Drone by Mike Maden Page B

putting too fine a point on it, we can assure you that this administration is committed to refraining from any destabilizing activities in the Caucasus.”
    Britnev turned his gaze toward Myers. “We have your word on this?”
    “You do,” she assured him.
    Strasburg leaned forward. “I trust that your government appreciates the wisdom of the American people for having elected such a thoughtful and logical chief executive?”
    “Indeed we do, Dr. Strasburg.” Britnev turned slightly to face Myers. “Madame President, you have exercised remarkable restraint in regard to the Mexican crisis. I’m not sure I would have been as rational as you had I been in your place.”
    “The biggest problem we face in our country today, Ambassador, is that we’re governed by feelings more than by our minds. I mean to change that.” Myers shifted in her chair. “I want to respect both the laws and borders of other nations, including Mexico. I trust that President Barraza’s government will deliver what justice it can.”
    Myers checked her watch. “Forgive me, but we have another engagement.” She stood up, ending the meeting. Britnev stood as well.
    “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today on such short notice. I will convey to President Titov your assurances regarding the Azeris.”
    Myers extended her hand. “Please convey to President Titov our warmest regards.”
    Britnev took her hand in both of his and lowered his voice. “And please, all formalities aside. If there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to contact me.” Her grip relaxed in his warm, soft hands.
    “Thank you, Mr. Ambassador.” She felt a tingle on the back of her neck and suddenly realized she was grinning a little too broadly for her own liking.
    Myers watched him turn and leave, shutting the door behind him. She turned to Strasburg. “Eddleston was right. He’s quite the charmer.”
    Strasburg shrugged, a thin smile on his face. “Cobras often charm their victims before they strike.”

7
    Washington, D.C.
    Later that afternoon, Senator Gary Diele, the senior senator from Arizona, was huddled together with General Winston Winchell, the current chief of staff of the United States Air Force (USAF). The two silver-haired men were devouring thick porterhouse steaks at Ernie’s, one of the oldest watering holes in the District. Dark lighting, leather booths with thick oaken tables, and discreet waiters had made this place a favorite of the Washington power elite for decades.
    “Her own damn kid. Can you believe it? I’d carpet-bomb Mexico City if they’d done that to my boy,” Winston grumbled as he chewed his steak.
    “The president is vulnerable. She ran on a promise to scale back American foreign intervention. She can’t exactly run across the border with General Pershing in order to chase down Pancho Villa now, can she?” Diele cut himself another bite.
    “Her failure to act makes us vulnerable. It makes us look weak.”
    Diele grunted. “Who cares what the Mexicans think?”
    “I’m talking about the Chinese. Do you remember back during the Clinton administration when a couple of our JDAMs accidentally hit the Chinese embassy in Belgrade? The Chi-Coms went absolutely apeshit. I was visiting the U.S. embassy in Beijing at the time. Tens of thousands of protestors surrounded the compound, throwing rocks and raising aruckus. It looked like the damn Boxer Rebellion all over again. We were all trapped in there for days, including the ambassador.”
    Diele chuckled. “I remember the picture of Jim Sasser’s face peering through the broken door glass. Looked like a scalded cat.”
    “Of course, the Chinese government had organized all of that. They would no more allow a spontaneous riot in the capital than they would authorize a gay pride parade in the Forbidden City. The hell of it is, poor old Clinton kowtowed to the State Department China hands and taped a slobbering apology to the Chinese for allowing our ‘smart