Chapter 11

Preah Vihear Temple was located at the northernmost edge of Cambodia, close to Thailand. It was over an hour-long helicopter flight from where Air Force One was parked at Phnom Penh International. They could have parked much closer, Siem Reap airport by Angkor Wat was within thirty minutes flight. The shorter runway would limit the take-off weight of the plane, but that could be compensated for with partial fueling. However, Peter had deemed it more politically appropriate for them to land in the capital city.

There he’d had lunch with both the King and the Prime Minister as well as key members of the Cambodian Parliament. Then, with their U.N. Ambassador and Deputy Prime Minister aboard, they had flown north on Marine One.

This trip was vastly different from the flight to Geneviève’s, this was a full-on Marine Corps operation. Two VH-60N White Hawks, heavily armored versions of the Sikorsky Black Hawks, were the main flight. They jostled about, exchanging places in a shell game until no one except the pilots and their passengers knew which craft was which.

The Royal Cambodian Air Force provided a pair of their Aero L-39 Albatross ground attack jets to fly escort, and flight controllers had cleared a corridor twenty kilometers wide. Frank’s briefing had selected this site, from the several Geneviève had suggested, as being the lowest-risk and most defensible for a Presidential visit. It had also been Geneviève’s preferred location for cultural and political reasons.

“So, Ms. Beauchamp,” Peter thought it best to keep it formal in front of the other officials, though any idiot would be able to see they were hopelessly crazy about each other. “Could you bring us up to speed on this site and UNESCO’s involvement in it?”

Peter sat as he usually did in the White Hawk, in the sole, forward-facing armchair. Directly across from him, the Cambodian Deputy Prime Minister sat in the other armchair facing the back of the helicopter. The small couch running along the other side of the cabin included the Cambodian Ambassador to the U.N., the U.S. Assistant Representative to ASEAN, and Geneviève, as the Southeast Asia Chief of Unit for UNESCO World Heritage Convention.

He had to keep reminding himself of that. She was so close, her knees practically brushing the side of his seat. She wore a skirt that came to just her knees. It was snug, but elegant. So easy to rest his hand on her knee, which would be unfair to her position of status among the others.

Frank sat in his typical spot, in the jump seat directly behind Peter’s armchair. This helicopter, unlike Emily’s SOAR craft, was well enough sound insulated for them to talk without headsets.

“Well,” Geneviève leaned forward, exposing the line of her neck.

Peter considered slapping himself, but knew it wouldn’t help. There hadn’t been a moment for them to discuss how she could possibly continue her career and be with the President of the United States. But it didn’t matter. That she wanted to was all the answer that mattered at the moment. They had agreed not to tell anyone, neither staff nor family, until this trip was over. That would be only three more days. By then they should have figured out what to say to everyone.

“The temple is over a thousand years old, a masterpiece of the Khmer Empire, as is Angkor Wat, their capital city.” She spoke easily, her voice engaging. “It is perched on a narrow promontory of the Dângrêk Mountains. This has caused both Cambodia and Thailand severe problems over the last century. The escarpment that separates the mountains from the Cambodian plains over five hundred meters below, was to be the line of the border. More correctly, the line of the watershed was to be the border. There were maps drawn in 1907, placing the temple and one of the approaches to it in Cambodia and another approach in Thailand. But the watershed line, had it been followed, would have placed all of the approaches in Thailand and only the temple itself in Cambodia. In 1962 the International Court of Justice became involved and ruled that because Thailand had not protested the border as drawn for almost sixty years, the 1907 map was valid and would stand.”

Deputy Prime Minister Pok made an emphatic nod.

Peter had to force himself to remain focused on his guests. Geneviève had warned him that they would be entering a murky and emotional area when they discussed the border. But a fresh coup in two different African countries had cost him most of last night between the dinner with Geneviève’s family and this flight. He’d crashed into his cabin for only two hours, pleased to see Geneviève asleep on one of the twin beds when he did so. She hadn’t woken when he kissed her on the forehead, and she’d been awake and gone by the time he crawled back into his office.

“Yes,” Pok insisted, nodding again as if it would make his statement more real. “It is the property of the Kingdom of Cambodia, just as is Angkor Wat. The Khmer Empire became Cambodia and it is rightfully ours.”

The Cambodian Ambassador to the U.N., Moul, or was he Muy, looked apologetic. He thought it was Moul, but Peter would just have to be careful not to say his name until someone else did.

