State of the Onion (9 page)

THE NEXT DAY HENRY FINALLY RECEIVED THE dietary dossiers. “Salomia and Alkumstan,” I said. “I couldn't believe it when Paul told me.” Prime Minister Jaron Jaffe of Salomia was a sworn enemy of Prince Sameer bin Khalifah of Alkumstan. The two countries had been at war for decades. Ill-will didn't begin to describe the horrors these two populations inflicted on one another. “I'm surprised Prince Sameer is coming here now. Isn't he the guy who just overthrew his brother?”

“One and the same,” Henry said. “And he did it without bloodshed.”

We went over the dossiers, and read the hastily prepared summary of the purpose of this joint visit. During recent talks, the president had detected an opportunity for truce between the two countries, at least as far as trade agreements were concerned. Logic followed that if they could find common ground in business, perhaps eventually both countries could envision peace between their peoples as well.

“I guess Sameer really meant what he said when he took over Alkumstan,” I said finally. “He claims to want peace in the Middle East. This would be a logical first step.”

“Apparently so. His brother, Mohammed, and Prime Minister Jaffe haven't ever shared the same soil. This is a major coup. They will be creating history here. And whether or not a final trade agreement is achieved, it is a step in the right direction.”

Working in the White House was big. Not just big; huge. I knew it and I remembered it every single day, but the truth was, after being on staff for this long, I'd gotten used to hearing the names of powerful individuals. After all, I'd discussed their preferences for meals, made myself aware of their dietary quirks and eccentricities. I'd gotten to know VIPs in my own way and slowly I'd become used to the idea of playing a part in the big world that was the White House.

But the upcoming state dinner exceeded all. This summit to discuss trade agreements could herald the beginning of a new era.

Delighted by the plethora of information provided about our guests and their nutritional needs, Henry was eager to design a menu that would wow and delight all those present. Immediately after breakfast preparations, he urged me to join him at the computer.

I eased onto the stool next to him, my voice nonchalant. “Oh, by the way, I'm going out for lunch today.”

He cocked his head. “I thought we would work through lunch.”

“Oh,” I said, not knowing what to say. “Um…something came up.”

“What is it?”

I hated lying to Henry. But I couldn't very well tell him that I was meeting Naveen.

When I hesitated, he asked, “A date?”

“No.” Then I thought about it. “Well, kinda.”

He rubbed his chin as he stared up at the clock. “Okay, then we'll just move a little faster this morning.” His thick finger pointed to the first name on the list, Prime Minister Jaffe's. “I know how much you enjoy bringing the flavors of the visiting dignitary's culture into our American fare. Any ideas for an entrée that will please this man…” he moved his finger to the next two names, “as well as these two?”

He indicated Prince Sameer and his wife, Princess Hessa. Again, I realized how significant this was. Almost as momentous as Jimmy Carter's Camp David Accords. I stared at the computer screen, where we always recorded our meal plans, and tapped my lips with my finger. “No,” I said honestly. “The two cultures, while close in proximity, are far apart in what they prefer to dine on. This might take some research.”

Henry nodded. “Where are you going for lunch?”

The question took me aback. “Um,” I said, stalling, “up near the Mall.”

He gave me a funny look. “Really? Where do you plan to eat?”

I opened my mouth, but he interrupted.

“None of my business, I know. But I assume you're heading into the commercial area, if you have lunch plans. Can you pick something up for me?” He leaned sideways to write out the name of a book. “Here,” he said. “If you don't mind. I ordered this from the bookstore on Thirteenth. They're holding it.”

Great. I shouldn't have opened my mouth. I'd planned to zip out to the Mall and back. This detour would cost at least fifteen minutes and we were already pressed for time in the kitchen. Still, Henry rarely asked for favors, so I smiled and said it'd be no problem at all.

“Good,” he said. “There are a number of innovative ideas in that book. I've been meaning to get it for months. It will come in handy for this event.”

WITH HENRY'S NOTE IN MY CAPACIOUS PURSE, I struck out for my meeting with Naveen, just about ten minutes before noon. I could've taken the Metro, but I knew I could walk the distance faster. I wore my new Jackie O sunglasses—purchased specifically for today's meeting—and just as I veered off of Pennsylvania, taking a right on 12th Street NW, I pulled the rest of my disguise out from the recesses of my purse.

No one paid any attention to me as I twisted my hair and shoved it beneath a Chicago Bears baseball cap. Still walking, I tugged the cap's brim low so that it almost touched the top of my sunglasses. Within minutes I had the National Mall in sight. I stepped up my pace, pulling out the final items from my stash—a dark blue, very wrinkled windbreaker, and my old 35mm camera. When I pulled the strap over my head and settled the camera into place, I knew I looked like your average eager tourist on a jaunt to the Capitol. The one thing I couldn't do much about was my height. Belatedly, I realized I should've worn something with a heel. Darn.

It was a meager disguise, but a necessary one. I wanted to get this meeting with Naveen over with as quickly as possible—give him the chance to impart his vital piece of information and then get myself out—but I didn't want the Secret Service detail shadowing Naveen to recognize me. Without this disguise, I hadn't a prayer.

I'd done the best I could, under the circumstances, to blend into the sightseer background. I was still afraid of one thing—Tom. Even with my oh-so-clever appearance manipulations, Tom would know me in a heartbeat. I sure hoped he was on a different detail today.

As the merry-go-round came into view, I slowed my pace. A tourist wouldn't rush to the side of a carousel. Not without a little kid in tow. Plus, the windbreaker's added layer on this unseasonably warm day was making me hot. I drew a finger across my brow between the hat and sunglasses, and came away with a load of perspiration.

