Dixon said. She was fifty-six trying to look thirty-six and nearly pulling it off. Pilates five times a week, Botox three times a year, a strict Paleo diet, and the best hair colorist in the District went a long way, but good genetics didn’t hurt. She was a striking woman, but it was her razor-sharp mind and not her head-turning figure that got her where she was today.
Well, mostly.
“If you think I’m cute when I’m angry, then I must be damned beautiful right now, Deborah. A fucking Adonis. I thought we had a deal.” Arnie’s bald scalp pinked with anger.
“Well, you thought wrong. We had a lengthy discussion and I considered your words carefully. The subcommittee examined the matter from all points, including expert testimony both for and against. You know, Arnie, I do have a job to do. I’m a sitting U.S. senator, not a GOP apparatchik. I’m supposed to ‘advise and consent,’ not just roll over and wag my tail whenever the Ryan administration whistles.”
“Cute speech, Deborah. You write it yourself?”
“Let’s cut the shit, Arnie. What do you want?”
“To begin with, I want a public apology. You embarrassed the hell out of the President—he’s already scheduled for a meeting with the Polish president in Warsaw next month to break ground on the base.”
“First of all, I’m not apologizing for living up to my sworn constitutional responsibilities, and second, don’t blame me because you already ordered your golden shovels for Fort Ryan.”
“Damn it, Deborah, that’s not fair and you know it. No one’s asking you to shirk your duties. But if you had concerns, you should have brought them to us, privately, and we could have worked something out. But you know that and you didn’t say a thing. What the hell happened?”
“Nothing ‘happened,’ Arnie, other than I performed due diligence.”
“And what did your ‘due diligence’ uncover that we hadn’t already discussed ad nauseam?”
“C’mon, Arnie. We’re adults here. Let’s get real. This is rah-rah bullshit. A giant photo op. This treaty sends exactly the wrong message at the wrong time to the Russians. It’s time to deescalate, especially with a new Russian president. Give him a chance to settle in. Putting a forward base on his perimeter forces him to respond. Otherwise, the Kremlin hardliners will have his head, literally if not figuratively.”
“Si vis pacem, para bellum,” Arnie said, leaning in. “If you want peace, prepare for war.”
“Si vis pacem, para pacem,” she countered. “We should try diplomacy for a change, instead of provocation.”
“We’re not the aggressors here. We aren’t the ones who put troops over the borders in Ukraine and Lithuania.” Arnie was referring to the recent Russian incursions, pushed back or at least halted by a force of mostly American arms. “But you know that. What’s this really all about?”
“I think I’ve made myself perfectly clear. This bilateral treaty—which is already pissing off our most important NATO allies, Germany and France—isn’t going to do anything but provoke another war with the Russians. We keep encroaching on their periphery, despite our promises to the contrary.”
“The Russians are just making excuses—”
“No, Arnie. Think about it from their perspective. The Russians agreed to allow Germany to reunify, but only after a NATO promise not to expand eastward. What happened? Germany unified—Russia’s worst strategic fear, at least on the Continent—and NATO expanded eastward anyway.”
“That was before President Ryan’s time.”
“But he still stands by it. It’s not like he’s pulling back our NATO commitments in the East. Croatia? Albania? For chrissakes, Arnie, Montenegro? You think we need Montenegro for strategic defense in depth? Don’t bother to answer that. We both know the answer. So do the Russians. You’re one of the President’s whiz kids. Tell me, what would you do if you were the Russians and the shoe were on the other foot?”
“I sure as hell wouldn’t be invading my neighbors.”
“Really? If Cuba suddenly got nuclear weapons? Or the Russians staged Bear bombers on bases in Canada? You’d advise the President to be patient? To not see any of that as a threat?”
“But we’re not the Russians!”
“Russians.” Dixon shook her head in a pitying gesture. “What is it with you neocons and Russia? It’s a glorified gas station with nukes that they’ll never use. A third-rate power, at best.”
“Tell me, Deborah. What’s the color of the sky in your world? Because in mine, it’s blue, and in my world, the Russians are an aggressive and dangerous nuclear power that won’t stop expanding unless someone stops them. The Germans sure as hell aren’t