Don't Order Dog_ 1(142)
“If you don’t mind waiting in there, the Deputy Secretary should be with you shortly.”
“Thank you,” Alex replied, glancing around apprehensively. The woman gave him a thin practiced smile as she turned and disappeared down the hallway.
Alex stepped into the waiting room and absently noted the antique furnishings and a large, expensive-looking oil painting of old ships battling at sea. The other walls were covered with the décor de rigor of Washington – pictures of powerful people shaking hands with other powerful people. He was just starting to sit down when a door adjoining the room opened and a slight, thin-frame woman with short gray hair and a severe expression appeared.
“Agent Murstead?” Deputy Secretary Rose McCarthy asked curtly.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Let’s talk,” McCarthy replied as she turned and walked back into her office.
“Happy holidays, Deputy Secretary,” Alex said warmly as he followed her into the large office. The Deputy Secretary silently pointed him to the chair opposite her desk as she settled back into her own chair. She stared across the desk at him with a serious, calculating look.
“I wish that were true, agent.”
“I’m sorry to hear that it isn’t, ma’am,” Alex replied as he sat down across from her. His fear that this unscheduled and highly urgent meeting with the Deputy Secretary wasn’t going to be pleasant seemed to be coming true. Even more alarming was the fact that Alex didn’t know what he was here to discuss. He decided to tread lightly until the Deputy Secretary explained herself.
“How may I be of service to you?” he asked earnestly.
The Deputy Secretary seemed to consider his question for a moment as her dark, intelligent eyes studied his face. “Do you know anything about the history of the Deputy Secretary’s role at the State Department, Agent Murstead?” she asked with a cold, smug tone.
“No ma’am, I’m afraid I do not,” Alex replied. “Please, call me Alex.”
“The position, Agent Murstead, didn’t exist until the Nixon administration. Before then, most daily matters of the State Department were handled by the Under Secretary. But by the early 1970’s the rest of the world had started to grow up. And as most parents will tell you, the path to any child’s adulthood is usually marked by a long and troubled adolescence. Our government suddenly found itself embroiled in the growing complexities of international affairs – the Cold War, Vietnam, the stirrings of unrest in the Middle East. Places most American’s couldn’t even find on a map were suddenly demanding ever more attention and persuasion. So our government did what all governments do best. We created yet another layer of bureaucracy to deal with it. And with that,” McCarthy suddenly snapped her finger. “The role of Deputy Secretary of State was born.”
She paused and gave him a cynical smile.
“Of course, in this town, those of us who sit behind desks with mid-level titles on them know damn well that any new layer of bureaucracy isn’t created to solve problems. It’s created to provide a political scapegoat for the top brass when the shit hits the fan.” McCarthy leaned forward and narrowed her dark eyes on Alex. “And let me just tell you, Agent Murstead – a lot of shit hits the fan around here.”
“I imagine it does, Deputy Secretary.”
“Twenty-four months. That’s the average tenure of anyone who’s ever sat in this chair. Certainly some have been here longer when matters of diplomacy were relatively easy, just as some have been here less when matters of diplomacy required something… well, something less than diplomatic. Do I make myself clear, Agent Murstead?”
“By all means, Deputy Secretary,” Alex replied.
“Good. Then you understand I have no intention of allowing poorly handled affairs by our country’s security agencies to jeopardize my stay in this chair.”
“Yes ma’am.”
The Deputy Secretary gave Alex a cold stare. “We have a situation in China,” she said flatly, putting on a pair of reading glasses. She opened a thick file emblazoned with the State Department seal. The word ‘Classified’ was stamped across the front in bold red letters. “Our Beijing Embassy was provided this information late last night.” McCarthy pulled out the first page from the file and began reading.
“Yesterday morning at approximately 8am local time, local authorities were notified of gunfire at a workers dormitory in the city of Dongying’s industrial district. When authorities arrived at the scene, they found an armed and incoherent US military sergeant by the name of Andrew Kearney standing over the bodies of two men. One of the bodies is believed to be that of a Chinese scientist named Chung Zhu, who had been reported missing a few days prior. His body indicates evidence of brutal torture, including several gunshots to the chest which, while not confirmed, Chinese authorities believe match our military officer’s handgun.”