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THE TAN, WELL-KEPT man was shown into the oak-paneled office of the chairman of the Democratic National Committee. The rotund and jovial Russ Piper stood from behind his desk and walked over to greet his wealthy visitor. Extending his hand, Piper said, “Prince Kalib, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Rafique Aziz extended his hand with the proper amount of aloofness and took Piper’s hand in a light grip.
“How was your flight?” asked Piper.
Aziz looked around the room, gazing at the framed photos hanging on the paneled walls. “Fine.” Aziz planned to keep conversation to a minimum. The real Prince Kalib was a recluse, and the characteristic fit his needs perfectly.
“I understand you’re en route to the Mayo Clinic to visit your father.”
“That is correct.” Aziz nodded.
“How is the sultan doing?”
“He is fine.” Aziz extracted a gold cigarette case from his jacket pocket. “The doctors at the Mayo Clinic are the best in the world.” Aziz lit the cigarette with a matching gold lighter, exhaled a cloud of smoke, and walked over to the window.
Piper watched his guest light up with his mouth slightly agape, words of admonishment ready to spill forth. The chairman almost informed his royal guest that smoking was not allowed in the building, but after a brief moment he thought better of it. Piper ran his hand down his tie and checked to make sure it was straight. “Yes, we’ve treated many of our own presidents there,” added Piper, getting back to the conversation.
Aziz continued to look out the window at the large rotunda of the Capitol. Then turning slowly, he said, “I assume you had no difficulty in arranging our meeting?”
“No difficulty whatsoever,” Piper said proudly. “The president and I are very close.”
“Good.” While holding his cigarette with one hand, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a long blue check. “As per your instructions, I had this written to your party through one of my American corporations.”
Piper grabbed the check with both hands and looked at the allimportant box on the right side. The chairman of the Democratic National Committee smiled at the large number. “This is greatly appreciated, Your Highness.”
Aziz nodded benevolently.
“I can promise you that I will do everything within my power to help your country obtain the proper defensive weapons that you seek.”
“Kingdom,” corrected Aziz.
“Yes, kingdom.” Piper nervously rubbed his hands together. “My apologies.” Looking at his watch, he said, “Well, we should probably get going. I have a limousine waiting downstairs to take us to the White House. We don’t want to be late to see the president.”
“No, we don’t.” Aziz grinned. “I’ve been looking forward to this day for a long time.”
The White House
PRESIDENT HAYES SAT behind his desk in the Oval Office. His suit coat was draped over the back of his high-backed leather chair, and in front of him was a photocopy of his daily schedule. The schedule was typed, but his nine A.M. meeting had been crossed out and his chief of staff had written something in the margin. The president squinted at the handwriting and tried to make out the small cursive letters. Hayes picked up the paper and decided it wasn’t his eyes that needed help; it was his chief of staff ’s handwriting.
Without knocking, Valerie Jones entered the Oval Office through the main hallway. She had a stack of folders under her left arm and a leather day-timer in her right hand. “Good morning, Robert.” Jones continued across the room and set the folders on the left side of the president’s desk.
Hayes held up the schedule for her to see. “What’s this you wrote here in the margin?”
Without having to look, Jones said, “Last-minute change. Prince Kalib from Oman is on his way through town to see his father at the Mayo Clinic.”
Hayes tapped his capped Waterman pen against his cheek while frowning. “And?”
“And . . .” Jones put her hands on her hips and smiled. “You don’t want to know. Just take my word for it. It’ll be a worthwhile meeting.”
President Hayes nodded slowly. Leaning back in his chair, he studied Jones’s outfit for a split second. She was wearing a yellow silk blouse that was almost dark enough to pass for gold. Hayes thought the bright blouse combined with the black skirt and scarf made her look like a bumblebee. Having a wife and two grown daughters of his own, he was smart enough to keep this opinion to himself. “What else do you have for me?”
“The First Lady left Andrews about fifteen minutes ago and will be on the ground in Columbus just before ten. Which reminds me . . .” Jones stepped to her left and placed both hands on the surface of the desk. “I still think you should go to Columbus. You can fly out tomorrow afternoon and make the party with no trouble at all.” The president’s fifth grandchild and his namesake, Robert Xavier Hayes, was celebrating his first birthday tomorrow.
Hayes shook his head. “I’m going to see little Robert in two weeks, and I’ll celebrate his birthday then.”
“I think you should go tomorrow,” persisted the chief of staff.
“I’m not going. It costs a lot of money to fly everybody over there just for the evening.”
