His aide comes up to him and (confidentially) repeats what has already been agreed upon and mentally rehearsed: “Mr President, we are flying over Germany. In a couple of hours we’ll be landing in Poland and then changing for the train. Within hours we arrive in Kiev, where you will have talks with President Zelensky.”
They are on board Air Force One. Below, Europe: a gathering of nations that his country may always rely on, a gathering of countries whose governments habitually swear allegiance to him and his predecessors and his successors. Sometimes they strain at the leash they are held on, but then they are quickly brought to toe the line.
“In Kiev?” the President expresses his doubts out loud though he has long given his consent to the whole plan. It may be he doesn’t remember.
”No need to worry,” reassures him one of his aides. “The Russians have been notified of your visit to Ukraine’s capital. The skies will be as clear as on day one after the Creation. President Zelensky will wear his usual khaki costume to show that he is a tough soldier and shares the hard life of the citizens he represents. That’s something we’ve all been accustomed to..”
The President has some vague recollections. Who was it who said he would not don ordinary clothes till the war was won? He cannot recall, but he feels somehow ill at ease.
“Do the Poles know that rather than in Warsaw I will first arrive in Kiev?” he asks.
“The Poles?” His aide is puzzled. Why the heck should they know in advance? They are not to be reckoned with. “No, Mr President,” the aide answers. “They will be informed in the last moment. The fewer people know, the better.”
Still, the Russians have been notified. Isn’t it weird! thinks the President.
“Will the Poles not take offence?” the President voices his doubts.
His aide cannot help smiling. Offence? The Poles? At Americans?
“No, Mr President. They owe us too much. We guarantee their sovereignty and security, as you know. They want more troops from us, more military lethal equipment. How could they take offence?”
True, how could they? thinks that president and peeks through the oval window.
“One more thing, Mr President,” he hears his aide. “Remember, while in Kiev,” the aide stops in mid-sentence, obviously searching for appropriate words, “we will hear an air-raid siren.”
The President suddenly remembers. Yes, that’s what they have agreed upon!
“Is that necessary?” he asks. Continue reading