The sailors, with their best suits pressed for the occasion, saluted. Prime Minister Lange didn't even glance. He was on a warpath.
For a short, portly man known for his boyish grin and youthful audacity, the Prime Minister seemed today to have been drained of all light heartedness as he stomped forward, up the railing and passed the lineup of very respectable looking French naval officers. The ambassador, who'd invited him on this ship, tried grinning, but whatever charm the frenchman had bounced off Lange like teflon. He didn't extend his hand to enter into a handshake either - a faux pas at any other time, but not today.
"Mister Prime Minister,
bon après-midi," the Ambassador radiated, "I am hoping your flight here was--"
"Enough with this," the Prime Minister cut in, "my flight was rickety and claustrophobic, but that's besides the point, I'm not here to discuss travel." he stuck out a stubby finger and prodded the Ambassadors chest in way that broadcast he clearly didn't respect the two armed security guards to his immediate side.
"What your country has done to mine, Mister Ambassador," he continued, unrepentant, "is state-sponsored terrorism. French agents with Swiss Passports planting bombs in a civilian harbour. Arson, conspiracy, wilful damage, and murder, all in peacetime. We have your men and your government dead to rights."
The Ambassador couldn't stop smiling. He felt if he did it'd give the impression that this very angry man in front of him was justified. Of course, he was, but that's how international politics worked. So he kept his grin wide, even if his eyes flashed a noticeable queasiness. The Prime Minister, furious this man wouldn't stop smiling, continued;
"I'm not going to entertain the idea that this can be resolved with a cuppa tea and a lie down, so I want you to go back to your President well acquainted with the look on my face when I tell you we will be taking every step necessary not only to respond to this attack on our country, but to your illegal galavanting in the pacific. You tell him that we're not a backwards set of islands armed with stones and pointy sticks. He'll find out soon enough exactly
what Aotearoa can do."
The Prime Minister straightened, "
Au revoir, Mister Ambassador", and stomped back down the railing, past the nicely dressed Naval officers, again, not looking. As he watched the little man toddle off, the Ambassador finally let his false smile wobble back into its natural shape.
This was bad.