Roscoe, in the hope that he would see, which seemed to be a distinct possibility, in the lines of now stress-free customers being led in handcuffs to the police prisoner transport vehicles, one or more distinguished members of Congress, had gotten out of his car for a better look.
Surprising him, he hadn’t seen any congressmen, but he had recognized someone who had been at the Peruvian embassy party. He recognized him because he was about seven feet tall and weighed probably 350 pounds, and wore a zebra-striped robe and an alligator-tooth necklace.
He saw, too, that the Burundian ambassador had recognized him.
He hadn’t written anything about the incident for a number of reasons. For one thing, diplomats being hauled off by the cops from establishments like the K Street Stress Relief Center was hardly news. For another, the ambassador had a name that could be pronounced and spelled only by fellow Burundians.
Roscoe had not been surprised to see the ambassador’s photo in the society section of the next day’s edition of the Washington Times-Post. He was pictured with his wife, who was even larger and more formidable-appearing than he. That explained why he had sought stress relief.
But he was surprised when that same afternoon a messenger delivered a burlap bag containing twenty-five pounds of Burundian coffee beans and a note from the ambassador, in which the ambassador expressed his profound gratitude for Roscoe’s discretion when they had met the previous evening. Roscoe correctly interpreted that to mean the ambassador was grateful his picture had appeared in the society section only.
The ambassador’s note had gone on to say that if there was any way, any way at all, that he could be of service to Roscoe, all Roscoe had to do was ask.
Under these circumstances, Roscoe decided, the ambassador would be happy to conceal him for a few days, a week, however long it took until the situation was resolved. And he doubted very much that the President would look for him in the Burundian embassy.
Roscoe’s good feelings lasted until he came out of Immigration into the Arriving Passengers area of the airport.
“Welcome to our nation’s capital, Roscoe,” David W. Yung greeted him. “Let me help you with your bag.”
“You look a little green around the gills, Roscoe, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Edgar Delchamps said. “Would you like to stop at the Old Ebbitt Grill for a Bloody Mary, or would you prefer to go directly to the White House?”
[SIX]
The Reception Area
The Grand Cozumel Beach & Golf Resort
Cozumel, Mexico
1020 21 June 2007
“Words cannot express my chagrin and remorse, Miss Bogdanovich,” the general manager of the Grand Cozumel said.
“There’s some sort of problem?”
“Indeed there is,” he said. “I’m afraid there is no room at this inn.”
“Why not?”
“The owner’s cousin is to be married here. The entire establishment will be required to accommodate the guests.”
“But you told me I would always be welcome here.”
“And you always will be, except, of course, when the owner’s cousin is to be married, which unfortunately changes things.”
“But what am I to do? I was so looking forward to a huge bowl of your marvelous borscht whilst looking down from a penthouse at the white sands of the beach.”
“Let me tell you what we’re going to do. I can only hope it meets your approval.”
“It better.”
“Not far down the beach is a splendid establishment—not as splendid as this, of course, but splendid—the Royal Aztec Table Tennis and Golf Resort and Casino. The manager is a personal friend of mine. When I saw your reservation, I explained this unfortunate happenstance to him, and he has arranged an exquisite penthouse suite for you overlooking the white sands of the beach.”
“A penthouse suite seems nice, but what about the borscht?”
“As we speak, Miss Bogdanovich, two of our chefs are in the kitchen of the Royal Aztec preparing borscht—as only they can—for you.”
“That’s all very nice, but what about security? I don’t want any of my fans, and certainly no paparazzi, butting into my personal life while I’m resting to recover from an unfortunate incident in Las Vegas that I’d rather not talk about.”