Never let 'em see you sweat.

I almost laughed.

Right about now, sweat was the least of my worries.

The sun overhead, the hat, the sticky windbreaker, and my own nerves were working overtime to produce a different kind of heat—that of real fear. But I couldn't stop now. Not until I knew what Naveen wanted to tell me.

Circus music drew me closer. I saw small children on brightly colored, rhythmically rising and falling horses, attentive parents with protective arms around their backsides. Just a normal, pleasant day in our nation's capital.

For me, however, it was anything but.

My feet continued forward, each step bringing me closer to the spinning ride even as my brain argued that this was one of the most foolish things I'd ever done.

I checked my watch. Noon.

Naveen had to be here somewhere. There was an elderly couple on a park bench near the ice cream vendor's cart. They wore matching red shorts, wraparound sunglasses, and white visors. Three people stood in line for ride tickets, but all three had small children with them. There were about a half-dozen other adults surrounding the merry-go-round, pointing cameras or waving at the riders. Not one of them looked like my memory of Naveen.

The carousel began to slow, but it wasn't until its shrill bell rang, signaling the end of the ride, that the passengers were able to get off their horses and make their way to the exit.

I scanned the riders as they filed past me. I checked my watch again. I was certain he'd said noon.

There seemed to be nothing to do but wait. I worried, briefly, about the Secret Service guys noticing my loitering, so I lifted the camera and took a couple of shots of the ride, the Capitol, and the Washington Monument, all of which would've made great pictures if I had any film in the camera. Bringing it along had been a last-minute inspiration but I hadn't had time to pick film up on the way.

Yep, I'd make a great spy, wouldn't I?

I wandered toward the ice cream cart, and eyed the chocolate bar with almond crust. It might be the only lunch I got today, I reasoned, and reached into my purse for some money.

A tap on my shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma'am, but I believe you dropped this.”

I turned. Naveen was there, smiling, handing me something. A piece of paper. Folded. Like a note kids would pass in grammar school.

Automatically I took it, thanked him, and felt my mood shift from startled to puzzled when he walked away again.

The red-shorted elderly couple had vacated the bench next to me, and Naveen took a seat there, opening up a newspaper to read. Ignoring me completely. I took my cue from him and walked a few feet away.

Ice cream novelty forgotten, I opened the note, bracing myself for the big important information that Naveen needed to give me.

Not what I'd been expecting. And I was beginning to feel prickly annoyance. The sooner I got what I came for, the sooner I could rush over to the bookstore and pick up the cookbook Henry wanted. Then, I could get back to my normal life and not have to worry about the Secret Service, and more important, Tom, who would be furious with me because of this little adventure.

I decided to cut the silliness right here. I turned, prepared to confront Naveen, prepared to ask him straight out to tell me what was on his mind.

But he was gone.

Maybe the guy was a nutcase. But then again, maybe he was the smart one, here. Secret Service personnel were shadowing him, and the last thing I needed to do was to have one of them scrutinize me too closely.

Fine. I'd play along.

Another carousel ride was ending. I hurried over to the ticket booth.

In my haste, I bumped into a man rushing the other way.

“Sorry,” I said.

He locked eyes with me—shooting me a look of such instant, violent disdain, that I was taken aback. The man was blond enough to be mistaken for an albino, but his eyes were a luminescent blue. He shoved me out of his way with the back end of his arm—like an old-time villain clearing a table of debris—and pushed past without a word.

“Well, excuse me,” I shouted after him as I regained my footing. Some people were just born rude. I thrust my two dollars into the booth's window and remembered to thank the woman behind the glass as I claimed my ticket.

Last in line, I stood behind a man holding two kids' hands. I tried not to be conspicuous about looking around—looking for Naveen—but I couldn't help myself. What was I doing here but playing a part in someone else's conspiracy fantasy?

I'd gone this far. I'd take my seat on the bright red bench and see what happened.

Just as the ride operator opened the gate for the next set of riders, I felt a soft poke in my back.

“Do not turn around,” he said. “I believe we are being watched. I will not join you on this ride.”

I started to move away, but his fingers grasped the back of my windbreaker, stopping me. In a voice so low that the shuffling man in front of me wouldn't have been able to hear, Naveen said, “You must ride. I will wait. If it is clear, I will join you on the next ride.” He let go and whispered, “Do you understand?”

I nodded, and walked forward, clearing the gate as Naveen took off.

This was getting to be too much.

Faced with the prospect of riding the merry-go-round alone, I made my way toward the miniature bench amid the painted horses. Wouldn't you know, it was already occupied by the red-shorted old folks. Completely annoyed at this point, I made my way to the outer perimeter, and grimaced when a ten-year-old beat me to the bright turquoise serpent. I chose one of the last empty critters, a white horse with a patriotic red, white, and blue saddle.

The ride's shrieking bell sounded the moment we were all in place, and the merry-go-round began its never-ending path to nowhere with me bobbing up and down, feeling more than just a little bit foolish.

I caught sight of Naveen in snippets as the ride turned. He had on sports sunglasses and navy blue running pants. His gray sweatshirt, with cutoff sleeves, revealed very impressive biceps. Looking like every other runner in the area, he wore nonchalance like a second skin. If I hadn't been attuned to his concerns, I wouldn't have given him a second glance.

He pulled his newspaper up, made his way to the bench near the ice cream vendor, sat, and began to read.

There were two round mirrors placed just outside the merry-go-round's fence. Sitting atop tall metal poles, they were placed strategically at about one-third and two-thirds around the perimeter. Their large convex surfaces gave the ride operator a constant view of the entire mechanism.