TREASURY SECRETARY JAMES WONG and his wife, Joyce Cumberland Wong, were welcomed on board Air Force One as part of the American delegation flying from Andrews Air Force Base to Babylon International Airport. The secretary of state and the secretary of de fense were to arrive later on the president’s personal Global Express courier. Because of the ranking of protocol, the Wongs were seated in the forward compartment used by the president himself.

During the seven-hour flight they were served a delicious seven-course dinner accompanied by an assortment of vintage wines. As she sniffed the aroma of twenty-five-year-old cognac, Joyce snuggled back next to her husband. “Now,” she said, “this is the life. I can’t understand why you can’t warm up to President Beaulieu. He’s a great man. He can give us the moon if you’ll just give him a chance! Why do you resist?”

“I know how you feel, Joyce,” James said. “But everything is not as it seems. We’ve endured terrible tragedies over these last few years and months, and on the surface it seems we’re coming out of it. I’m worried. Things are moving too fast, too soon.”

Indeed, James Wong’s words were prophetic. After their arrival, they were whisked in a black stretch limousine to the palace, where they were taken to the most elegant suite of rooms they had ever seen. The walls were of pink and white marble. Exquisite antique Persian rugs covered the floors. The fragrance of jasmine filled the rooms. The fixtures throughout were of eighteen-karat gold.

Joyce walked slowly through the rooms, stunned at the opulence of what she saw. “Jimmy, can you believe this?” she exclaimed.

“It is amazing,” her husband agreed.

As she entered the bedroom, with its huge, ornate, canopied bed, she noticed a jeweler’s box on the hand-carved dressing table. “What’s this?” she asked, going over and picking up the box.

On the top was a perfumed note that said, “To Joyce Wong, from Mark Beaulieu.”

Joyce opened the box, then gasped in amazement. Inside was the most extraordinary necklace she had ever seen. Dozens of flawless white diamonds and at least a hundred karats of beautifully cut sapphires were set in an eighteen-karat gold collar. It was something Cleopatra might have worn.

“Jimmy, look!” she exclaimed. “It’s from the president!”

“Wow!” the treasury secretary said, stunned by the magnificence of the piece. “That necklace must be worth a million dollars in old currency. Probably more. But we can’t keep it.”

As he spoke there was a knock at the door. James Wong walked through the suite, followed by Joyce, and opened the door. There stood Mark Beaulieu.

“Jimmy and Joyce,” he said, coming into the large sitting room, “I’m so glad you made it. How nice to see you. And, Joyce, I hope my small gift pleases you.”