“I would not contradict the esteemed Minister Pok.” Meaning the man had his facts totally wrong. “Suffice to say, the temple is on Cambodian soil, despite being atop the escarpment. Despite numerous international mandates and agreements, the Thai government places border stations and police barricades on these roads. They often close the road that is our only access to a piece of our own country. At other times, we have free passage.”

“Yes,” Geneviève stepped in before Pok, who was clearly getting ready to build a righteous national-pride argument, could begin. “Preah Vihear, a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 2008, represents both significant cultural pride as well as substantial tourist dollars. And the argument over this balance is beyond the purview of today’s discussions, Mr. President.” But she addressed the last to Pok, clearly a reminder of exactly who was important in today’s visit.

“UNESCO is attempting to work with both governments to set up a free economic zone that is shared by both countries. The International Court has required both Thailand and Cambodia to withdraw their troops from the area. The two governments agree only that they can’t withdraw unless the other does so first.”

“It is Cambodian land, why should we move first?” Pok felt that completed his argument.

“We’re flying into the heart of a military stand-off?” Peter glanced back at Frank not giving a damn if the officials heard. Better if they did, it would emphasize that the President of America felt they needed to get their act together.

Frank’s deep voice carried forward easily. “Last shots were fired in February 2011. Forces remain in the area, but there have been no more hostilities since that time. Both Cambodian and Thai commanders have assured us that we will have a peaceful visit. They each separately stated that it was to our advantage to have so much military security in such an unusually remote locale.”

“It is further suggested,” Geneviève picked up without missing a beat “By the UNESCO Director, ASEAN Director, and concurred with by the U.S. State Department, that a site visit will demonstrate international commitment to a peaceful solution.”

It was almost as if she and Frank had rehearsed the handoff from security to veiled threat of U.S. and U.N. military involvement. Peter glanced at Geneviève’s carefully neutral expression. He’d learned to read that face over these last weeks. Yes, she had clearly planned that last speech which had Minister Pok squirming in his seat. He had to remember not to mess with her.

“We’re approaching the site. We have been cleared to land at the end of the temple grounds, as the most readily securable location,” the Marine Corps pilot announced.

Peter looked out the window. He tapped the intercom. “Could you circle once please?”

The pilot swung wide, keeping Peter’s window toward the view. The flat plains of Cambodia which had climbed just a few hundred feet in the three hundred miles from the coast were chopped off by the Dângrêk Mountain escarpment. The Preah Vihear Temple itself was perched on a narrow promontory that reached half a mile into the plains compared with the rest of the rise.

“How—” He cut himself off before he could continue. It made no sense. The temple was atop the escarpment, the rest of which was Thailand. How this little piece had been snipped off and given to Cambodia must have a background story. But it would be very impolitic of him to call the Cambodian claim illogical, especially sitting with the country’s Deputy Prime Minister and U.N. Ambassador.

But Geneviève had read his question anyway. “The original agreed border was the watershed. If it drained north, it was Thai. The temple grounds drain south. Then a line was drawn on a map a hundred years ago by people who had never been here and much of the north-draining land, including the crucial access road, were given to Cambodia. Now, it is a part of the area’s history. Would you, Mr. President, be willing to give up Point Roberts?”

“Point Roberts?”

“In your Washington State. It is a tiny piece of British Columbia land that sticks into the middle of the Straits of Georgia. This piece of Canadian peninsula is technically United States soil because a line of the forty-ninth parallel was drawn as a border between your country and Canada in 1846. Would you be willing to give that up?”

“You make your point, Chief of Unit Beauchamp.” How carefully had she prepared for this meeting? What was just a one-hour stop-and-admire visit for him had been intense preparation by how many skilled people?

Together they turned back to the window. The temple was a long line of exotic stone buildings stretching half a mile along the crest of the promontory. “They really do look as if they belong to the land.”

“Yes, sir, you have a good eye. This is not only an exceptional sample of Khmer Empire architecture, blending to both the stone and the site. It is also a very pure site, culturally. Due to its remote location, it was abandoned for hundreds of years after the fall of the Khmer Empire in the 1400s, preserving the design from future depredation. It has suffered more in the last fifty years than in the five hundred before that.”

