The Sins of the Fathers

Chapter Three

The White House

Washington DC

"Madame Delacorte...you mistake my intentions?" President Fletcher sighed, giving up on his rusty French and returning to his own language. He knew full well that Claudine spoke perfect English, but she pretended not to, when it suited her, and he was tired of playing her game. The Secretary-General of the United Nations was tiptoeing around everyone, except the British, who she was studiously ignoring as only the French could do. "We are talking about genocide here...one billion people dead because Symonds wanted to cleanse the world and help his friends seize power...it is not something you can disregard?"

"I am not disregarding it...my people are investigating your claims...once we have some sort of preliminary report, the council will sit and we will decide how to proceed...if we have to proceed?" Delacorte insisted, sitting stiff on the white leather sofa, knees clamped tightly together and her handbag on her lap. She was not happy and not looking to stay for long from the look of her. "If we do have to discuss it, we will be dealing with a nightmare!"

"I never thought that you...of all people...would want to protect the British?"

"I do not...I will not...but you must also be pragmatic, Mr President?" She suggested with a shake of her rigidly coiffured head, dressed from head to toe in Chanel, he guessed from the look of her suit, although he was no expert on fashion either. "One way or the other, this is going to cause more trouble than it is worth...and all because of your feud with Andrew Symonds? One of you is going to end up in a court one fine day...and it could still be you Mr President!"

"Bring it on, Madame...any trial involving me will be held in public and my defence will give the headline writers a month of Sundays...we have been hiding the truth about the cult of Christian Reform for far too long...I'll happily confess all, believe me?" Fletcher insisted passionately, leaning forwards to deliver his ultimate threat with great emphasis on the words believe me.

"You have as many reasons to keep this process out of the public domain as anyone...and I sympathise with you on that score," Delacorte sighed dramatically, and relaxed a little, her handbag now by her side. "By arranging the rescue of Miss Hamilton and Lady Forbes, you kicked a hornet's nest..."

"I facilitated their escape...I played no part in their rescue."

"You put them on Air Force One, Mr President...that was highly provocative?"

"Sebastian Osborne asked for my help to expose a human-trafficking ring that was abusing young women and then hiding the evidence by throwing them in the convents, Madame...and all you care about is how they got out of Britain?" Fletcher snapped, struggling to control his temper. "I am not getting regular updates...and of course, no one knows about this in Britain because their media is not free...but a number of high-profile abusers have disappeared from public life...which was Bishop Osborne's objective. My price for helping him was the return of an American citizen who was wrongly incarcerated thirty years ago...and Lady Forbes, as she will be a key witness in your investigation into genocide...or in my defence, if it comes to that...I think the American people will consider that a pretty good excuse for kicking any hornet's nests?"

"Of course, we must investigate these allegations...but discretely, Mr President...and you must realise that the inevitable discussions that will follow receipt of our investigators report will take time?" Delacorte said, suddenly trying to sound reasonable as he backed her into a corner. Secrets were dangerous for those who most wanted to keep them, he thought as he sat back and stared her down. No one outside of the Rosen Foundation knew what evidence they had against Andrew Symonds. Not exactly. But everyone knew what the worldwide media would do if the allegations were made public.