushes, and get the proof. The first day wants him to run. The president doesn’t want to. Conflict is the essence of any worthwhile story. I don’t care if Underwood runs again or doesn’t, the story is what will he do? Now, that’s a good story, not some crap about lampang.” I’ll do my best to get it,” said hasken earnestly. “To be sure you get it,” said withlaw “I’m giving you a new job. No longer hy hasken, white house correspondent. From now on hy hasken, Presidential correspondent, Think you can do it?” I can try, “starting tomorrow you are President Underwood’s shadow. Follow him like a guilty conscience.”                           

They slept in separate bedrooms on the second floor of the white house, and they had been doing this for some time, at least year. The Reason Behind this Separation Were two fold. First Alice Underwood was an insomniac and a poor sleeper. She took a low dosage pill twenty minutes before going to bed, and when Matt Underwood came to bed shortly after,  he inevitably awakened her, this made her cranky and harsh, second, Matt Underwood always took two or three , usually three snifters of cognac before going to bed. When he awakened his wife, she could smell the cognac on his breath, and this made her more irritable and angry.” Goddammit “ she would say, “ can’t you come to sleep once without brandy on your breath?” pulling up the blanket, he would say, ”No, those snifters are my light sleeping pill. I tolerate yours. You can tolerate mine.”

This had set of a bitter exchange full of old recriminations, and after that both of them had trouble sleeping at all. Alice made the initial move, she backed herself out of the first family bedroom and staked out her own place in the canopied bed of the queens bedroom down the hall. This morning at seven thirty the president cheerful black valet, Horace, knocked on the door several times and entered. He did not have to shake the president awake.  Underwood lay there, still groggy, but gradually coming alert. “I’ll lay out your pin striped light blue suit, Mr. President, “Horace said, starting for the dressing room. “I believe you have a foreign visitor for lunch.” Oh shit, groaned the president. “All right whatever.” The president crawled out of the spacious bed and headed for the bathroom. There the showered, brush his teeth, towel dried his hair and brushed it back, and sprayed some cologne on his chest.

When he returned to the bedroom on his bathrobe, his clothes were waiting, carefully arranged on the freshly made up bed. As he slowly dressed, the president’s mood improved. He liked the airiness of this bedroom next to his second floor study. The hand painted Chinese wallpaper depicting birds in flight, gentle, placid, placed him. Between the windows was the Willard Metcalf landscape that always Shoot him. Even the 1818 marble mantel was comforting. After knotting his necktie Underwood slipped into his suit jacket and felt ready for day. Emerging into the hallway, Underwood determined to make another effort with his marriage. He had not breakfasted with Alice for several weeks. This morning he made up his mind to join her.

Walking down the hallway to the queen’s bedroom, Underwood tried to recall which he did often how his estrangement from Alice had come about. He had first set eyes on her after she had won the Miss America contest, actually earlier but not in person. He had seen her on television, parading in the Miss America contest, watched as she became a finalist, and approved when she was crowned. He remembered her body in the tight white Swimsuit. She had been flawless, beautiful Grecian face, long neck, Broad shoulders, Magnificent protrusion of bosom, narrow waist, curved hips, and long, long shapely legs. When she arrived at work for TNTN, Underwood was introduced to her and saw her for the first time in person. In pink blouse and skirt, Alice was every bit as attractive as she had been in the Miss America contest. She was at the time momentary celebrity. Underwood himself was national star of the first magnitude. Naturally she gave him time and attention. He was glued to her by her breath taking beauty. Presently, they went to dinner and became better acquainted in a discreet corner of an Italian restaurant near fifty Ninth Street and the avenue of the Americas. After dinner they went to his apartment and made love.

Their love making taught him about her, she had not been warm and soft, but she had been experienced and aggressive. Above all she was beautiful beyond belief. For Underwood, Alice Reynolds was irresistible. Realizing he would never find a woman more perfect, he wanted her for his own. He was happy to marry her. They had their only child, a daughter, Dianne, in the second year of their marriage. In the years in that followed, Underwood continued to be satisfied being rated the most popular anchorman in the United States. He could detect, however, that Alice had become restless playing mother and having her work cut down at TNTN. What gave her a lift, and briefly stabilized their marriage, was Underwood’s appointment to the uncompleted term in the United States Senate. Underwood accepted it is something one doesn’t turn down, especially when he had a wife, who wanted him to take the new job and desired a change.

After that, it was politics and Washington. D. C in his new role Underwood was more popular than ever, and Alice received greater attention. Then the polls for the presidential nomination began to reveal a surprising thing. While other candidates for the nomination were tried and true politicians, each well equipped to serve as president of the United States. it was Matt Underwood who was the best known and the most popular among them. He had gone to the primaries not seriously, not believing he had a ghost of a chance to be nominated. But his affable personality, his informal talks, his familiar face that seemed part of everyone’s family, turned the trick. After resounding victories in lowa, New Hampshire, and the south, Underwood became the party favorite for the nomination. Once he gained the nomination and began to campaign, he found the steady public appearance tiresome. Still, he was good at reading speeches, very effective, and the public took him to their hearts. And so did Alice. She had come alive again at the though of being the first lady of the United States.

