"We're going to see what he wants," I decided, though every instinct I possessed was screaming warnings about walking into what was obviously a trap. "But we approach carefully and stay ready to leave if things go sideways."

I could feel Anthony nodding. "Understood. I'll maintain communication with the flight crew in case we need to depart quickly."

Evelyn's expression was harder to read, but she seemed to agree with the decision. "If we're doing this, we need to be prepared for whatever political game he's playing. I doubt he's doing anything without multiple layers of strategy."

We made our way back toward the terminal, moving cautiously through the areas that would give us the best view of the developing situation while keeping us far enough away to avoid being immediately drawn into whatever spectacle was unfolding. As we got closer, I could begin to make out individual voices from the crowd and, more importantly, what MacLeod was saying to the assembled media.

"...represents exactly the kind of international leadership we need in these challenging times," MacLeod's voice carried clearly across the space, his tone warm and enthusiastic. "Reynard's commitment to helping other nations address their environmental crises is truly remarkable."

I stopped walking, certain I had misheard something. Evelyn and Anthony both looked equally confused by what we were hearing.

"This is a tremendous opportunity to demonstrate our collective resolve against the World President's authoritarian agenda," MacLeod continued, gesturing broadly toward the crowd. "When nations work together to solve real problems, we show the world that democracy and cooperation are stronger than tyranny and isolation."

"Is he..." Anthony started, then stopped, clearly as bewildered as the rest of us.

"Praising me," I finished. "He's praising the mission and talking about cooperation against the World President."

I exchanged glances with Evelyn and that confirmed we were all thinking the same thing. This wasn't the confrontation we had been expecting. MacLeod wasn't here to attack or undermine the Brazil mission. He was here to publicly associate himself with it.

"He's making himself look good," Evelyn said with the kind of cold analytical precision that meant she had figured out the entire game. "The public doesn't know about his betrayal at the UN meeting. From their perspective, he's a supportive prime minister who has always been on our side."

The realization hit me like a physical blow. MacLeod's betrayal during the UN meeting had been behind closed doors, in diplomatic sessions that weren't broadcast to the general public. Most people knew there had been political disagreements and complex negotiations, but they didn't know which specific leaders had supported or opposed our coalition at crucial moments. All they saw was the final vote.

From the perspective of anyone watching the news coverage, MacLeod would appear to be a loyal ally who had shown up to publicly support an important international mission. He was rewriting history in real time, positioning himself as a consistent supporter while banking on the fact that most people wouldn't have detailed knowledge of the private diplomatic discussions where his betrayal had actually occurred.

"This is brilliant," Anthony said with grudging professional admiration. "Politically despicable, but strategically brilliant."

"He gets credit for supporting the mission without actually having to provide any real support," I said, feeling a surge of anger at the calculated manipulation. "And if the Brazil trip is successful, he can claim he was part of making it happen."

The crowd around MacLeod was responding positively to his statements, with applause and expressions of approval that suggested his performance was having the desired effect. Camera crews were capturing every word and gesture, ensuring that his apparent support would be broadcast widely.

Part of me wanted to march over there immediately and expose his duplicity to the assembled media. The urge to publicly call out his betrayal was almost overwhelming, especially knowing that he was using this moment to rehabilitate his reputation at the expense of the truth.

But the rational part of my mind recognized that starting a public political fight right before departing for a crucial international mission would be counterproductive in every possible way. Even if I could prove his betrayal to the satisfaction of the media, the resulting controversy would overshadow the environmental work we were trying to do in Brazil.

"We ignore it for now," I said, though the words tasted bitter. "I have more important things to deal with than his political theater."

"Probably the wise choice," Evelyn agreed, though her tone suggested she was equally frustrated with the situation. "But we should remember this for future reference."

We made our way back toward the limousine, planning to have Marcus drive us directly to the aircraft while avoiding the crowd and media attention. But as we approached the vehicle, it became clear that the situation had evolved beyond simple avoidance.

"Sir," Marcus said through the intercom as we reached the car, "I'm not sure I can get you to the plane without being noticed. The crowd has grown significantly, and they've spread out in ways that make discrete movement difficult."

I looked out the window to see what he meant and immediately understood the problem. What had started as a focused gathering around MacLeod had expanded into a much larger crowd that now surrounded our limousine. People were pressing against the windows, taking pictures, and calling out questions and greetings.

"How did they even know we were in here?" I asked, though the answer was probably obvious.

"Social media," Evelyn said with resignation. "Someone probably posted about seeing you arrive, and it spread from there."

The crowd wasn't hostile, if anything, they seemed excited and supportive, but their sheer number made movement complicated. I could see people holding signs with encouraging messages, others trying to take selfies through the tinted windows, and what appeared to be impromptu chanting that I couldn't quite make out over the sound of the engine.

"I'll walk the rest of the way," I decided, already reaching for the door handle. "At least that way we can control the pace and direction."

