The Visit
Madeleine Howell waited at the gate for her best friend, arch nemesis, political ally, fellow warrior in the struggle for gender superiority, and sister in the most select sorority in the world. “Have all the preparations been made?”
“Yes, Madam Ambassador,” Lynn promptly answered. “The envoy’s office requested to dine at a traditional Nordelean restaurant so we made reservations at The Nordean for dinner.”
“The Nordean,” The Ambassador mused.
“Yes, we were lucky to get in on such short notice,” Lynn continued.
“Did you explain who we are?” The Ambassador was astonished.
“Yes, I did. And when he found out I had to put him on the guest list for Friday night.”
“A restaurateur?” She was dismayed.
“It is THE restaurant in town. Especially for Nordelandean cuisine. And he’s a local celebrity. Think of it as inviting Wolfgang Puck to an event.”
“Oh Wolfgang,” The Ambassador sighed.
“And we have the basket of fresh, seasonal fruit – no citrus - in her room. We couldn’t find any Alaskan glacier water so we bought San Pellegrino.”
“The deprivations we must bear,” The Ambassador empathized.
“Chocolates,” Lynn continued. “Dark, not milk. We were able to find the original fruit flavored Skittles.”
“Skittles? Never heard of them.” Madeleine sounded puzzled.
“It’s candy. They specified it had to be the original fruit flavored. And the hotel put a bottle of Tanqueray in the room.”
“Tanqueray? Bebe doesn’t drink gin.”
“That is for Mr. Michaels. He forwarded instructions for gin and tonic, specifically Tanqueray.”
“Good. Good. We want them to be happy when they leave.”
They stood in silence, gazing out the window, across the tarmac at the airplanes making their slow descent to the runway. Madeleine was concerned… Troubled by the inequities of the world. She had raised more money for the cause yet it was Bebe who received the better appointment. It was Bebe who had been invited to attend a cabinet meeting. It was Bebe who danced at the White House galas. It was Bebe who went to the State dinners. Where was the justice? All because Bebe was sleeping with a Senator.
They watched out the window as the plane moved forward aligning the hatch with the jet way. Soon the double doors opened and the bustle of harried travelers poured out. The throng of business men and women, vacationers, families with small children surged through the waiting area past Madeleine and Lynn. As if choreographed by a benevolent being a brief lull occurred in the flow of humanity, and there to fill the void appeared Bebe Buchanan, tall and stately with her characteristically dour countenance a recipe of pretension: one part annoyance, two parts condescension, a dash of snobbery with pinch of aloofness. A gentle fundraiser’s smile crept across her face when she noticed Madeleine. Moving in dramatic fashion through the thinning crowd she arrived in front of Madeleine with outstretched hands. Madeleine matched her smile with one equally insincere. They clasped hands. Air kisses.
“Welcome to Nordeland,” Madeleine effused.
“Thank you, Madeleine. It is good to see you. And thank you for all you do.”
“And this is my assistant Lynn Nguyen, the back bone of the embassy.”
“Thank you for all you do,” Bebe repeated robotically as they shook hands.
“And that is Bruno,” dismissively motioning towards Bruno who was standing a few feet behind them. “He’ll get the luggage.”
They were soon joined by Anthony as he disembarked along with the bourgeoisie in Business Class. Once again the round of introductions was made. Upon reaching Bruno, Anthony immediately unslung the bag from his shoulder and handed it to him. “Well, are we ready to go?” Anthony was a bit anxious.
“I believe we are still waiting on your staff,” Lynn replied.
The appearance in the hall of the proletariat from Economy Class was marked by the discordant symphony of a multitude of ringtones as WeComs, Blackberries and cell phones were all activated at once. What appeared to be a junior varsity cheerleading squad dressed in denims, Capri slacks, tee shirts and flip flops, as if on vacation, emerged in a gaggle from the tunnel, all cackling incessantly into their phones (to each other) texting, IMing, and e-mailing simultaneously. It was quite surprising when the group stopped near Bebe and the squad captain approached. Putting her phone away momentarily, “Ma’am, we’re all here,” she said to Bebe.
“Well, have Bono gather the luggage and we’ll be on our way,” Bebe directed.
Curbside Bebe requested privacy during the ride into town banishing Anthony from the limousine and relegating him to the cheerleader’s bus. Anthony stood on the curb watching the limo speed away, fuming in silence, as Bruno assisted the JV squad into their vehicle. Closing the trunk on the last piece of hand luggage the car sped away, chasing after the limo. Anthony was dumbfounded. Never before had a man of his prestigious position been so poorly treated. Senior Foreign Service. Left standing at the airport.
