The Eleventh Commandment

‘I have no idea, sir. But if I did, I’d probably sign up with Braithwaite’s team and help him escape.’

‘Why can’t we have someone like that as Director of the CIA?’

‘We might have had, if Jackson had lived.’

Lawrence turned to look out of the window. Something had been nagging at him ever since he had left the stadium, but when the motorcycle escort drove through the gates of the Russian Embassy he was still no nearer to dragging it up from the recesses of his mind.

‘What’s he looking so angry about?’ said Lawrence, spotting Zerimski pacing up and down outside the Embassy.

Lloyd glanced at his watch. ‘You’re seventeen minutes late, sir.’

‘That’s hardly a big deal, after what we’ve been through. Frankly, the damn man’s lucky to be alive.’

‘I don’t think that’s something you can use as an excuse, sir.’

The motorcade drew up at the feet of the Russian President. Lawrence stepped out of the car and said, ‘Hi, Victor. Sorry we’re a couple of minutes late.’

Zerimski made no attempt to hide his displeasure. After a cool handshake, he led his guest of honour silently into the Embassy and up the steps to the packed reception in the Green Room without uttering a word. Then he made a perfunctory excuse and dumped the President of the United States on the Egyptian Ambassador.

Lawrence’s eyes circled the room as the Ambassador tried to interest him in an exhibition of Egyptian artefacts that had recently opened at the Smithsonian.

‘Yes, I’ve been trying to find a gap in my schedule to see it,’ said the President, on autopilot. ‘Everybody who’s been tells me it’s quite magnificent.’ The Egyptian Ambassador beamed, as Lawrence spotted the man he was looking for. It took him three Ambassadors, two wives and the political correspondent of Pravda before he managed to reach Harry Nourse without causing undue suspicion.

‘Good evening, Mr President,’ said the Attorney-General. ‘You must have been pleased with the result of the game this afternoon.’

‘Sure was, Harry,’ said Lawrence expansively. ‘Always said the Packers could whip the Redskins any time, any place.’ He lowered his voice: ‘I want to see you in my office at midnight tonight. I need your advice on a legal matter.’

‘Of course, sir,’ said the Attorney-General quietly.

‘Rita,’ said the President, turning to his right, ‘it was such fun being with you this afternoon.’

Mrs Cooke returned the smile as a gong sounded in the background and a butler announced that dinner was about to be served. The chatter subsided, and the guests made their way into the ballroom.

Lawrence had been placed between Mrs Pietrovski, the Ambassador’s wife, and Yuri Olgivic, the newly appointed head of the Russian Trade Delegation. The President soon discovered that Olgivic didn’t speak a word of English - another of Zerimski’s subtle hints about his attitude to opening up trade between the two nations.

‘You must have been pleased with the result of the game this afternoon,’ said the Russian Ambassador’s wife, as a bowl of borscht was placed in front of the President.

‘Sure was,’ said Lawrence. ‘But I don’t think most of the crowd was with me on that one, Olga.’

Mrs Pietrovski laughed.

‘Were you able to follow what was going on?’ asked Lawrence, picking up his soup spoon.

‘Not really,’ she replied. ‘But I was fortunate enough to be placed next to a Mr Pug Washer, who didn’t seem to mind answering the most simple questions I asked him.’

The President dropped his spoon before he’d taken a sip. He looked across the room at Andy Lloyd, and placed a clenched fist under his chin - the sign he always used when he needed to speak to his Chief of Staff urgently.

Lloyd murmured a few words to the woman on his right, then folded his napkin, placed it on the table and walked over to the President’s side.

‘I need to see Braithwaite immediately,’ Lawrence whispered. ‘I think I know how to find Fitzgerald.’

Lloyd slipped out of the room without saying a word as the President’s soup bowl was whisked away.

Lawrence tried to concentrate on what the Russian Ambassador’s wife was saying, but he couldn’t get Fitzgerald out of his mind. Something about how much she would miss the States once her husband had retired.

‘And when will that be?’ asked the President, not at all interested in her reply.

‘In about eighteen months,’ Mrs Pietrovski replied, as a plate of cold beef was placed in front of the President. He continued the conversation as first one waiter served him some vegetables, and a moment later another brought some potatoes. He picked up his knife and fork just as Lloyd walked back into the room. He was at the President’s side a moment later.