Her Name Is America

Russia's Overture

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"The purpose of NATO is to keep the Russians out, the Americans in, and the Germans down."

—Lord Ismay, First NATO Secretary General

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May 9, 2000

Undisclosed Address

Laguna Beach, United States

Out of all fifty, it was hard to pick my favorite vacation home. But the one in California was near the top of the list.

The sand was cool beneath my feet as I watched the sun sink low over the Pacific. The dying light scattered across its peaceful surface up until the waves broke against the shore. Children played in the sand as their parents relaxed nearby, and I savored each musical laugh. The evening breeze caused my thin cover-up to hug my body, hinting at the outline of my red swimsuit underneath. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so content.

That's when I spotted a familiar figure a ways down the beach.

I put my sunglasses on top of my head to get a better look. He was wearing khaki pants and a white button-up shirt that fluttered in the breeze, revealing his burly physique. He dwarfed anyone and everything he passed. As he got closer, the golden sunlight softened his complexion and lightened his usually dark eyes. For the first time in my life, I felt somewhat attracted to him.

Then we were standing in front of each other—me with bewilderment and him with the hint of a smile on his face.

"USA," he greeted.

"How did you find me?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "We need to talk."

I set a glass of water on the armrest of his rattan chair. It had been an awkward walk back to my beach house, but thankfully, a quick one. As he murmured his thanks, I took a seat in the chair beside him. The sandy patio faced the ocean horizon, lit in a kaleidoscope of oranges and purples. But I could only stare at my surprise guest, feeling disarmed in my own home.

"I'd hoped your first visit would be at the White House."

He shook his head dismissively, eyes still fixed on the sunset.

Silence stretched. And stretched. We didn't know each other well enough for the silence to be comfortable.

"Congratulations on your new president," I said awkwardly. "Putin, right?"

He nodded. "Thank you."

After another length of silence, I set my chin on my fist and leaned forward. This was enough to get his attention. He looked at me with slight apprehension in his eyes.

"So what's this about?" I murmured.

He wet his lips, and then he said, "NATO."

The single word put my guard up like no other word could. I pursed my lips stubbornly as a myriad of ideas floated through my head. He's upset about the expansion. He wants me to dismantle it. Or leave it. Or—

"More broadly, the West," he clarified. "The Russian Federation seeks an end to competition. And the beginning of cooperation."

My lips parted in surprise.

"Summit after summit, we talk of cooperation this, cooperation that. But we never cooperate."

My stubbornness reared its ugly head. "We will never, not be competitors," I stated. "Competitors do not cooperate."

Even as the words left my mouth, I realized how silly they sounded. We cooperated with many of our rivals, current and former, in both strategic and economic arrangements that were usually mutually beneficial. In a word, we were globalists. I sealed my lips, unable to come up with a better excuse.

"...As you wish."

I watched the usual guarded look return to his eyes. I glanced away, suddenly regretting shutting him down so quickly. Just as I had made overtures to him before, Russian leaders had made overtures to the West, but these were always brushed off as geopolitical rhetoric. For the first time, I dedicated a few minutes of deep thought to the idea of partnering with Russia. Every instinct inside of me fought against it.

His voice suddenly took on a soft, persuasive edge I had never heard before. "With mighty Russia, NATO would be unstoppable."

...What?

I glanced at him. The suggestive look in his eyes made my breath hitch.

"You want to join NATO?" I breathed.

His gaze didn't waver. "Da."

For a split second, I pictured a sprawling global empire led by the two strongest nations on Earth. No other civilization in history could hold a candle to it. Every country would join our alliance or be compelled to submit to our collective will.

Reality quickly returned. The idea of Russia in NATO was so preposterous it was almost laughable.

"I'll consider it," I lied.

"That is all I ask."

I looked back at the water. The sky was turning gray, the ocean black, and the breeze chilly. I stood up and crossed my arms to keep my meager warmth. "Won't you come inside?"

He also stood but shook his head. "I have a hotel nearby."

Once I reached the threshold of the arcadia door, I turned around. A few lamps in the living room were shining through the tall glass windows, illuminating the patio in a faint glow. The atmosphere inside was warm and welcoming, perhaps enough to break the ice between us.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

With one hand in his pocket, he came over to me. The dim light made him look dark and mysterious, at least more than usual. He stood close enough to remind me just how tall he was—possibly taller than England—even with the couple of inches the threshold gave me. In a strange power move, he silently studied my face with his eyes for a minute.

My heart skipped a beat when I remembered just how ancient he was. Older than England and France by at least a hundred years...

"Russia," I breathed, but not in the questioning tone I had intended.

His eyes strayed across my face, and a little lower. He raised his hand between us, slowly, as if trying not to frighten away an animal. His touch was unexpectedly gentle as he slowly ran his thumb along my jaw. My lips parted, and for a second, I thought he would kiss me. My eyes were trained on his when his gaze returned to my face. Whatever he was looking for was not there.

He slowly dropped his hand and stepped back.

"Goodnight, USA," he murmured.

I blinked, dazed. "G—Goodnight..."