“Well Tony, I guess it’s you and me,” Bruno said nonchalantly. “Give me a minute to get the rest of the luggage loaded in the van and I’ll give you a ride into town.”
Speechless, he could only mutter, “Anthony. Doctor Anthony Michaels.”
Rauno Viljanen busied himself making the final preparations for the night’s guests. As the premier restaurateur of Nordeland he had often played host to dignitaries: heads of state, captains of industry, film and theatrical stars, sportsmen, and the simply idle rich. But each patron was special and Rauno treated every one as his personal invited guest.
Having studied at the Sorbonne and Le Cordon Bleu; worked in the finest restaurants in San Francisco, Chicago, New York, Hong Kong and across Europe, he had finally returned to his beloved home in order to establish and promote a style of cuisine in the Nordelandic tradition. And with a reputation spreading across Scandinavia he had been successful.
Like a maestro tuning his orchestra Rauno personally oversaw the details of his customer’s special requests. The rear dining room had been cleared to provide a private table for The Ambassador and envoy. Within sight, but not earshot, a table was provided for the envoy’s staff. A third table, out of the line of sight for the envoy, but with a clear view of the room, was provided for the security personnel. While the dining room staff were busy moving furniture the elite team of chefs were in the kitchen preparing a collection of Rauno’s signature dishes for the envoy’s pleasure.
The arrival was greeted with the fanfare of a red carpet walk. The Ambassador’s personal press team was positioned on either side of the entrance fully documenting for posterity in both video and still photos every occasion of her momentous reign. Rauno, the Sous chef, and maître d' formed a receiving line to welcome their honored guests. There was a slight hint of suspense in the atmosphere. The limousine pulled to the curb. The doorman assisted Bebe out of the back seat as Lynn scurried around the car and deftly intercept Rauno who was approaching with outstretched hands. In hushed tones she rapidly explained that the envoy was tired after her long trip and preferred a quiet dinner – not to be disturbed.
Her attempt to console the disappointed restaurateur was quickly interrupted by the appearance of Liesl, the cheer captain, with a stack of post card sized autographed pictures of the envoy. Shoving one into Rauno’s hand she said “Ms. Buchanan appreciates all that you do.”
Rauno looked skeptically at the picture in his hands; Bebe Buchanan standing majestically on the steps of the US capitol at sunset, blood red sky in the background.
Liesl continued along the reception line, handing out photos and repeating the mantra, “Ms. Buchanan appreciates all that you do.”
Taking Rauno by the arm and walking toward the entrance Lynn continued in her personally unique style; part diplomatic, part coquettish and part condescending bitch, “I am sure you will cooperate and do everything in your power as host to comply with Ms. Buchanan’s wishes.”
Rauno was accustomed to dealing with divas. Their eccentricities were legend. He turned and led his disappointed staff back through the portal into the restaurant.
As blockers on a football field Lynn and Liesl ran interference as Ambassador Howell and Envoy Buchanan followed, enveloped in their sphere of pretension. An unwanted step-child, Anthony followed a few subservient steps behind.
The titans of foreign policy sat alone, sequestered in the private dining room, exchanging gossip regarding the who’s who of Washington elite. Dropping names and regaling one another with highly embellished tales of their diplomatic exploits, all in an effusive attempt to impress.
Dr. Anthony Michaels was relegated to share the kiddy table with the JV squad. He made the best of it by ordering gin and tonics all around.
Rauno approached, hesitantly at first, but after pausing to regain his composure he marched forward, his usual flamboyant self. “Ladies, welcome to The Nordean. I am honored you have chosen my establishment in which to dine this evening. I hope you don’t mind, but in order to commemorate this momentous occasion, two such distinguished representatives of your country dining together with us, I have prepared a selection of my signature dishes for you to sample.” With a flourish of his hand an army of waiters and waitresses emerged from the kitchen, each carrying a large tray bearing multiple appetizer plates containing single servings of his finest creations. With great fanfare the smorgasbord was arrayed around the Ambassadorial table for their consideration. “If you find one to your liking it would be my greatest pleasure to prepare it for you in full.”
Bebe sat in stunned silence. Her facial features grew more pinched in appearance as the disgust welled within her. “I have never been treated with such disdain in my entire life! Imagine the presumption to prepare and serve the food without first even consulting me!” She then rose from the table, threw her napkin in the plate, and marched out of the restaurant.