The election came and went in less than a single day. The Vote Were not yet in from Illinois when Matt Underwood had become the next president of the United States. Alice Reynolds Underwood had become the first lady.  They Was the most glamorous couple in the White House since Jhon F. Kennedy and Jacqueline Kennedy. Alice reveled in her position. She adored the chance to dress up to meet diplomats, to be with her husband at the center of media attention. The hang up had been Matt Underwood. He disliked the routine of seemingly endless hours, the details the dull conference with staffers. He disliked the socializing with people who did not interest him. More than anything, he disliked the disagreements with his wife, they were at odds constantly. What she enjoyed, he found boring. There were moments when he considered the presidency illuminating, with all the first hand information that poured across his desk, with all the newly acquired knowledge and power that came to him. But what he missed most was privacy, and the chance to devote himself to an absorbing book. Their most severe difference came when he had made up his mind that four years was enough. That had been a year ago. He remembered the confrontation as if it had been yesterday. He had been absorbed in a news program on television when Alice appeared and snapped the set off.

“I want to have a serious talk with you,” she had said. Annoyed, he had waited silently. “I’ve tried to bring it up several times, but each time with you’ve been evasive. I want to have it out now, once and for all.” Go ahead,” he had said, suspecting what lay ahead. “It’s about your plans, and my own,” she had said. “I want to know if you are going to run for reelection. Tell me. ”Well, actually, I haven’t made up. “Of course you have,” she had interrupted. You know for certain. Now I deserve to know. Will you go for a second term? No, he had blurted out. He had been surprised how easily it had come. No, he had repeated, I’ve had enough.

Alice had stood stunned. “I can’t believe it. You really mean it? Matt, what are you going to do with yourself? “I’ve a world of things to keep me busy. You know most of them. Above all, I want to devote myself to my people’s nonnuclear peace plan. You’ve heard me speak of it often enough. “Trying to convince nine leaders of nations that have nuclear weapons or the capability to make them to give them up, Matt, You can do that more effectively as president. I can’t, not as leader of the United States. Myself interest are suspect but as an ex president.

Alice had not been mollified. Underwood had tried to understand his wife, for Alice, four years were not enough, she wanted eight years. It was like being Miss America again, only bigger she welcomed the spotlight. She would have loved it forever. Also, Underwood knew, she was competitive toward the first ladies who had preceded her. Alice was aware that Jacqueline Kennedy and lady bird Johnson had each had forty persons on their secretarial staffs as press and social aides, and Alice hoped for more. During two terms, Pat Nixon had been hostess at sixty-four state dinners, and Alice wanted to equal that record or surpass it. she liked to have a major domo in charge of seventy-five servants for the 132 rooms of the White House, and she did not want to give up any of it. so contention over a second term remained the strongest disagreement between them. He tried to retreat into himself, avoiding any further mention of the matter. Alice would not let go. She was as aggressive as ever, missing no opportunity to chastise him for his unwillingness to continue. Arriving at the Queens bedroom, he was resolved to patch things up, get closer to Alice. Heal their differences.

He opened the door without knocking, Alice in a flimsy white Negligee, was comfortable in the American Sheraton canopied bed, a bed that had been used by five famous queens during their official visits to the white house. “Top of the morning,” Underwood called out.  “I thought you’d like me to join you for breakfast.” Only then he did notice that there was breakfast tray across her lap, from which she had been eating. “Too late,” she said cheerfully. Next time let me know in advance. I’ve been busy with Monica. Shifting his gaze, he realized that Alice’s social secretary, Monica glass, was also in the bedroom standing by the tall windows, Monica who had been riffling trough her briefcase, stared at him coldly.

Underwood ignored the social secretary. For Underwood Monica was too ugly to look at. She was bright and efficient, but her thick features were a put off. “Too bad,” Underwood grunted, annoyed. “You busy today?” Alice asked, making polite effort at public friendliness. “Fairly,” he said, see you around.” Underwood closed the door, not softly. Proceeding to the northwest corner of the hall, Underwood reached the president’s dining room, a small room furnished with federal pieces from the white house collection. Underwood liked the historical feel of the room, especially a sideboard that grace the west wall and still bore the inlaid initials D. W. for Daniel Webster.

At the mahogany table in the center of the room the president’s appointments secretary, a clean cut young man named john Zadrick, was already seated with his papers, waiting as the dinning room waiter, Babcock, poured his strong coffee, and then went to the serving cart to bring the president’s breakfast to the table. As usual, the president’s breakfast was austere orange juice, a small bowl of cereal, and buttered toast. After Babcock had departed with his cart, Underwood sipped his orange juice and raised his eyes to his appointments secretary. “How does it look?”

Zadrick said a light morning you’ve got your usual meeting at nine o’ clock with chief of staff Blake and secretary of States Morrison. Underwood showed his surprise, Ezra Morrison? What’s Ezra doing there? “As secretary of States, I suspect he wants to brief you on your lunch, my lunch? Then he half remembered, “Oh yes some diplomat,” Not exactly a diplomat, “interrupted Zadrick. “Your guest, the guest of honor is the president of nation. What nation? “lampang, Mr. president.”

Lamp what? “The island nation not too far from the Philippines, You are to lunch at twelve thirty with Madame noy sang,” Underwood finished his orange juice and started spooning his cereal. “Noy sang? What kind of name is this?” its native name, Mr. President. She’s been president a year, since her Husbands death. She’s been allocated two hours with you. Mr. Blake and Secretary Morrison will be lunching with you. I gather it is important.” Underwood wolfed down his cereal and reached for his coffee and toast. How important can anything be about lampang? Well, sir” never mind, said the president, stopping him. “I’m remembering now lampang and the woman who runs it. He snorted. “What’s on the agenda before that?

