with numerous open blisters.
Christopher turned away from the screen. 'I could have prevented this,' he said. It took a moment for the statement to sink through the horror and register with Decker.
'Christopher, there's nothing you could have done,' Decker answered. 'It's useless to blame yourself.'
'But there is something I could have done. I told you before we left New York that I felt Moore was going to do something which would lead to catastrophe, and that there was nothing I could do to stop it. But it wasn't true. There was one thing I could have done. And now, because I hesitated, millions have been killed and millions more will die. Even after the war is over there will be untold deaths from fallout and radiation poisoning. And unless the U.N. acts to provide immediate relief, millions more will die of starvation and disease.'
'But it's crazy to blame yourself for this. If this is the result of something Moore did, then the responsibility rests with him alone.'
'Oh, the responsibility does indeed rest with Moore. It was he who put General Brooks back in control, and it was he who directed Brooks to issue the two ultimatums. With the first, Moore was hoping to bring the war to a quick close in India's favor. In return, he expected to gain Nikhil Gandhi's support for his bid to become Secretary- General. With the second ultimatum, Moore believed he could force the hand of the Pakistani Guard. General Brooks assured him that the Guard didn't really have nuclear devices planted in India, but Moore knew the risk he was taking. If there were no bombs, then the ultimatum would call the Pakistani Guard's bluff. On the other hand, if the threat was real, he knew that a war would destabilize India to the point that Gandhi would likely return to rebuild India and Rajiv Advani would replace him as Primary on the Security Council. Either way, he calculated that he would benefit.'
'Are you sure about all this?' Decker asked, unable to believe that Moore would sacrifice so many people to become Secretary-General.
'I am,' Christopher answered.
'Christopher is correct,' Milner said with certainty.
'Moore is also responsible for the murder of Ambassador Lee,' Christopher added. 'And he is planning the assassination of Yuri Kruszkegin. There is nothing he will not do to achieve his goals. I must stop him now, before he can do any more.'
'Why didn't Moore just kill Gandhi, instead of risking the lives of so many?' Decker asked, still struggling to believe the magnitude of Moore's malevolence.
'The death of Ambassador Lee was believed to be an accident,' Milner answered. 'If Kruszkegin died, most would assume it was coincidence. But no one would believe that the death of three Primary members was just a fluke, especially if soon after that Moore became Secretary-General precisely because of the replacement of those three members. Besides, killing Gandhi would still leave him the problems in India and Pakistan to deal with as Secretary-General – better to try to end the war quickly in India's favor and ingratiate himself to Gandhi, rather than bring suspicion on himself with three untimely deaths.'
'What are you going to do?' Decker asked Christopher.
'In the third chapter of Ecclesiastes,' Christopher answered, 'King Solomon wrote, 'There is a time for everything: a time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to reap; a time to heal and a time to kill.''
Decker looked back and forth from Christopher to Milner and then back to the television screen. As the camera panned the devastation, in the distance, where the smoke and radioactive cloud had not yet entirely shrouded the earth, the moon rose above the horizon, glowing blood red through the desecrated sky.
It was another two hours before their plane landed in New York. From there they went directly to the United Nations, where the Security Council was meeting in closed session. As night had fallen in the east, the war continued to spread. Nuclear warheads dropped like overripe fruit, appearing as falling stars in the night sky. The destruction spread six hundred miles into China and to the south nearly as far as Hyderabad, India. West and north of Pakistan, the people of Afghanistan, southeastern Iran, and southern Tajikstan gathered their families and all they could carry on their backs, and beat a hurried path away from the war. In just days the local weather patterns would fill their fields, rivers, and streams with toxic fallout.
Pakistan was little more than an open grave. India's arsenal was completely spent. What was left of its army survived in small clusters that were cut off from all command and control. Most would die soon from radiation. China was the only participant still in control of its military and it had no interest in going any further with the war. In the few hours it had taken them to fly from Israel and arrive at the U.N., the war had begun and ended. The final estimate of the number killed would exceed four hundred and twenty million. There were no winners.
In quick strides Christopher reached the door of the Security Council Chamber and burst through, followed closely by Decker and Milner. For a moment the members stared at the intruders. Everyone knew Decker but they had not seen Milner in a year and a half, and the change in Christopher was more than the hair and the beard; his whole demeanor had changed. When he recognized Christopher, Gerard Poupardin, who sat some distance from Moore, looked over at another staffer and laughed, 'Who the hell does he think he is: Jesus Christ?'
Christopher seized the opportunity provided by the startled silence. 'Mr. President,' Christopher said, addressing the Canadian ambassador who sat in the position designated for the President of the Security Council. 'Though I have no desire to disrupt the urgent business of this body in its goal of providing relief to the peoples of India, Pakistan, China, and the surrounding countries, there is one among us who is not fit even to cast his vote among an assembly of thieves, much less this august body!'
'You're out of order!' Moore shouted as he jumped to his feet. 'Mr. President, the Alternate from Europe is out of order.' The Canadian ambassador reached for his gavel but froze at the sheer power of Christopher's glance.
'Gentlemen of the Security Council,' Christopher continued.
'You're out of order!' Moore shouted again. Christopher looked at Moore and suddenly and inexplicably Moore fell back into his chair, silent.
Christopher continued. 'Gentlemen of the Security Council, seldom in history can the cause of a war be traced to one man. On this occasion, it can be. One man sitting among you bears nearly the total burden of guilt for this senseless war. That man is the ambassador from France, Albert Moore.'
Moore struggled to his feet. 'That's a lie!' he shouted.
Christopher stated the charges against Moore.
'Lies! All lies!' Moore shouted. 'Mr. President, this outrage has gone on long enough. Ambassador Goodman has obviously gone completely mad.' Moore could feel his strength returning. 'I insist that he be restrained and removed from this chamber and that… ' Moore once again fell silent as Christopher turned and pointed, his arm fully extended toward him.
'Confess,' Christopher said in a quiet but powerful voice.
Moore stared at Christopher in disbelief and began to laugh out loud.
'Confess!' Christopher said again, this time a little louder.
Abruptly, Moore's laughter ceased. The panic in his eyes could not begin to reveal the magnitude of his torment. Without warning he felt as though his blood were turning to acid as it coursed through his veins. His whole body felt as if he were on fire from the inside.
'Confess!' Christopher said a third time, now shouting his demand.
Moore looked in Christopher's eyes and what he saw there left no doubt as to the source of his sudden anguish. He stumbled in pain and caught himself on the table in front of him. Blood began to trickle from his mouth and down his chin as he bit through the tender flesh of his lower lip; his jaw clenched uncontrollably like a vice under the unbearable agony. Gerard Poupardin ran toward Moore as those near him helped him to his seat.
The pain grew steadily worse. There was no way out. 'Yes! Yes!' he cried suddenly in excruciating anguish, as he pulled free of the grip of those helping him. 'It's all true! Everything he has said is true! The war; Ambassador Lee's death; the plan to kill Kruszkegin; all of it!' Everyone in the room stared wide-eyed in disbelief. No one understood what was happening, least of all Gerard Poupardin. But everyone heard him – Moore had clearly confessed.
Moore hoped only that his confession would bring relief from his torment, and in that he was not disappointed. No sooner had he finished his confession than he fell to the floor, dead.
Someone ran for a doctor and for about fifteen minutes the chamber was filled with confusion, until finally Moore's lifeless body was taken from the room.
