Read Online Two Peasants and a President by Frederick Aldrich - Free Book Online

was there proof; he was holding it, and his hands were already starting to burn. 

13
     
     
     
     
    A chrome metal desk and chairs sit in front of sand-blasted red bricks, part of what used to be a warehouse wall.  The office is bright and airy, mostly due to large w indows and high ceilings.  The man sitting behind the desk seems unremarkable, like so many other businessmen.  He is neither charismatic nor does he proj ect an air of self-importance.  His once blond hair is now thinning and gray.
    In the street below, art galleries and trendy restaurants have replaced loading docks and panel trucks.  On a typical evening, the streets here are packed with those who can afford a pricey meal or a painting for their apartment walls, but tonight blue helmeted police officers are roping off the front of this building and several others.  There are no vehicles parked in front of any of the eateries or night clubs on this block.  Their owners know that it is because of the man on the third floor.  They are not happy to be losing an evening of business, but none would complain to him, for he has friends, important friends. 
    A plainclothes police office speaks into his radio, then makes an a n nouncement to the other officers around him.   They look up as a caravan of jet black vehicles rounds the corner, large SUV’s with dark windows escorting a heavy black limo.  Like cruisers guarding an aircraft carrier, they surround the limo protectively, alert for the unexpected.  Slowly the procession comes to a stop in front of the building where the man waits. 
    Minutes later , the president sits across from an old friend in whom he has placed considerable trust.  On many occasions, the president’s career has rested in the hands of this unassuming man.  He is both an operative and a strategist.  He understands and deftly wields the power of the Boston p o litical machine and has used it to put the man who sits before him in the White House.   He intends to keep him there.
    “Feels great to be back, Stuart,” said the president.  “I always feel hemmed in when I’m in Washington. It’s like in a zoo, only the animals are looking in and I’m looking out.”
    “I know the feeling, Mr. President.  It’s part of the reason I never wanted to work in Washington .  This is where I belong.  In Washingt on , I’d always be an outsider; I don’t think I’d ever feel at home there.  How did the fund raiser go?”
    T he president looked over at the Secret Service agent who was standing by the door.  His look told the agent to wait outside, which he did.  When the door was closed he turned back to Shumer .
    “Office swept like always, Stuart?”
    “Yes sir, once a month and anytime you’re coming to town.  They’re supposed to be the best.  What’s up?”
    “The fundraiser was O.K.  Y ou know how it goes.  You feed th em beefsteak and bullshit and they take our their checkbooks.  Like church, only there you get the bullshit without the beefsteak.  Stuart, I got a couple of things I need to bounce off you.”
    “Shoot.”
    “This thing in the Philippines is picking up steam.  Manila’s screaming at China in the UN.  As you know, China thinks they own the whole damn South China Sea and their hints aren’t subtle anymore.”
    “Did they sink the Filipino ship?”  Mr. President. 
    “Yes and no,” the President replied.  “Their frigate no, their subm a rine, yes.”
    “Damn !” said Shumer . “What in the hell were they thinking?”
    “Benedict thinks they wanted to make a big statement but with den i ability.”
    “Deniability?” asked Shumer incredulously.
    “Yes, actually,” replied the president.  “The Chinese frigate fired two shots over the Filipino’s bow.”
    “What about the sub?”
    “The sub sank it with a torpedo, but aside from you, me and a few others, no one else knows she was there.  You see the Chinese claim that they can prove that their warning shots