TWO

 Because of the early morning traffic, secretary of the states Ezra Morrison was running eight minutes late. Normally this was a relatively short ride from the department of states to the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. Actually it was less a then ten mile ride from the center of Washington, D.C, to Langley. Although his driver did his best, the traffic was intense every mile of the way. At last his driver took the limousine through the Dolley Madison entrance to the CIA headquarters. A guard with a clipboard routinely entered Morrison’s name. Once deposited in front of the block like glass and concrete building, Morrison stood to straighten out his gray suit although of considerable bulk, he was always dapper and then patting down his peaked, bushy eyebrows and scratching the itch on his potato like nose, he went inside the foyer. The walls and columns, all marble, were as formidable as ever, with the walls carrying fifty two small stars carved in to them, one star for every CIA man who had lost his life in the service. The CIA motto etched on single wall made Morrison inexplicably uneasy: YE SHALL KNOW THE TRUTH AND THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE.

On the floor, as he crossed it, Morrison was once more conscious of the CIA emblem: a circle bearing a star on a shield and the bold lettering CENTRAL INTELLEGENCE AGENCY/ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. At the far end of the foyer two guard signaled Morrison up the flight of stairs that led to the badge room, where Morrison to his annoyance was still required to obtain his identification badge. There were five elevators waiting CIA director Alan Ramage’s private one. And four others and Morrison took the one that led him nonstop to the CIA director’s penthouse office on the seventh floor. Once inside the vast office, with its signed Giacometti lithographs on the walls, along with a row of portraits autographed to Ramage from four presidents of the United States, and windows that gave a view of most of the 219 acres of wooded country on the Potomac, Morrison could make out that the others was already there. He nodded to the president’s of staff, who was comfortably seated across the desk from director for operations. Morrison gave a brief smile to the deputy director. She was Mary Jane O’Neil, a pretty and petite young lady, and secretary of states Morrison had been sleeping with her for over a year. True, he had a wife and three children, but they were no problem, since his family understood that in his job there were no formal quitting hours. The year before, when he had first dined with Mary Jane he had not only been taken by her but he had been delighted at how friendly she had been toward him. Two weeks later, Morrison was blissfully ensconced in her double bed.

“Sorry to be late,” Morrison said to the CIA director, setting down his fedora hat and his briefcase. “There must be a gold rush the way the cars are lined up out there.” You’re on time,” said Ramage, shifting some long strands of hair from one side of his scalp to the other in a futile attempt to cover his baldpate. Ramage sat erect as a former admiral might, and since he was a tall Texan, it enabled him to look down on his visitors and aide. He was an urban man, given a sanguine look and dignity by his gold rimmed spectacles. Absently, Ramage shuffled the papers before him. “lampang” he announced, and with that the meeting to order. “I understand, Ezra, that you and Paul are briefing the president” he checked his wristwatch in an hour. Does Underwood have any idea of what’s at stake here? “I’m sure he knows,” Blake said, but I wouldn’t say he’s very interested.”

“He has to be,” said director Ramage emphatically. He must be made to understand.” Morrison waved off the director’s concern. “Don’t worry, Alan. There is a cabinet meeting scheduled before he has his lunch with Madame Noy sang. We’ll pound the facts, and our goal, into his head.” The president will remember, “Blake reassured the director. Even though he’s so laid back, he’ll remember. He was good at that on television, and he’s just as good at in the White House when he has to be.” I hope so, said the director. Not to worry, Blake reassured him again. All right, said the director. ‘Let’s be sure we have it all exactly together before we try to brief him.” Director Ramage twisted toward his aide. “Mary Jane, you have copies of our memorandum on Lampang, want to pass them out?

Mary Jane O’Neil stood up. No more than five feet two, Morrison knew with tremendous pair of boobs for one so small. Morrison pictured her as he liked best to see her. Nude and acrobatic, she was handing the memorandum to director Ramage, and then she came around to pass one to Blake and saved Morrison for the last. As she gave him his memorandum, she allowed her hand to touch his. Morrison peered up at her excitedly, and she offered him a promising smile. As she returned to her chair, Morrison fixed on her undulating backside. Unforgettable cushions of love, Morrison thought, when you held each buttock in one hand.

Morrison was beginning to get an erection, which he didn’t get often with his wife but always with Mary Jane, when the CIA director’s voice brought him up sharp and into the reality of the morning. “Lampang,” announced director Ramage “Let’s get right into it.” “All set,” said Morrison. Ramage sat back a moment. Does she president know anything about it? Chief of staff Blake leaned forward,” A little, He knows a little about everything.”

Ramage nodded, “then you’ve got to brief him thoroughly.” “We’ve got two opportunities, said Blake. “I’m meeting with him shortly in the Oval Office. Then again after that at a full cabinet meeting, “And he meets with Madame Noy sang at noon.” “At twelve thirty,” said Blake, more precisely, “for lunch and talk. I’ll be in attendance and so will the secretary of states.”

“Very well,” said Ramage, “Right off you should prepare the stage. Locate lampang for him.” I think he knows where it is, said Blake. “Make sure,” said Ramge. “Be as precise as possible. He’s got to know its relationship to Cambodia and southern Vietnam, and he must be made to understand how it will complete our defense perimeter.” “I’ll take care of that,” promised Secretary Morrison. Ramage was uncertain. “What he achieves with Madame Sang is vital to our interest.” Ramage began thumbing through the papers on his desk. “At the same time, he must be made aware of what kind of resistance he can expect from Madame Noy Sang.

