The Marching Season
forward to it."
"I'm certain you are."
Tourists and pedestrians gawked as the carriages moved through the thick midday traffic from Grosvenor Square to Park Lane, around Hyde Park Corner, and down Constitution Hill. They seemed disappointed it was only a group of middle-aged diplomats and not some exciting member of the royal family.
As the carriages drew inside the gates of Buckingham Palace, a small band—the same band that accompanies the changing of the guard—burst into a spirited rendition of "Yankee Doodle Dandy." Douglas stepped from his carriage and was greeted by the Queen's private secretary and the Foreign Office chief of protocol.
They ushered him inside the palace, up the grand staircase, and through a series of gilded rooms that made Winfield House seem like a fixer-upper. Michael and the senior embassy staff followed a few paces behind. Finally, they came to a set of double doors. They waited for a moment until somewhere a secret signal was flashed and the doors drew back.
Queen Elizabeth II stood in the middle of a cavernous room. She wore a dark blue suit with the ever-present handbag dangling from her wrist. The permanent undersecretary at the Foreign Office, Sir Patrick Wright, waited at her side. Douglas walked the length of the room, a little too quickly, and bowed correctly before her. He held out the envelope containing his credentials and recited the prescribed line: "I have the honor, Your Majesty, to present the letter of recall of my predecessor and my letter of credential." Queen Elizabeth took the enve-
The Marching Season 147
lope and casually handed it to Sir Patrick without looking at the contents.
"I'm so pleased President Beckwith had the foresight and good sense to appoint someone of your stature to London at a time like this," the Queen said. "If I may speak bluntly Ambassador Cannon, I don't understand why your presidents usually appoint their political supporters to London rather than professionals like you."
"Well, Your Majesty, I'm not a professional either. I'm a politician at heart. To my knowledge there's only been one professional Foreign Service officer to serve as ambassador in London: Raymond Seitz, who represented President Bush."
"He was a lovely man," the Queen said. "But we look forward to working with you. You're very experienced when it comes to international affairs. If I recall correctly, you were the chairman of that committee in the Senate—oh, Patrick, help me—"
"The Senate Foreign Relations Committee," Sir Patrick put in.
"Yes, I was."
"Well, the situation in Northern Ireland is very tense now, and we need the support of your government if we are going to see this peace process through to its conclusion."
"I look forward to being your partner, Your Majesty."
"As do I," she said.
Douglas could sense the Queen was restless; the conversation had reached its natural conclusion.
"May I present the senior members of my staff, Your Majesty?"
The Queen nodded. The doors opened and ten diplomats strode into the room. Douglas introduced each of them. When he described Wheaton as his political liaison officer, the Queen eyed Douglas dubiously.
148 Daniel Silva
Douglas said, "I'm a widower, Your Majesty. My wife died several years ago. My daughter couldn't be here with me today, but may I introduce you to my son-in-law, Michael Osbourne?"
She nodded, and Michael entered the room. A look of recognition flashed in Queen Elizabeth's eyes. She leaned close to him and said softly, "Aren't you the one who was involved in that business at Heathrow Airport last year?"
Michael nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty, but—"
"You don't have to worry, Mr. Osbourne," the Queen whispered conspiratorially. "You'd be surprised the things they tell me. I assure you I can be trusted with a secret."
Michael smiled. "I'm sure that's true, Your Majesty."
"If the day ever comes that you put this business behind you, I'd like to honor you properly for what you did that day. Your actions saved countless lives. I'm sorry we haven't had a chance to meet until now."
"We have a deal, Your Majesty."
"We do indeed."
Michael stepped back and stood next to the embassy staff. He looked at Wheaton and smiled, but Wheaton grimaced slightly, as though he had just swallowed his cuff link.
They retraced their path through Buckingham Palace. Wheaton appeared at Michael's side and grabbed the back of his elbow. Wheaton was a tennis player; he had a powerful right hand from squeezing a
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