“What happened fifty years ago?” The helicopter circled over the Thai jungle, and he could see what he assumed were Thai Army vehicles stationed along the highway. A dug-in camp lurked farther back in the trees. A glance back revealed that Frank Adams was also observing them very closely.

“The Khmer Rouge, Mr. President.” Pok and Moul both looked grim at even the mention of the name of that brutal piece of their country’s history. Two million or more had died on the Killing Fields of Pol Pat, a quarter of Cambodia’s population. Only Vietnam had stood against him, for which they had been internationally reviled. It was moments like this that made his heart hurt. How could he work to help improve a planet which was capable of such events?

# # #

Genny stayed close by the President as they toured the temple. The helicopters had gone back aloft to provide additional protection. A line of Secret Service agents had secured the entry. Other than a half dozen agents, the two Cambodians, and the dozen news people who had been authorized to join them after an arduous land journey of several hours duration, they were alone.

“You are beautiful. You belong in such places.” The President’s whisper was barely enough to reach her ears though they stood but a pace apart. Frank was next closest, and appeared to be listening to his radio.

“You are ‘deeply enamored’ and therefore also deeply biased. It is this place that is so beautiful, Mr. President. It is a sad horror, the things that occur here. This was the last place of resistance against the Khmer Rouge, the last holdout before Pol Pot destroyed this country. It was also the last place the Khmer Rouge held, when Vietnam finally defeated them.”

“Well, it is very defensible.”

“It is also very steep. It is where in 1979 the Thai government drove forty thousand Cambodian refugees from the Khmer Rouge off the cliff to ‘send them home.’ Ten thousand died on the descent, or in the mine fields below. This is not a happy place, Mr. President. But it is an important one.”

She led him to Gropura IV. “There is no building like this one left in the world. It is unique, and now it has been damaged by the gunfire between Cambodia and Thailand.”

They stood side-by-side in the knee-high grass and looked up at the temple before them. The gray base rose person-tall in broad horizontal layers of curved and lined stone. It stretched ten meters wide and over fifty long. The roof was long gone, but square columns a meter through reached several stories into the air, holding an equally massive lintel of stone as easily now as it had for a thousand years. At either end of the gropura stood a massive crown of carved stone another half-dozen meters tall.

“That such a thing, older than Angkor Wat, should still be standing is a miracle.”

“What does it mean?” Peter took her hand.

“You shouldn’t do that, Mr. President, we are being watched.” But he kept his hand in hers. He had decided they were a couple, and apparently no longer cared what anyone thought. Did she? Not enough to withdraw her hand.

“What does it mean?” he kept his voice even.

She looked around. Pok and Moul were enthralled to have such access to American news services and were making the most of it back at the Second Gropura. Only Frank and Beatrice were close to them. Several other Secret Service agents were ranged between them and the rest of their party.

“Preah Vihear was a temple built to Shiva, the Hindu God of Transformation, of Beginnings and Endings. It was a place of worship and meditation. We have also identified those two buildings,” she pointed back the structures to either side of Gropura III, “as libraries. This was also a place of learning.”

“Transformation, you say?”

“Yes.” Once again she attempted to recover her hand. “You really should not do this in front of the reporters. It is not seemly for the President to be seen so with a woman to whom he isn’t married.” She lifted their joined hands and began peeling back his index finger.

“I plan to marry you, Kim-Ly Geneviève Beauchamp, if you’ll have me. So, I think the American press will simply have to get used to it.”

Genny struggled for a moment longer until his words sunk in.

“You…What?” Her ears were ringing. The vast silence that was Preah Vihear had suddenly been filled with a roar louder than a typhoon upon the ocean that lay five hundred kilometers away. She was suddenly glad for Peter’s hand holding hers so that she didn’t simply collapse to the ground.

“This is a place of transformation, is it not?”

Genny found a nod somewhere, but her voice was gone.

Peter turned to look at her with those soft warm eyes of his. He took her other hand. Her only anchors in the whirling storm about her, his two strong hands. Then he dropped to one knee before her.

She might have heard Frank Adams in the background say, “Oh shit!” But it was hard to tell.

“Will you have me, Geneviève? I don’t know how we will live together, but I know that I cannot stand to live apart.”

She made her living with words, with being able to handle and manage any situation. In this moment she had lost any words and could only nod her head and see Peter’s answering smile.

Frank Adams shouted something in the background.

Then he tackled her from behind and drove them all to the ground.