“Do you expect much? “Blake wanted to know. “I can’t say.” Ramage foud of the sheet paper he had been hunting. “Percy Siebert, our CIA station head in lampang, gave me a rundown on Madame Noy Sang. I’ll give you the essence of his sketch.” Ramage consulted the sheet in front of him. “She comes from a good family they own rice plantations and are well off. They sent her to the United States for her collage educations. So she has a real awareness of our country. She married a left wing liberal named Prem Sang, scholarly man of forty two, and ten years her senior. They had one child, a son named Den, now six years old. When prem became president of lampang on a platform of agrarian perform, his vice president was his wife. Odd to us, but that’s the custom in that neck of the woods. I wouldn’t say Prem was exactly a friend of the United States, but he wasn’t an enemy either. He was really a nationalist. He wanted lampang to be free and independent.”

“Where does his wife stand politically?” Blake inquired. “I really don’t know,” admitted Ramage. “From what Siebert has told me, she goes along pretty much with her husband’s ideas. Now, after a year in office as president, and confronted with all the problems that exist, she may have relaxed her independent stand about the United States. Two thing for sure, America’s only powerful friend on the island is general Samak Nakorn, head of the army, and his deputy, colonel Peere Chavalit. America’s only powerful enemy on the island, or islands, is captain Opas Lunakul, had of the communist insurgents who dominate the two outer island of Lampang Lop and Thon. Madame Noy Sang is walking a fine line in between.”

But she has to stand for something, Blake stated. She does, said Ramage, based on the information we’ve assembled. She Need our help to get her agrarian reform policy going. At the same time, she doesn’t want the communists to propagandize that she’s selling out to capitalist country that will exploit lampang, Madame Noy Sang has the people behind her mostly peasants who take a dime view of communism. They want land divided, the economy improved, and to get this they’d settle for US style democracy.”

“Yes,” said Blake. That would satisfy most of US. The question how to achieve it,” He stared at the secretary of the states. “That’s your department, Ezra. Morrison acknowledged his responsibility. He cam to his feet open his briefcase and pulled out a folder, returning to his chair he leafed through the folder. As last he found what he wanted and extracted a page. Skimming it, he raised his head to take in the others.

“It’s a trade off,” Morrison said. “What it comes down to baldly is a trade off. We give Madame Noy Sang something she wants to get what we want.” She wants a loan, said Blake. Big Dollars, Exactly, Morrison agreed, in return we want a big air base in lampang.” Ramage roused himself. That’s a tough decision for her to make, he commented. Considering her political situation, allowing an air base for our jets for bombers and agreeing to thousands of our personnel parked on her island is going to draw heavy objections not only from the communist insurgents but the Madame’s own people’s party. If she does it at all, she’ll want a lot of money in return.

“If she doesn’t do it,” said Morrison firmly, “she doesn’t get a dime.” “I can’t see that happening,” said Blake. “she need’s us and we need her, said Morrison, That’s why I say it’s got to be  a trade off.”

“Well, let’s start with our part, said Blake. How much do we authorize the president to offer her? “We’ll start low and work our wake up slowly,” said Morrison. Much of it depends on the numbers she brings to us. Meanwhile, I’ll confer with secretary of defense Cannon for his thoughts on what we can give for what we want. We’ll agree on atop figure and pass it on to Underwood at the cabinet meeting.” He turned to Blake. “Do you think you can handle the president on his pre briefing give him facts, no figures before the cabinet meeting? I want to spend some time over at Defense first.” I can manage, said Blake.

“Remember, save all figures for the cabinet meeting so that the president has them firmly in mind before his lunch. In any case, I’ll make notes for him to use as reminders. If he forgets, I’ll be there to back him up.” Morrison glanced around at the others. “That should cover it, he said “We’re ready for Noy Sang.” I hope so, said Blake little nervously. ‘Well let’s just be sure the president is ready,” Morrison added. This lunch, it’s an important one. Underwood has to come through. A little charm wouldn’t hurt.” Blake shrugged. “The question is who’ll be more charming Matt Underwood or Noy Sang?”

After living the CIA building for the White House in his chauffer driven black limousine, Paul Blake, the president’s chief of staff had entered the west basement. Nodding good morning to several national security officers, Blake hastened up a narrow flight of stairs to his own office, two doors down from the president’s oval office. Inside, three of Blake’s aides, in formally attired, were lounging about discussing the contents of a speech the president would soon deliver on cut in domestic spending. After returning their greeting, Blake dismissed them, postponing the conference on the speech for later in the day.

At the moment, he was expected in the president’s Oval Office to give his chief a general picture of the lunch with Madame Noy Sang. Seated across from the president, Blake felt at ease. He had known Underwood a long time. A graduate of Harvard low school, Blake had eventually become a partner in a prestigious New York law firm that had among its clients Matt Underwood, Blake had been assigned to handle Underwood’s affairs from the start. Blake was smallish round man with a cherub’s face. Cleanshaven, pleasant, with a constantly benign expression, his affability suited Underwood. So did his intellect and his ability at organization.   

Now Blake tried to fill the president in on the situation in lampang. The president appeared to be only half listening. Gradually he Manage to turn the subject matter to the heavyweight boxing championship fight in Las Vegas late in the afternoon. Who did Blake think would win? Blake wasn’t sure, and double talked knowing only who would Lost if he didn’t get the president back on the rails about lampang. The president was impatient. “Look, Paul let’s get to lampang later. Do I have to hear it all twice? Let’s go over it the cabinet meeting then it’ll be fresh in my mind when I settle down to lunch with Madame Sang.”

