Spymaster

CHAPTER 10

The “consultations chamber” was a smaller, less opulent meeting room than the one most people saw on television. It had a narrow, U-shaped table in the center and glass windows running down the walls, behind which headset-wearing interpreters sat and carried out their duties.

The fifteen-member Security Council was having a heated discussion about the drafting of a joint statement. A series of mass graves had recently been discovered in Syria. Russia wanted to go easy on the response. U.S. Ambassador Rebecca Strum, a tall, tough, brunette in her late forties wasn’t having any of it.

“The United States will not agree to soften the language,” she said in reply to the Russian request. “Absolutely not.”

The Russian envoy put on his most charming smile. “Surely words matter to the United States.”

“Truth matters to the United States.”

“Perhaps,” offered the French Ambassador, “we can change some of the words without changing the spirit of the statement. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like more game playing to me,” Strum answered. “The Syrian regime must be held to account. Along with men, those graves were filled with women and children. The United States intends to paint this atrocity in the most vivid terms possible. The world must know.”

The Chinese envoy threw up his hands. “We will be here all day. Let us finish this statement and get on with our other business already.”

She looked at him and quipped, “It is so unusual to see the Chinese Ambassador agreeing with the Russian Ambassador, especially when it comes to Syria.”

The diplomat bristled at the remark, but let it slide. He had tangled with Strum before and it hadn’t gone well. She was like a bear in a pit. If you climbed in with her, you might make it back out, but not without suffering tremendous damage.

He had fulfilled his promise to his colleague. He had said his piece. It was up to the Russian envoy to convince the Americans to change the language.

Still smiling, the Russian tried once more. “We don’t yet know, with complete certitude, who was responsible for these deaths. This is all the more reason for us to carefully craft our response.”

Strum was about to respond when one of her aides stepped up behind her and whispered something in her ear. Gathering her things, she stood.

“Where are you going?” the Russian Ambassador asked.

The U.S. Ambassador motioned for her deputy to take her seat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please excuse me. I will be back as soon as I can. Thank you.”

Turning, Strum headed for the door and exited the consultations chamber alone.

Down the hall was a café known as the UN Delegates Lounge. Here, United Nations diplomats and staff could meet and chat casually over coffee. The Americans, French, and British had nicknamed it the Russian Café for the “secret” bottle of vodka kept under the bar. Throughout the day, members of the Russian delegation would pop in, speakeasy style, to fill nondescript containers with the spirit before rejoining the current meeting or proceeding to their next.

Off to the side, she saw the people she was looking for. Seated at the table were the Ambassadors for Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia. All three stood as she approached.

“Thank you. Please sit,” said Strum as she joined them. “I have bad news. And none of you are going to like it.”

Across the room was Russia’s Deputy Permanent Representative to the UN for Political Affairs. He was within sight, but out of earshot. As he sat sipping his morning “coffee,” he couldn’t help but notice the meeting.

Strum was doing most of the talking, but it was obvious that her tablemates were not happy. In fact, the Baltic Ambassadors looked deeply concerned. One was so angry that after jabbing his finger at her, he stood and stormed out of the lounge.

Something was afoot and he took careful mental notes. Any strife between NATO members was always of interest to Moscow. NATO was the only enemy Russia worked as hard to undermine as it did the United States.

He waited for the meeting to end and once it did, returned to his office and began typing up his notes. His superiors were going to have a very interesting report to send to Moscow.