The Eleventh Commandment

‘Braithwaite’s waiting for you in the back of “Stagecoach”.’

‘I hope there isn’t a problem,’ said Mrs Pietrovski as Lawrence began folding his napkin.

‘Nothing important, Olga,’ Lawrence assured her. ‘They just can’t find my speech. But don’t worry, I know exactly where it is.’ He rose from his place, and Zerimski followed his every step as he left the room.

Lawrence walked out of the ballroom, down the wooden staircase and through the front door of the Embassy before jogging down the steps and climbing into the back of the sixth car.

Lloyd and the driver stood by the limousine as a dozen Secret Service agents surrounded it, scanning in every direction.

‘Bill, if Fitzgerald is still in the stadium, there’s one man who’ll know where he is. Find Pug Washer, and my bet is you’ll find Fitzgerald.’

A few moments later the President opened the car door.

‘OK, Andy,’ he said, ‘let’s get back before they discover what we’re up to.’

‘What are we up to?’ asked Lloyd as he chased the President up the stairs.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Lawrence, striding into the ballroom.

‘But sir,’ said Lloyd, ‘you’ll still need …’

‘Not now,’ said Lawrence, as he took his seat next to the Ambassador’s wife and smiled apologetically.

‘Did you manage to find it?’ she asked.

‘Find what?’

‘Your speech,’ said Mrs Pietrovski, as Lloyd placed a file on the table between them.

‘Of course,’ said Lawrence, tapping the file. ‘By the way, Olga, how’s that daughter of yours? Natasha, isn’t it? Is she still studying

Fra Angelico in Florence?’ He picked up his knife and fork.

The President glanced in Zerimski’s direction as the waiters reappeared to remove the plates. He put his knife and fork back down, settling for a stale bread roll with a pat of butter and finding out what Natasha Pietrovski had been up to during her junior year in Florence. He couldn’t help noticing that the Russian President appeared nervous, almost on edge, as the time drew nearer for him to make his speech. He immediately assumed that Zerimski was about to deliver another unexpected bombshell. The thought put him off his raspberry souffle .

When Zerimski eventually rose to address his guests, even his most ardent admirers would have been hard pressed to describe his efforts as anything other than pedestrian. Some of those who watched him particularly closely wondered why he appeared to be directing so many of his remarks to the massive statue of Lenin in the gallery above the ballroom. Lawrence thought it must have been put there recently, as he didn’t remember seeing it at Boris’s farewell dinner.

He kept waiting for Zerimski to reinforce his message to Congress the previous day, but he said nothing controversial. To Lawrence’s relief he stuck to the bland script that had been sent to the White House that afternoon. He glanced down at his own speech, which he should have gone over with Andy in the car. His Chief of Staff had scribbled a few suggestions in the margins, but there wasn’t a witty phrase or memorable paragraph from page one to page seven. But then, Andy had also had a busy day.

‘Let me end by thanking the American people for the generous hospitality and warm welcome I have experienced everywhere I have been during my visit to your great country, in particular from your President, Tom Lawrence.’

The applause that greeted this statement was so loud and prolonged that Lawrence looked up from his notes. Zerimski was once again standing motionless, staring up at the statue of Lenin. He waited until the applause had ended before he sat down. He didn’t look at all pleased, which surprised Lawrence, as in his opinion the speech’s reception had been far more generous than it deserved.

Lawrence rose to reply. His speech was received with courteous interest, but hardly with enthusiasm. He concluded with the words, ‘Let us hope, Victor, that this will be the first of many visits you make to the United States. On behalf of all your guests, I wish you a safe flight home tomorrow.’ Lawrence reflected that two lies in one sentence were a bit much, even for a politician, and wished he had had time to read the line before delivering it. He sat down to respectful applause, but it was nothing compared with the ovation Zerimski had received for an equally banal offering.

Once the coffee had been served, Zerimski rose from his place and walked over to the double doors at the far side of the room. He soon began saying ‘Goodnight,’ in a voice that carried across the room, making it abundantly clear that he wanted his guests off the premises as quickly as possible.

A few minutes after ten had struck on several clocks around the Embassy, Lawrence rose and began moving slowly in the direction of his host. But, like Caesar in the Capitol, he found he was continually stopped by different citizens wanting to touch the hem of the emperor’s clothes. When he eventually reached the door, Zerimski gave him a curt nod before accompanying him down the stairs to the first floor. As Zerimski didn’t speak, Lawrence took a long look at the Nzizvestni statue of Christ on the Cross that was still in its place on the first landing. Now that Lenin was back, he was surprised that Jesus had survived. At the foot of the stone steps he turned to wave to his host, but Zerimski had already disappeared back inside the Embassy. If he had taken the trouble to accompany Lawrence beyond the front door, he would have seen the SAIC waiting for him as he climbed into the back of his limousine.

Braithwaite didn’t speak until the door had been closed.

‘You were right, sir,’ he said as they passed through the Embassy gates.

The first person Zerimski saw as he walked back into the Embassy was the Ambassador. His Excellency smiled hopefully.

‘Is Romanov still in the building?’ Zerimski bellowed, unable to hide his anger for a moment longer.

‘Yes, Mr President,’ the Ambassador said, chasing after his leader. ‘He’s been …’