“As you wish, Mr. President” “It’s what I wish Paul.” In ten minutes it was agreed the challenger would dethrone the champion in Las Vegas and the president showed some enthusiasm for the first time that day. When Paul Blake returned to his quarters, annoyed at his failure to get anywhere with the president, he considered phoning his aides to pick up on the speech about cuts in domestic spending. Surveying his office, it amused him that if cuts were to be explored, they might begin with those he had made on his own office. It was modest white paneled cubbyhole, and the desk he Use was an oak one of routine Government Issue.

Blake moved to the desk, skimmed the over night cables, decided that there were none that required the president immediate attention. About to ring aides, he realized that he had not completed his task of drawing up Underwood’s remaining schedule for the day. Bringing white pad and pen before him, Blake began to outline the schedule. He jotted the following:

10:00-Full cabinet meeting. 11:00-Sign papers. 12.30 to 2.30-Lunch in president’s dinning room with president Noy Sang of lampang, to be joined the secretary of states Morrison and chief of staff Blake, after lunch conversation to continue in the Yellow Oval Room. 3:15 photo opportunity in the Rose Garden, awards to the boy scouts of America. 5:30 Watch heavyweight title fight in the Red Room on the third floor.

Having completed his list of nations, and after reviewing them to be certain he had omitted nothing, Blake buzzed his secretary and requested that she type it and distribute it immediately. No sooner had his secretary departed than the blue intercom White House telephone rang. This usually proved to be the president. Blake lifted the receiver at once. The caller proved to be not the president but the first lady in person.

“Good morning, Paul, did I catch you at busy time? In his courtliest manner, Blake replied, “It’s never a busy time when I have a chance to speak to you Alice.” How nice of you. There’s something I want to talk to you about. Do you have the president’s final schedule for the day ready?

“Almost, It’s being typed this very minute.” I’d like to see it Paul. “It’ll be distributed to you automatically.” Blake could almost hear Alice Underwood pout on the phone. “I’d like to see it sooner if you please,” she said. Blake immediately pleased. He welcomed any opportunity to be in the first lady’s presence. “I’ll get it to you sooner than soon. I’ll bring it to you myself.” 

I don’t mean to interfere with you work.” Not at all, give me five minutes. Where will you be? In the First lady’s office, “I’ll be there in jiffy.” There was pause. The president’s schedule hasn’t been distributed yet, has it? Not yet. Do you want me to hold it off for any reason? Possibly, we’ll see. I want to look it over first. It was ten minutes before Blake, hair freshly combed, necktie in place, schedule in hand, entered the first lady’s office. She was behind her polished desk in a quilted swivel chair, staring through the window at Lafayette Square. When she heard him, she came to her feet. She started across the room to the chintz sofa beneath the wildflower prints on the wall.

As she signaled him to the down filled arm chair beside the sofa, she hesitated an instant to watch her walk. She was perfection. He had never in his life seen a woman better put together. Alice was wearing a sheer white silk blouse, and the lace brassiere visible underneath, and a short shantung skirt. Her long legs in the flesh colored stockings were breathtaking. Even his own wife, who had good legs and regular features, seemed somewhat less and even dowdy by comparison.

Alice Underwood was seated on the sofa, crossing her legs, and Blake found himself hard put to remember what he was expected to do next. Then, with efforts he remembered and walked stiff legged across the room to settle in the armchair beside her. “Paul,” she said” the president’s schedule did you bring it? He reached in to his jacket pocket, pulled the schedule free, and unfolded it.

She reached out impatiently. May I see it? “He handed the schedule to her, and she quickly scanned it. “What I interested in,” she said slowly, “is what the president has lined up after lunch. I see he’s having lunch with that woman from lampang.” “Yes, Madame Noy sang.” What an odd name, “said Alice absently. “Is this some kind of social lunch or what? I mean, is it a courtesy thing?  Blake could not see where she was going, but he decided to be forthright. “It’s somewhat more important than that. Which is the reason Ezra Morrison and I will be there, too”

“I see you’ve allocated two hours for it, said Alice. “Isn’t that a long time for lunch? The time isn’t set aside only for the lunch, said Blake. “First there will be the amenities, the usual process of getting acquainted. The really serious business of the meeting will take place after lunch, when we all move in to the yellow oval room. “Does all that have to take two hours?

‘Well, not necessarily, said Blake cautiously. “It could be compressed to an hour and a half.” Alice leaned toward him. It caused her breasts to jiggle, and Blake was momentarily disconcerted. Alice asked, “Can you compress it to an hour and a half? “I’m not sure, Alice. What do you have in mind? Alice spoke earnestly. “You remember when we came into the White House and you wanted me to have some Do good activity? We felt anti drugs and anti alcohol and help for retarded children had all been opted by previous first ladies. You were the one who suggested arts and education for me.”

‘I still regard it as a good choice,” said Blake. “Okay, you know that among other things, I became very involved in the new Contempo Museum. Well, we’re having a high tea there as fund raiser, mostly for patrons. I’m expected to speak and I will. But I’m far less effective at that than Matt. I want him to join me at the Contempo and say a few Word, too. Surely that’s as important as Lampang. I mean, he can still have his talk with that woman from lampang and fine time to be effective at the museum. Isn’t that possible?” Paul Blake hesitated. When he had gotten Alice into arts and education, he had specifically had in mind doing things for the poor and under privileged. The patrons and backers of the Contempo Museum were hardly in that class.

