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‘Sending aid to North Korea – food and fuel – because he thinks the economic crisis is the real problem.’
‘Okay, practical if undramatic.’
‘It won’t do any harm, at least.’
‘What else are you doing?’
‘I don’t think this will have immediate repercussions for the US, but as a precaution I’m raising the alert level to DEFCON 4.’
‘It’s all very low key.’
‘That’s how I want it.’
‘When would you like to talk to the media?’
She looked at her watch. ‘Is ten o’clock too soon? I want to be out in front on this.’
‘Ten it is.’
‘Okay.’
‘Thank you, Madam President.’
***
Pauline enjoyed press conferences. By and large, the White House correspondents were intelligent men and women who understood that politics was rarely simple. They asked her challenging questions and she tried to give them honest answers. She enjoyed the cut and thrust of debate when it was genuinely about the issues, and not just posturing.
She had seen historic photos of past press conferences, when the correspondents were all men in suits with white shirts and ties. Now the group included women, and the dress code was more relaxed, with the TV crews in sweatshirts and trainers.
Pauline had been nervous at her very first press conference, twenty years ago. She had been a Chicago city alderman. Chicago was a Democrat city, and Republican aldermen were almost unknown, so she had run as an independent. Because of her record as a champion gymnast she had become an advocate for better athletic facilities, and that was what her first press conference had been about. Her nervousness had not lasted long. As soon as she got into discussion with the journalists she relaxed, and before long she had made them laugh. After that she was never nervous again.
Today’s event went according to plan. Sandip had told the correspondents that Pauline would not answer questions about her daughter, and that if anyone asked such a question the press conference would immediately come to an end. Pauline half expected that someone would break the rule, but no one did.
She talked about her conversation with Chen, she told them about DEFCON 4, and she finished with the words she wanted them to take home: ‘America is ready for anything.’
She answered questions from the senior correspondents and then, with just a minute or two left, she called on Ricardo Alvarez from the hostileNew York Mail.
He said: ‘Earlier today James Moore was asked about the crisis in North Korea and he said that in these circumstances America needs to be led by a man. What do you say to that, Madam President?’
There was a chuckle around the room, though Pauline noticed that the women were not laughing.
The question did not surprise her. Sandip had told her about Moore’s misogynist remark. She had said it was a blunder that would deprive Moore of many women’s support, and Sandip had said: ‘My mother thinks he’s right.’ Not all women were feminists.
Anyway, she did not want to get into a discussion with the press corps about whether a woman could be a war leader. That would allow Moore to define the terms of the argument. She needed to bring it back to her own territory.
She thought for a long moment. An idea came to her, but it was a little off the wall. However, she decided to go with it. She leaned forward and spoke in a more informal voice. ‘Have you folks noticed,’ she said, ‘that James Moore never does this?’ With a broad sweep of her hand she indicated the correspondents massed in the room. ‘Here I have the networks and the cable channels, the broadsheets and the toxic tabloids, the liberal and the conservative media.’
She paused and pointed at the questioner. ‘Right now I’m responding to a question from Ricky, whose paper has never had a good word to say about me. What a contrast with Mr Moore! Do you know when he last gave an in-depth interview on network television? The answer is never. He has never facilitated a profile of himself in theWall Street Journalor theNew York Timesor any of the mainstream newspapers, to the best of my knowledge. He takes questions only from his friends and supporters. Ask yourself why that is.’
She paused again. She had thought of a zinger to finish with. Did she want to be aggressive? Yes, she decided. She resumed before anyone could interrupt. ‘I’ll tell you what I think. James Moore is scared. He’s frightened that he won’t be able to defend his policies against a serious interrogator. And that brings me right back to your question, Ricky.’ Here comes the zinger, she thought. ‘When the chips are down, do you want America to be led by Timid Jim?’
She paused again, briefly, then said: ‘Thank you, everyone.’ And she left the room.
***
Pauline had dinner with Gerry and Pippa in the Residence that Sunday evening, looking out at the street lights of Washington, while people in Beijing and Pyongyang were getting up in the dark on a winter Monday morning.
The Residence cook had made curried beef, Pippa’s new favourite dish. Pauline ate the rice and the salad. Food did not excite her, nor did booze. Whatever was put in front of her, she would eat or drink a little.