"Are you sure?" Anthony asked over the radio. "This could turn into a major delay."

"It's already a major delay," I pointed out. "Might as well make the best of it."

The moment I stepped out of the limousine, the crowd's energy level increased dramatically. The chanting became clearer – they were calling my name, expressing support for the Brazil mission, and asking for photos and autographs. Airport security had materialized from somewhere, creating a corridor that would allow us to move toward the aircraft while still giving people access for brief interactions.

I had wanted this mission to be low-profile and focused on the actual work rather than public relations. But since that was no longer possible, I decided to embrace the opportunity and use it for positive purposes.

The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of handshakes, selfies, and brief conversations with people who had taken time out of their day to show support for international cooperation and environmental protection. Their enthusiasm was genuine and infectious, and I found myself actually enjoying the interactions despite the unexpected nature of the situation.

But it was also exhausting in ways I hadn't anticipated. The constant attention, the need to be "on" for every interaction, the pressure to say the right thing to each person while cameras captured every moment – I began to understand why Camille sometimes seemed drained after public appearances despite her obvious skill at managing these situations.

"How does she do this regularly?" I asked Evelyn during a brief lull between groups of people.

"Practice and genuinely loving the interaction with people," she said. "Plus, she's been building up her tolerance for this kind of attention over years."

As we made our way through the crowd, I caught sight of MacLeod moving in our general direction. The media attention was following him, creating a convergence that would inevitably result in us being in the same camera frame whether we wanted it or not.

There was no avoiding the encounter without creating an obvious snub that would generate its own set of problems. I resigned myself to the necessity of a brief public interaction while preparing mentally for whatever game he was planning to play.

"Reynard!" MacLeod called out with what appeared to be genuine warmth as he approached, extending his hand for a handshake. "Wonderful to see you before you depart for this important mission."

I shook his hand, maintaining professional courtesy while letting nothing show on my face that could be interpreted as either friendship or hostility. The tension between us was palpable, at least to me, though I suspected the cameras would capture it as nothing more than formal diplomatic interaction.

Up close, I could see the calculation in his eyes despite the warm smile he was projecting for the media. This was a man who had betrayed our coalition at a crucial moment and was now using that betrayal to position himself for political advantage. The handshake felt like shaking hands with a snake.

"Prime Minister," I said neutrally, neither friendly nor hostile. The words came out in a tone that could be interpreted multiple ways depending on the listener's perspective.

"I wanted to personally express my support for the environmental work you're undertaking," MacLeod continued, playing his role perfectly for the assembled cameras. "This kind of international cooperation is exactly what the world needs."

"We'll be having a talk soon," I said quietly, the words pitched to carry just enough edge that he would understand the implication while remaining ambiguous enough for public consumption.

His smile never wavered, but I caught the slight tightening around his eyes that suggested he understood exactly what I meant.

"Indeed we will," he replied smoothly, his own tone maintaining perfect diplomatic neutrality. "I look forward to hearing about the success of your mission."

The handshake lasted exactly long enough to satisfy media expectations before we separated, both of us moving toward our respective destinations with the kind of professional courtesy that revealed nothing about our actual relationship.

As I walked away from the encounter, I could feel the weight of cameras and expectations, knowing that the brief interaction would be analyzed and interpreted by political commentators for days. MacLeod had achieved exactly what he had come for – public association with the Brazil mission and the appearance of ongoing cooperation with our coalition.

But he had also made it clear that he understood my words as both promise and threat. Whatever political games he was playing, he knew that there would eventually be consequences for his betrayal at the UN meeting.

The aircraft was finally within sight, with Anthony already coordinating with the flight crew for immediate departure. The crowd had begun to thin somewhat as people realized the public interactions were winding down, though camera crews were still capturing every moment of our approach to the plane.

"Ready to get out of here?" Anthony asked as we reached the aircraft steps.

"More than ready," I confirmed, though I waved to the remaining crowd before boarding. "Let's go solve some environmental problems."

The interior of the aircraft felt like a sanctuary after the chaos of the impromptu press event. Evelyn settled into her usual seat with obvious relief, while Anthony immediately began coordinating with the flight crew and reviewing our mission materials.

"That went better than it could have," Evelyn observed as we prepared for takeoff.

"MacLeod got what he wanted," I said, watching the airport recede through the window as we taxied toward the runway. "But so did we, in a way. Public support for the mission, positive media coverage, and a clear message that we're taking Brazil's environmental problems seriously."

"And a promise of future consequences for certain political betrayals," Anthony added with satisfaction.

The aircraft climbed steadily toward cruising altitude, carrying us away from political manipulation and toward the real work of international cooperation and environmental restoration. In a few hours, we would be in Brazil, ready to see if a lumberjack could help solve deforestation problems.

The irony still made me shake my head, but I was beginning to suspect that the System might know something I didn't about the connection between cutting down trees and saving forests.

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