.

to is Putin’s right-hand man, his deputy prime minister, Sergei Ivanov, who also has the Defence portfolio.”

      During the briefing Dr. Rob Ross had raised a final topic. It was an idea that had caught the President’s full attention.

      When Ross had explained what he had in mind for a unique, long-term, practical solution for the Russian nuclear waste dilemma the President had said, “That’s a great idea, Dr. Ross. A barnburner. Like something we’d come up with in Texas. Yeah. It sounds as though you’ve already done a lot of research into this one.”

      “Yes, sir. I’ve looked into the situation in depth. There’s been an enormous amount of research already invested into the technology, particularly by the firm Atomic Energy of Canada Limited, AECL.”

      “Yes, I’ve heard of them. They’re big in building nuclear power plants, right?”

      “Exactly, Mr. President, and they’re also big in coming up with solutions for getting rid of nuclear waste. They know how to do it. All I’m doing is suggesting how you could get the Russians to hook into AECL’s technology.”

      The President gave a crafty smile. “Hook or be hooked?”

      Ross nodded. “I think you’re going to have to hook them, sir. Whether they like it or not. And my proposed bait on the hook could well be irresistible.”

      It certainly was irresistible to the President. The Ross concept was the centrepiece of the President’s private instructions to his Secretary of State. It was the ultimatum scenario that would put into play a train of unusual activity for the Secretary, her staff, and for Dr. Rob Ross, Assistant Under Secretary of Energy, the man with the idea.

      The President stopped his pacing. He stood quiet for a moment, then said, “Look, this nuclear waste thing’s important but, as you know, my top priorities are Iraq…”

      “And Iran and Israel,” the Secretary prompted.

      “Yes, and the Mexican border and this never-ending illegal immigration mess. The House and the Senate are still miles apart. The Senate mood is that they won’t accept any legislation that doesn’t legalize illegal immigrants. As Schumer puts it, there’s going to have to be a path to citizenship for all our illegals.

      “On the other side, the lead House negotiator says he would never support a bill that gives illegal immigrants a chance at American citizenship. He calls the Senate legislation ‘amnesty,’ but he’ll support a guest-worker program.”

      “So, what can you do to bring the two sides together?”

      “Right now I don’t know how to handle the situation.”

      “D’you think putting the National Guard troops on the Mexican border has really done anything to stop the flow of illegals?”

      “No, of course not. They’re not armed. No power of arrest. But at least they’re showing a military presence and they’re building the big fence.” He shrugged. “Anyway, the National Guard, they’re not the solution to securing the border, making it impossible for illegals to get in.”

      “Isn’t that the first step that has to be taken?” the Secretary asked.

      “Making it impossible to get in? Sure it is, but how can I do it?”

      The President didn’t expect an answer. He walked to his desk and sat, his hands behind his neck, legs stretched out, eyes looking out the Oval Office window, then back to his Secretary of State in whom he had complete confidence. “I’m really worried about Dick,” he said. “He’s had his heart problems for years. Cardiovascular is probably a better description. He’s looking flushed. Not talking much during cabinet meetings.”

      “I’ve noticed that. It’s not like him.”

      “He says he’s fine but I’ve asked him to slow down, cut out campaign speeches and travel. He says, ‘Sure, Mr. President,’ and just keeps on doing his own thing.”

      “Speaking about Dick,” she said, “what about Iraq? That has to be your biggest priority. How will you get out of there?”

      The President sat up straight and turned in his chair to look across his desk. The answer would not come from him. It would come from his successor. That person would not be his Vice-President.

       CHAPTER 2

      Jason Crisp was astonished, mouth not quite agape, eyes wide with incredulity. His boss, the Secretary of State of the United States of America, that famous woman with the elevated intellect, universally educated, a power in academe, a person who could take on any combatant either individually or as a group, the closest of the President’s confidants, finished her recital to him. (She’d recorded it, of course.) She gave the Under Secretary a summary of the President’s instructions on what was to be done to (or was it with?) the Russians because of their foot-dragging — yes, the whole body in addition to the foot — in cleaning up their horrendous nuclear waste mess.

      “My God,” Crisp muttered. “He’s told you to give them an ultimatum!”

      “Exactly. That’s what he called it, an ultimatum.”

      “With respect, Secretary,” said Crisp, “in the world of diplomacy we never use the word ultimatum. It’s too gross. Too belligerent, if you will.”

      State was surprised. “We may not use the word, but American history and the world’s are filled with de facto ultimatums. Do this or else. It’s an integral part of the way, the natural manner, in which nations have always dealt with each other.”

      “True,” Crisp allowed. “Particularly when it comes to the dealings that large, powerful countries have with lesser ones, be it economically or militarily.”

      The Secretary brushed back a sweep of jet black hair that had slipped down her narrow forehead. “There are several things you and I have to do, and right away.”

      Crisp was ready. “I’ve asked Ruth to stand by. I’ll bring her in.” He stood, ready to go to the main door of the Secretary’s office to call in his assistant to transcribe the action notes as his boss recited them.

      “No, Jason. No. I don’t want any staff in on this. The President’s instructions are too delicate, just as our relations with the Russians are too delicate. You and I will prepare the plan of action.”

      Crisp had been there before with the Secretary. He had brought a pad of paper and was prepared to be the steno.

      “First, I must have a full background on the operative legislation, such as Nunn-Lugar, under which Congress has authorized money for the elimination of the Russian nuclear waste.”

      “Or its secure storage,” Crisp added.

      “All of this was presented in the President’s briefing today but I have to have it. The name of the main briefing person from Energy is Dr. Rob Ross. The President’s Chief of Staff can find him for you.”

      “Okay.”

      “And I want Ross to be seconded to me full-time until this mission is accomplished.”

      “What if his Secretary says no, he can’t do without him?”

      Both brows lifted above those deep brown, unwavering eyes. “Jason, you must be joking! If I want him I must have him. The President will so order. Got it?”

      “Yes, ma’am.” The Secretary had not yet invited Crisp, some twenty years her senior and now the top civil servant at State, to call her by her first name. Crisp reasoned that she lacked the inner strength to do so. She was Afro-American. Made it up the hard way. Totally disciplined. But a sensitive human filled with both confidence and insecurity. Whatever.

      “I’ll talk to my counterpart at Energy.” Crisp made a note.

      “If you have any resistance back off. I’ll handle it from there. I want a meeting with Dr. Ross tomorrow.” She