They could not be thought of as needy. The tea and the appearance of the president would merely be added icing on a cake that was already overly rich.

‘I don’t know, Alice” Blake began. Alice was immediately on her feet. She had made an inroad, and did not mean to lose it. “Come on, Paul, dear, you can do it, an itty-bitty favor. Please. “She bent over him and kissed him on the cheek, and in doing so one of her breasts brushed his uplifted hand. Shaken, Blake retreated.”Well”. “Come on,” Alice burst out. She hugged him, and he could feel both those magnificent breasts. ”For me, for my cause” For Blake, any further resistance was gone. He tried to adjust himself to her face over his. Well, I suppose it could be done. “you’re a doll!“ Alice exclaimed, pressing her lips against his. “Thank you”. I – I’ll rearrange the schedule. “It’s easy,” said Alice briskly, straightening up. Matt hasn’t seen his final schedule yet. Mark in that Lampang woman from twelve thirty to two, and than have Matt drive over to the Contempo Museum with me by two thirty. She handed the schedule back to him. “Will you do it immediately?” “Immediately,” he said, staggering out of the deep chair. Alice had him by the arm and was leading him to the door. “I’ll expect Matt to pick me up at two thirty. He was out the door and in the corridor. Alice had closed the door behind her. Blake knew that he had been manipulated. Those warm lips. Those soft breasts, they had been worth it. Starting away, Blake asked himself, what did it matter? An hour and a half more or less with some women from the South Chine Sea, Blake told himself the president might even be grateful to escape a half hour sooner. Forty minutes earlier, chief of Staff Blake had made another change in the president’s schedule and had sent out a special memorandum by hand to the interested parties. He had postponed the full cabinet meeting. He had been concerned with his failure to brief the president on Lampang earlier, and felt that the meeting in the Cabinet Room should concentrate on Lampang entirely, on what the president should be ready to give and expect to receive. With this concentration on the immediate subject of concern, there was no need to be burdened by the secretary of transportation, the attorney general, and other members of the president’s staff. Entering the Cabinet Room, Blake could see et a glance that the necessary officers had been alerted and were on hand. Blake greeted the secretary of state, the CIA director, the secretary of defense, and the three officers of the National Security Council, and than he took the leather chair next to the president’s vacant one. “How did your pre-briefing go with the president?” Morrison asked. “It means lousy,” said Blake. “The president didn’t give a damn about Lampang. He only wanted to speak of the heavyweight fight in Las Vagas later in the afternoon. Then our work’s cut out for us, ”said CIA Director Ramage. Right you are, said Blake. It’s got to be Lampang and more Lampang. That’s why I can-celled everyone else. I wanted to concentrate on what’s waiting for the president at lunch. They were planning their briefing of the chief executive when a door opened and president Underwood came into the room. Tall and erect, he appeared to be in good humor. He brushed back his hair, grinned at the assemblage, and said to no one in particular, “What’s been going on behind my back?” Making his way to his leather chair, he greeted everyone in the Cabinet Room by name. “We’ve beeb discussing your lunch with Madame Noy Sang,” Blake told the president as he settled into place. It is going to be a long lunch? The president asked. It doesn’t have to be, Morrison assured him. After some get acquainted talk with the Madame, you can wind up lunch and we’ll move into the yellow oval room. That can be strictly business. “I just wanted to know because I didn’t want to  miss the big fight,” the president explain. You’ll have plenty of time for that, Blake promised. This lunch and meeting with Madame Noy Sang is scheduled to last one and a half hours. Than the first lady expects you to accompany her to the opening of the Contempo Museum and say a few words, maybe five minutes’ worth, about an important fund-raiser. That’ll give you plenty of time to get back for the fight. The president surveyed the room. “I see a lot of our friends are missing and you’ve brought in only the big brass. “Deliberate,” said Blake simply. “Since you’re going to be bargaining with Madame Noy Sang, we wanted our full concentration to be devoted to a treaty with Lampang. “Fair enough,” said the president. “This lady I’m lunching with can anyone tell me what she’s like?” Secretary of state Morrison leaned forward. “We don’t know exactly. None of us has