Chapter 39: Secret Flight to Dinner

"Mr. President, the Swiss Ambassador is calling. Are you free to accept his call, Sir?"

"Of course, Mrs. Tompkins. Please put him through, and if possible, will you see that I'm not disturbed? Thank you."

Acting President Aaron Bronstein motioned for his ever-present Secret Service minder to leave him alone in the Oval Office while he answered the telephone.

"Jacques, what a pleasure! It was only last week that we enjoyed a lovely evening together! How may I help the Swiss today, my friend?"

"You are too kind, Mr. President. Eveline and I were most honored to share dinner with you and Rebecca in your lovely country home. And that brings another question, sir. Would you be free for a visit this evening, at your home? At a time convenient for yourself? I could not help but observe that you are a student of fine objects, and I've come across something that may be a most interesting addition to your collection. Would it be possible to bring it with me for your appraisal?"

"Of course, my friend, of course! Say, 7 o'clock? Please, bring your lovely Eveline. Rebecca so much enjoys her company; she'd be quite disappointed not to visit with her again."

"Excellent! 7 o'clock it is. Until then, my friend, be well."

Aaron pressed the intercom button: "Mrs. Tompkins, I'll be spending this evening at home, leaving the White House at 6 o'clock. Would you inform my detail, please?"

"Of course, Sir. You have no appointments this evening, so your schedule is clear."

Of course my schedule is clear, Aaron thought to himself. I'm a virtual pariah here in the White House. The stench and debris of that foul Stinson administration permeates the very halls of this building. There's not a single person here I can trust! I don't even have a Chief of Staff since Barnes disappeared along with Stinson. I can't get the Party machine to release control so I can form my own staff. There's no precedent for any of this! I'm filling in for a ghost, and I have to work with the remnants of his administration! They've even decided to let Mrs. Stinson continue to occupy the residential quarters until the Supreme Court can make a decision, the Party leaders say! It's a deliberate snub to Rebecca and myself, to remind me that I'm not long for this place, despite the Vice Presidential succession.

"Mrs. Tompkins, call my detail now, please. I might as well leave early for home. There seems to be little for me here at the moment."

"Are you sure, Mr. President? Senator Lockhart left a message that he and Senator Woodbridge intended to meet with you later today."

Lockhart, the corrupt heart of the Texas delegation, and Woodbridge, the Arizona racist ... just the pair to give me heartburn and nightmares! No, they want to put more grease on the skids to get me out of here. I know Lockhart intends to install his own man. I'm not ready for them yet. I'd better slip-slide away one more time, until I can get my position firmed up, if that's even possible!

"No, Mrs. Tompkins. I won't be available for the remainder of the day. If Senator Lockhart calls back, give him my regrets and tell him I'll see him later in the week. And Mrs. Tompkins? I'm not taking any personal calls until tomorrow morning, so please just take a message. Thank you."

Aaron grabbed his coat and briefcase and waved at his security minders to head for the exit and the waiting Presidential limousine. He grimaced to himself. He was one of those Presidents who very much resented losing the privilege of driving himself in his own car. It was absolutely forbidden. For as long as he and Rebecca were denied residence in the White House, every day back and forth from their country home entailed a ridiculous motorcade of sirens and flashing lights, of motorcycles and armored Suburbans and being chauffeured in the Presidential "Beast," the armored limo they forced him to use.

I'm the President, but I'm not, really; I'm just the 'Acting' President. How much longer can this absurd never-never game of political illusion go on? Until the Party manages to kick my Jewish ass out of the Oval Office, I suppose, he thought as he walked briskly to the waiting "beast" and the hard-faced Secret Service protective detail waiting there.

Aaron Bronstein arrived home to find his lovely Rebecca, his wife of 38 years, waiting with a smile and a chilled glass of sparkling cider, an upstate New York beverage they'd both become very fond of.

"You're early! I saw the parade turning into the lane, so I assumed you'd need this to wash the foul taste of DC politics from your palate," she grinned, holding out the tall glass.

"You have no idea!" he snorted, giving her a one-armed hug, kissing her on the cheek, while dropping his briefcase and reaching for the glass.

"Try me!" she retorted. "I can smell the stench of that place from here."

"Well, this evening should make up for it. Did Jacques or Eveline call?"

"Oh, yes. I'm so delighted, Aaron. Of the few perks that come with this insane situation you've been dropped into, having close access to the Swiss Ambassador is certainly one. Such a delightful man. And Eveline! It's like we've been friends forever."

"So we're all set for dinner?"

"Well, that's a bit odd. Eveline said we were not to fuss with dinner; that there would be other arrangements. I insisted that they not bring anything in its place, and she said, 'We're not. Other arrangements have been made for dinner, but you'll have to be patient. It's a surprise.' So, what could that possibly mean? We certainly can't all go out for dinner? It's monstrously absurd, trekking about in a garish parade of lights and sirens!"