“Madam….” Rauno tried to speak.
Rising to meet him Madeleine cut in, “I never expected this from a man of your reputation, Rauno!” then turned and followed Bebe out the door.
Anthony had been quietly sipping his G&T trying to tune out the babbling of his table mates when he suddenly found himself abandoned as the JV Squad rushed out in search of their leader. He took his time finishing his drink, enjoying the nectar and the precious solitude. A distraught Rauno approached. “But sir, what did I do?”
Anthony shrugged, dropped enough cash on the table to cover the bar tab and walked nonchalantly out of the restaurant.
The Green Miles
The caravan stretched beyond sight along the rural lane. Far to the front Gretchen and her press assistant patrolled, scouting for targets of opportunity. A quaint village. A scenic wonder. An idyllic pastoral setting. A unique local industry. Any suitable photo opportunity would do. The embassy’s web site was already overflowing with pictures of the envoy and The Ambassador at the World Heritage site of an ancient Nordean village, the envoy and The Ambassador inspecting a herd of Holsteins grazing in the shade of a red barn, the duo listening to a children’s choir while visiting a local school. Each perfect image accompanied by expertly written prose fully documenting the historic journey of these two iconic women of American diplomacy. Gretchen’s mission was to increase the bounty.
Next was the pace car with light bar flashing, large warning placards and a public address system on which to herald their arrival.
Strategically located behind the pace car, close enough to be within the sphere of security but distant enough to avoid the exhaust fumes, pedaled Ambassador Howell and Envoy Buchanan, locked in a race of wills.
The envoy would not be beaten. Her entire life had been a battle and she had defeated all adversaries. This would be no different.
The Ambassador struggled to keep up. Bicycle riding. Normally anything that required her to exert so much effort she would assign to a servant, but she would never be eclipsed by her rival. They would stand side by side in all the photos.
Maintaining their respectful distance from the Grand Marshalls of the parade Anthony Michaels accompanied the JV squad. Perspiring and panting he labored to keep up as the youngsters seemed to coast effortlessly, loudly singing along with the music in their heads or talking on the phone to friends half a world away. Once again Anthony was not pleased. Had he wanted to spend his days chaperoning field trips he would have never quit his first job, teaching high school history.
It had been a diplomatic feat of Herculean proportions. Bruno had served a chief negotiator, shuttling between the opposing parties offering proposals and counter proposals. Roadmaps to consensus. Compromise and conciliation. After many hours of intense bargaining the deal was struck. There would be two recreational vehicles. One for The Ambassador. One for the envoy. They would be identical. Same vehicle make and model. Same size engine. Same floor plan. Same accoutrements. Same colors. Neither diplomat would garner more esteem than the other, or in any way shape or form be diminished, due to the status of their mobile home. According to the Memorandum of Understanding signed by both principles the recreational vehicles would be next in the order of march. Each would be in the lead for a specified period of time with the front position changing at predetermined intervals, thereby ensuring equilibrium of status between the two principles.
Next in line Bruno drove the van just in case one of the mere mortals became in need of a ride, followed by the mechanic in his support truck. Acting as rear guard and overall security coordinator was Raymond Hoffman driven by the Assistant RSO, Nick “Guns” Andammo, so named due to his fascination with anything that goes “BOOM.” With steely eyes behind mirrored lens both men maintained a constant 360o scan of the perimeter looking for any threat.
The odyssey began at the Itäland border crossing; a six hundred kilometer bike tour of Nordeland, traversing the entire breadth of the country, east to west, ending at the water’s edge on the Gulf of Scandinavia. All conducted as a living symbol of America’s commitment to the environment.
*********
Also by E.C. Jacobs
Dive into intrigue and romance. Be transported to exotic Southeast Asia and join Ian McEdwards, a down-on-his-luck American businessman living in Malaysia, as he weathers storms, outwits terrorist, and falls in love, all while looking for clues to the location of a sunken shipload of gold.
Ian works as a freelance international business consultant. That is how he earns a living. But his passion is SCUBA diving and the search for the wreck of the legendary treasure ship Sunchaser. Desperate for business, Ian unknowingly takes a client that is in actuality a money-laundering front for Abu Sayyaf, one of the most virulent terrorist organizations in Southeast Asia. Soon the CIA moves in to investigate and Ian finds himself falling in love with a young, beautiful, covert agent. Caught between terrorists and the Agency, while searching for a fortune in lost gold, Ian is grasping for one LAST CHANCE.
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