her. You remember her husband was president of the island when he was assassinated. She was vice president, as per custom in those parts. So she inherited his seat. Underwood nodded.”Yes, I remember, I’ve seen her picture in the press. She doesn’t look too formidable.” Ramage entered the conversation. ”She isn’t Mr. President. Our station head in Lampang, Percy Siebert, says she’s a small, gentle woman, and was in shock and retreat a long time after her husband’s death. In effect, she gave it a year of mourning and the entire year to learn her job for herself.” “And now that a year has passed,” said Morrison, Noy Sang is coming out of seclusion. Her first trip abroad is this one to the United States. I suppose mainly because she needs us. ”Money, I’m sure,” said the president. “There might be a little more,” said Blake, “and it could be sentimental. Noy Sang has been in America before. Some while ago. She spent four years doing undergraduate work at Wellesley.” The president seemed to park up. ”That’s where Dianne is at school,” he said proudly. “She’s now in her senior year.” Everyone was supposed to know, and did know, that Dianne Underwood was his twenty-one-year-old daughter. “That’ll give you something in common to talk about,” said Blake, ”before you settle down to the nitty-gritty.” The president nodded.”All right, what’s the nitty-gritty?” Morrison had been busy drawing a map on the page of a long yellow pad. He tore it loose and came around the table to the president. Addressing Curtis Cannon, the secretary of defense, he said. ”Curtis, take my seat and give me yours. This will make it easier for me to explain a map of the South Pacific and beyond, which I’ve been drawing.” The exchange was made, and Morrison squirmed into the chair beside the president and placed the yellow sheet before him. “What’s this?” the president wanted to know. “A crude drawing of the Far East, highlighting our major air bases that may occur in North Korea, China, Vietnam, and Cambodia.” Using his pen as a pointer on the map, Morrison resumed. “As you can see, Mr. President, our pacific Air force has three major wings. Not counting Hawaii, which is pacific air force headquarters for the 15^th Air Force, we have there large air bases. Here’s our air base in Japan for the 5^th air force. Here’s our air base in South Korea for the 7^th air force. Here’s our air base in the Philippines for the 13^th air force. Do you see anything unusual about my map?” The president shook his head. “Not especially.” “Well, look down here. What do you see?” The president stared at the map, “An island, a large island and two small ones.” “Lampang, said Morrison. “We have no air base there.” And you want one there? Morrison raised his head and met the president’s eyes. “We not only want one there, we must have one there. That would give us a base a stone’s throw from Cambodia, Vietnam, and China all communist.” “I see, how do we get it?” “By depending on your own power of persuasion and undeniable charm to reduce Madame Noy Sang to a compliant puddle,” said Morrison. We’ll outline what we want from her, and what we can give her in return. “Go ahead,” said the president. Morrison looked down the table.”Curtis” said Morrison to the secretary of defense, “let’s trade seats again.” They did so. Firmly settled beside the president once more, Cannon said, “Mr. President, I’m going to tell you exactly what we want from Madame Noy Sang. You don’t have to commit it all to memory. I have our demands typed out on several cards for you. You can refer to these when you and Madame Sang get down to hard business.” He drew several cards from a pocket and passed them to the president, who placed them in his own pocket. “Ok, go on,” said the president. “What we want is an air base on roughly a hundred and thirty thousand acres in Lampang. About ten thousand of those acres will be needed for various buildings and other facilities. There should be room for ten thousand Air force personnel, and about fifteen thousand native civilians and contract employees. What about the airstrips? Inquired the president, “there’ll be plenty of room for two vital runways,” said the secretary of defense. “One long one will take about fifty fighter planes-F-5s, F-4Es, F-4Gs, and maybe room for twelve F-5Es.” “Do we have to buy all this property?” I wouldn’t dare to suggest that, even if it were possible,” Secretary of Defense Cannon said. “The base itself Excepting planes and buildings, would be owned by lampang. What I foresee and what Madame Noy Sang will undoubtedly want will be a mutual agreement between lampang and ourselves. We got a long term lease on the base perhaps ninety years if you can swing it in return for substantial aid to lampang in Amreican dollars.