"I cannot possibly imagine! Well, Jacques and Eveline are certainly creative and capable, so we'll just have to wait and see. As for going anywhere public, no. That's simply not possible. Can you imagine, all the pundits and predators in this town screeching that the United States and Switzerland went to dinner! What was Bronstein's secret agenda?

"Stop it, Aaron. You'll have me choking in my glass!" Rebecca gasped.

The Swiss Embassy limousine arrived promptly at 7 o'clock. Ambassador Jacques Levant was also forbidden from driving himself, and he was immensely grateful for that: he despised Washington beltway traffic.

"Eveline! Jacques! What a delight to see you again," Aaron and Rebecca greeted their friends at the door. Aaron had earlier insisted that their Secret Service detail move outside to their guard shelters along the property perimeter. He absolutely refused to yield the privacy of their own home, despite the loud protests of the detail supervisor.

"Jacques! You said you were bringing an interesting object, but you said nothing about another surprise. What is this arrangement for our meal together?"

Jacques Levant held his finger to his lips, making sure he had the attention of both Aaron and Rebecca. He made a very deliberate show of looking all around the ceiling border. He held his hand to his ear, then again his finger to his lips and swung his head from side to side, gesturing no as if eavesdroppers were present. Aaron and Rebecca froze, silent and startled.

"You've not yet shown us your back deck and barbecue grill, Aaron. It is such a lovely evening, could we see them?" Jacques asked.

"Why, uh, of course, my friend. Let's all step out back and see if we are free of our pesky little friends, the mosquitoes. Our landscape service recently installed some devices that are supposed to be a miracle deterrent. Let's go see if they work!"

They moved to the rear corner of the patio where a corner bench nestled among thick evergreen shrubs sheltered them from breezes and curious eyes.

"Speak softly," Jacques admonished his hosts. "I'm going to speak of things that should not be overheard--"

"Jacques!" Aaron hissed. "In our own home? Someone can monitor our words in our own home? Are you implying there are listening devices?"

"I have no need to imply, my friend. I've taken the liberty of calling in a few favors from good friends, to safeguard your interests. I fear that you have powerful enemies and they have abused their position. My friends tell me that yes, your home has been invaded with listening devices. We should be safe here on the back edge of the patio, so long as we speak softly."

"Unbelievable!" Aaron spat in a low hiss. Rebecca sat silently, pale and uneasy. "What can I do about this, this invasion of our home? This is outrageous!"

"Aaron, Rebecca, you have far more resources on your side than you can imagine. More importantly, more resources than your enemies can possibly match! You'll learn more, later. But now I must ask you a question: do you know what a pinnace is?"

Aaron loved sailing. From his earliest childhood days after he'd moved to the US with his parents from Paris, France, he'd joined a sailing club. He knew much about small boats. In sailing ship tradition, a pinnace was the Captain's personal boat carried aboard a sailing ship. The tradition carried through to modern navies. The US Navy carried Captain's "gigs" and Admiral's "barges."

"Yes, of course. What an odd question, Jacques?"

"Move slowly and step with me to the edge of this hedge. Look over there about 30 feet at the lawn, there beside your utility shed. Look closely at the grass, but stay quiet. Don't gesture or say anything loud to attract attention. What do you see there, on the grass?"

Jacques and Rebecca frowned as they tried to see something there. Finally Aaron saw what Jacques was trying to show him.

"Depressions! I see four circles, one there ... and there, and another there!"

"Don't point!" Jacques reminded, softly. "Yes, you'll notice that the circles are depressed several inches into the lawn. They're spaced in a rectangle about nine feet wide, and 35 feet long. That's where the landing pads of the pinnace are resting. Madame Rebecca, President Aaron, a pinnace awaits our pleasure. We're all going to my home in Geneva, for dinner!"

"Astounding!" Aaron exclaimed to his friend. Eveline giggled a most unlady-like laugh while Rebecca looked around the interior of the strange craft with wide-eyed wonder. It was fitted out like an executive jet aircraft, but this was no jet. It was a bullet-sleek, down-sized personal edition of the Masi'shen shuttles. One pilot flew the craft, while a co-pilot assisted and doubled as an attendant for the passengers when required. For this particular occasion, Berl'ahan was first pilot, and Michael Hawthorne took great pleasure in welcoming their guests.

"We do try to avoid tweaking the noses of your security services, Mr. President. But in this instance, since they could not possibly have detected our presence, they'll never know we were here so I guess they cannot claim they were intruded upon, can they?" Michael grinned.

