events. The first one takes place this Saturday in College Park, that’s about an hour’s drive from here. Congressman Hutchings was pressuring the President to attend. But you must already be aware of this.”
Wynn resisted the urge to turn and glare at Carter. “Is the President going?”
“Unfortunately he has meetings scheduled at Camp David. The Treasury secretary is also involved. The President thought you might make a natural replacement.”
The young man spoke up. “You’re no doubt aware of the Easter Conference. The Jubilee 2000 assembly in Cairo has been one of Hutchings’ pet projects for over a year.”
“He’s deluged the entire city with papers on this subject,” the woman agreed.
Wynn said slowly, “Cairo.”
The woman registered surprise. “You weren’t aware of this?”
Carter pointed out, “This is the congressman’s first day on the job.”
“It’s no big deal, Congressman,” the young man said. “If you refuse, it won’t cause an international crisis.”
“As far as this administration is concerned, the debt-relief issue is dead in the water,” the woman agreed. “Something we never could get Hutchings to understand.”
“Obviously the President wouldn’t expect someone fresh on the Washington scene to drop everything and fly off to the ends of the world,” the young man added. “Especially for a non-starter like debt relief. We were told to sound you out. Nothing more.”
“The College Park Conference is equally back burner,” the woman agreed. “According to our read on the situation, attendance will be limited to the sort who don’t matter.”
“We’re doubtful it will even get a mention in the national papers.”
“Anything the press considers below the event horizon definitely is not going to raise this administration’s flags.”
Wynn rose to his feet. “This has been most enlightening.”
The young man said, “So we can tell the President you won’t be attending?”
“College Park sounds fine.” If for no other reason than to do the opposite of what this snide pair expected. He headed for the door, not caring whether Carter was with him or not. “Cairo is definitely out.”
Wynn passed through the dismal lobby and rejoined the tourist hordes, just another Washington suit. When Carter caught up Wynn demanded, “Exactly when were you planning on telling me about all this?”
His chief aide shot back, “You made a big mistake back there. And it cost us.”
“Would it be too much trouble to put me in the loop here?”
“Big mistake.” Carter stopped on a relatively quiet stretch of sidewalk and glared at his new boss. He was unattractive in a distinctly Florida cracker manner—piggy eyes, curly reddish hair going patchily bald, sizable gut. Utterly un-Washington in appearance, wearing a rumpled blue blazer, button-down Oxford shirt, stained tie, pressed chinos. “You missed out on a chance to score by asking for something in return.”
“That’s what was behind this, they wanted to size me up?” The slow burn intensified. “I’ll do better next time.”
Carter snorted and turned away. “That was your one and only. You’ve now been dismissed as somebody who’ll be gone before you matter.”
“I’m not through here,” Wynn said, his voice sharp enough to command Carter’s full attention. “What’s going on with this Jubilee Amendment?”
“What difference does it make? You’re just a caretaker, right?”
“I want to know.”
“Don’t bother. It’s totally over your head.” Carter’s sneer finally surfaced. “Eighteen months of embassy parties and scoring with the power groupies, and you’re extinct.”
Wynn watched in amazement as the man walked away, dismissing his own boss as he would a bad smell. Unbelievable. Wynn no longer cared whether the party chairman had an ulterior motive for wanting Carter Styles gone. The man was definitely history.
But before Wynn could call him back a second time, his
Wynn resisted the urge to turn and glare at Carter. “Is the President going?”
“Unfortunately he has meetings scheduled at Camp David. The Treasury secretary is also involved. The President thought you might make a natural replacement.”
The young man spoke up. “You’re no doubt aware of the Easter Conference. The Jubilee 2000 assembly in Cairo has been one of Hutchings’ pet projects for over a year.”
“He’s deluged the entire city with papers on this subject,” the woman agreed.
Wynn said slowly, “Cairo.”
The woman registered surprise. “You weren’t aware of this?”
Carter pointed out, “This is the congressman’s first day on the job.”
“It’s no big deal, Congressman,” the young man said. “If you refuse, it won’t cause an international crisis.”
“As far as this administration is concerned, the debt-relief issue is dead in the water,” the woman agreed. “Something we never could get Hutchings to understand.”
“Obviously the President wouldn’t expect someone fresh on the Washington scene to drop everything and fly off to the ends of the world,” the young man added. “Especially for a non-starter like debt relief. We were told to sound you out. Nothing more.”
“The College Park Conference is equally back burner,” the woman agreed. “According to our read on the situation, attendance will be limited to the sort who don’t matter.”
“We’re doubtful it will even get a mention in the national papers.”
“Anything the press considers below the event horizon definitely is not going to raise this administration’s flags.”
Wynn rose to his feet. “This has been most enlightening.”
The young man said, “So we can tell the President you won’t be attending?”
“College Park sounds fine.” If for no other reason than to do the opposite of what this snide pair expected. He headed for the door, not caring whether Carter was with him or not. “Cairo is definitely out.”
Wynn passed through the dismal lobby and rejoined the tourist hordes, just another Washington suit. When Carter caught up Wynn demanded, “Exactly when were you planning on telling me about all this?”
His chief aide shot back, “You made a big mistake back there. And it cost us.”
“Would it be too much trouble to put me in the loop here?”
“Big mistake.” Carter stopped on a relatively quiet stretch of sidewalk and glared at his new boss. He was unattractive in a distinctly Florida cracker manner—piggy eyes, curly reddish hair going patchily bald, sizable gut. Utterly un-Washington in appearance, wearing a rumpled blue blazer, button-down Oxford shirt, stained tie, pressed chinos. “You missed out on a chance to score by asking for something in return.”
“That’s what was behind this, they wanted to size me up?” The slow burn intensified. “I’ll do better next time.”
Carter snorted and turned away. “That was your one and only. You’ve now been dismissed as somebody who’ll be gone before you matter.”
“I’m not through here,” Wynn said, his voice sharp enough to command Carter’s full attention. “What’s going on with this Jubilee Amendment?”
“What difference does it make? You’re just a caretaker, right?”
“I want to know.”
“Don’t bother. It’s totally over your head.” Carter’s sneer finally surfaced. “Eighteen months of embassy parties and scoring with the power groupies, and you’re extinct.”
Wynn watched in amazement as the man walked away, dismissing his own boss as he would a bad smell. Unbelievable. Wynn no longer cared whether the party chairman had an ulterior motive for wanting Carter Styles gone. The man was definitely history.
But before Wynn could call him back a second time, his
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