“What’s substantial aid?” the president asked. Cannon looked across the cabinet table at Morrison. “Have you got a figure Ezra?” “I’ve two figures, said Morrison. These are based on inquiries I’ve made of my far eastern experts. Alan Ramage has also been helpful ang given me a lot of input from the CIA. The first figure is the low figure. It may work, because Noy Sang is so desperate. Play around with that figure, Mr. President.”

“How much is it?” Underwood asked. “A hundred twenty five million dollars” “That sound substantial enough to me, said the president. “To you, sir, but it may not to the president of lampang, said Morrison. “While she might not be too sophisticated, she’s been in office a year and has an idea of what we need. She knows her ace in the hole is air base. She knows its importance to our national defense. So she may be a little hard nosed about all this and bargain for more. “Morrison considered what he wanted to say next. “The fact is, Mr. President, you can go for more. Put on the appearance of being a good guy and go for the higher loan.”

Which is? “We could go for a loan of a hundred fifty million that much, but not a dime more. Then it becomes too costly, considering our outstanding loans to other countries. Oh, Madame sang may ask for more. They always do. Those little countries are impoverished and feel Uncle Sam has bottomless pocket. Bur we don’t have that much to fling around, especially on relatively obscure place like lampang. You can be a hero and go up to hundred fifty million, but I repeat that’s the limit. “What if she says no?” “Than you say good-bye to the lady, we’ll hunt elsewhere for another base and a more reason able trader.” The president frowned, “but I thought you were saying we really must have this Lampang base?” “We want it, no question,” said Morrison. ” Yet there are limits to what we can give. We can’t allow ourselves to be blackmailed.” He smiled at Underwood. “you can do it, Mr. President. Just turn on the old charm. We’re lucky Lampang’s head of state is a woman. A few word from you, a generous smile, and she’ll melt. Diplomacy often comes down to that.” Underwood seemed uncertain. “I hope so”. “You’ll pull it off,” said Morrison. “I don’t have a doubt in the world. You’ll come up a winner.” “I’ll do my best,” said the president, and with that the meeting in the Cabinet Room was adjourned. In the heart of the capital city of Visaka on the island of Lampang, Noy Sang sat in her husband’s office in Chamadin palace behind her husband’s oversized desk, signing papers into law before her departure for the United States. The office and desk were still, even after a year of her occupancy, her husband’s office and buried in the ground after great ceremony, but for Noy Sang her husband’s Prem was not entirely dead. It was as if he had simply gone away on a long trip, without saying good-bye. Some memories of him had felt less alone because she had been busy with her work. But the office and desk were Prem’s. she could not be disloyal. Everything she had learned and knew well, almost everything had come from Prem, and she could not completely believe that she was her own person. What brought all this to mind as she signed her papers was that the mourning period was over, and she was about to leave Lampang on her first official trip abroad. Truly she now was would be President Noy Sang of Lampang. Noy peeked at the dial of her gold watch. It was time for young Den to depart for school,. She wondered where he was. Then she realized that her own departure for the airport and the flight to the United States with chief of foreign affairs Marsop Panyawan would take place in a half hour, and that she had better finish signing her papers. She resumed scribbling her signature by pen, and had just finished with the last document when she heard the clatter of footsteps on the staircase that led down from the family apartment. Little Den bounced into the office, hastily followed by Noy’s sister, Thida. Den was dark haired and dark eyed with a pug nose, and small(even for his age). Her sister Thida was three years her junior, taller and slimmer than she, with more angular features. She was single again after having had an early marriage annulled and was now vice president of Lampang a worthy one, because she was as politically knowledge able as Noy and with as much empathy for the poor. Noy put down her pen, came out of her chair, and knelt to kiss and embrace her little boy. “Get right down to the car or you’ll be late for school,” Noy told him. “This won’t be a long trip. Three or four days and I’ll be back. Thida will go along to school with you today.” This had been a special arrangement, sending Thida with him, to keep Den’s mind off her trip. Normally, there was only Chalie, a faithful driver always around to take Den to the public school Noy would not permit a private school and bring him back to the palace when school was over. Noy stood up and hugged her sister. “you’re in charge while I’m gone,” Noy whispered to her sister. “Be strong, don’t let general Narkorn begin acting on of his anticommunist ideas. I mean to keep Lunakul and the insurgents in a talking posture with us until we can work something out.” Thida smiled and patted her sister’s hand. Don’t worry, Noy. You leave Lampang in safe hands. Maybe I can’t manage Lampang the way you do, but still I can do a good job of imitating you. As for General Nakorn, I’ll never take an eye off him.” “Thanks, Thida….. Good-Bye, Den. I love you. See yoyu in a wink of days.” She watched Thida take the boy by the hand and lead him out of the office. About to return to her husband’s desk, she saw Marsop Panyawan come briskly into the office. He was an intense skeletal man, with an air of gravity. Not only was Marsop her chief of foreign affairs, but he had been her husband’s best friend, and was her own most dependable ally. Marsop was slightly taller than the average Lampangian male, about five feet seven, with brown hair combed sideways, sunken eyes, and gaunt features. Greeting Noy, he crossed over to her desk and seated himself opposite her. “Well, we’re on our way to Washington, D. C.” said Noy.

“A visit vital to our interests,” said Morsop. “I’m pleased you’ll be lunching with president Underwood.” “Obviously not a social lunch,” said Noy. “I would not characterize it as that. We know we need money from them. I’ve learned clearly what they want from us, not in detail but in general.” “We get a loan,” said Noy simply. “We give an air base.” “I’m quite certain that will be the arrangement.” Noy was thoughtful. “The loan, how much do we want from the United States?” Marsop grunted, “As much as we can get, Noy.”

 “But in practical terms, you’ve already felt out the United States ambassador here. You know what they’re thinking about.” Marsop shook his head, “I really don’t know. I know what we need. I’ve met with the cabinet and I have a fair idea.” “What do we need?” Marsop pocket a package of cigarattes out of his jacket pocket and loosened one. He considered the cigarette before lighting it. “We need two hundred million dollars,” he said at last. “Can they give it to us?” “They can, but they won’t,” said Marsop, puffin at his cigarette.”Will they consider it excessive?” “ Only in the sense that they already have huge loans outstanding in Mexico, Brazil, Argentina, and a dozen other countries. Congress has been putting pressure on their president to tighten up and stop the handouts.” Noy showed her concern. “All right, I ask for two hundred million. What if they refuse it?” “You’re in trouble with our program at home.” Noy was considering something else. ”Dare I hold the Soviet Union over their heads?” “No, absolutely no, not even as a bargaining chip, a threat. They’d be appalled to imagine you’d consider letting the Russians in here, especially with America’s Pacific problem and their reason for meeting and negotiating with you. They want an air base for the very reason that it would be anticommunist.” “Well, what am I to do if they refuse the two hundred million?” Masrop was quick to reply. “They mustn’t be allowed to. You must demand the two hundred million and be steadfast in your demand.” Noy sighed. “You’re making me very nervous, Marsop.” He smiled. “I mean to, Actually, you don’t have to be. Don’t forget, President Underwood wants something from you. He wants it very much.” “He can have it. We agreed to that.” “Not quite,” said Marsop. “He’ll want an extremely large air base. I don’t think your followers would like that kind of giveaway. It would hurt you domestically. You’ve got to be very stingy about the air base. We’ll talk in more detail on the flight to Washington. Actually, you have one more bargaining chip. It is the one I rely on most of all.” “What’s that?” “Your charm, Noy,” “Please, Marsop, that’s impossible. I can’t be a femme fatale for an American.” “You don’t have to be.” Marsop smiled broadly. “You can just be your regular everyday natural self. Believe me, you can’t fail to impress him?” “I wish I could believe you. I wonder what he’s like?” “You mean President Underwood? I’ve got a complete rundown on him. I’ll give it to you on the plane. Now we’d better get ready to go and meet him in person.”