President Bronstein felt awkwardly foolish. It was too much, too strange, and totally outside any possible frame of reference. He clamped down hard on his personal feelings of discomfort. He'd take this one small step at a time. First, how is Rebecca reacting. He glanced over at his wife.

"Eveline, you knew about this?" Rebecca chirped. "How simply marvelous! I've ... Why! This is just like the inside of the Cessna Citation that the World Health Organization chartered for us when we flew to Hawaii for the Pacific Rim Health Services conference!"

"Oh!" she asked, looking across to Michael. "Won't we be getting there awfully late for dinner? It's several thousands of miles, at least, and here it is after 7 already. That's east coast time, and it gets later going east, of course. Are we having a midnight dinner, Mr. Hawthorne," Rebecca asked.

"Oddly enough, it's a little later than that, ma'am," Michael laughed. "But time is relative, as Dr. Einstein famously said. In our case, we'll jump ahead six hours going to Geneva. This flight will take about 45 minutes, and we left your home at 7:15 p.m. EDT. We'll land in Geneva at 8:00 p.m. EDT, but adding six hours makes it 2 a.m. Geneva time. Allow another hour or so for arrival and introductions, and we should be sitting down to eat at 3 a.m. Geneva time. Now, most of us are old hands at jumping time zones and even adjusting for space time, so eating dinner at three hours after midnight is no big thing. Besides, you'll still be on your own time going back, so I estimate you'll return home a bit after midnight, Virginia daylight time. Why, your Secret Service detail won't have missed you at all!

"Lovely! What an exciting evening this will be, with all that time-zone jumping thrown in for good fun. But... 45 minutes! How is that possible, Mr. Hawthorne?

"This pinnace, the Dart, travels at a sub-orbital speed of 18,000 kilometers per hour, at high cruise. Allowing for ascent and descent, and slowing for landing approach, it works out to about 6,600 kilometers in 45 minutes. For comparison, the Dart cruises a bit on the slower side of ballistic missile reentry speed," Michael explained.

"Oh!" Rebecca exclaimed. Then a small smile crept over her face. "It rather beats the old supersonic Concorde, doesn't it?"

Yes, I should have known better, Aaron thought. Rebecca, the Implacable. My wife, impossible to rattle. She takes all of this in stride and never blinks once!

"Mr. Hawthorne, I've not yet had the pleasure of an introduction, but I did receive that most profound message from the Masi'shen Ambassador. I understand that you are his son-in-law, if that's an appropriate term?"

"Mr. President, it's my honor. Yes, Jon'a-ren is the father of my beloved mate, Dee'rah. He and my mother-in-law, Lyn'na-ra, will greet us when we arrive in Geneva. Everyone is gathered at Ambassador Levant and Madame Eveline's home. We'll have a casual get-acquainted dinner and I'll try very hard to answer all of your questions while we talk.

"I understand that you are a sailing man. I've never had the opportunity to take up sailing myself, but maybe I can introduce you to a different type of passage-making. Have you heard anything of our ships or shuttles, or our technology, Sir?" Michael briefed President Bronstein on the Masi'shen ship technology and capabilities, including cloaking and shielding that made the pinnace invisible to detection. He also took the opportunity to give President Bronstein two small personal devices.

"This device looks like an upscale personal tablet," he explained. "If anyone were to examine it, they'd see an advanced version of Android with all the usual bells and whistles. But it's far more than that. There is a silver circle on the back. I'll hand this to you, and you will press your right thumb-pad flat against the circle and hold it there. At the same time, say softly but distinctly, Bronstein Initialize. Got that, sir? Say clearly, Bronstein Initialize and continue to press your thumb in place until the unit answers, Initialized. Identity lock Bronstein."

Michael handed the tablet to Aaron, who did as instructed. The unit answered and a new icon of an Earth globe appeared on the main screen.

Michael held out another device, this one a thumb-sized clip-on object with an accompanying sonic disc, a tiny flat wafer.

"This is a personal communicator, sir. The ear disc stores in a snap-open compartment on the bottom of this clip-on transceiver. It's like a cell phone, but not really. It has no buttons or display. Everything is voice command. We've taken the liberty of pre-programming it with our Masi'shen Embassy contact list. It links to our overhead monitor spheres, into our relay network and back down to any of our Earth facilities, including the Embassy. It uses our modulation and encryption systems so its impossible for any Earth entity to intercept or decrypt it. Sir, we're giving you these personal communicators to reach us anytime the need arises.

"For instance, put the ear wafer behind your ear. It will stick in place and once there it matches your skin color. No one can see it, not even if they look and feel right on top of it. I'd suggest you leave it in place long-term. There's no harmful effect, and it's handiest left there so you can receive unexpected, urgent messages. If you need to remove it, just put your finger over it and say the command, "Release" three times. It will come loose and cling to your finger. And don't worry, it's impossible to come loose in the shower!