problem.”
“Forgive me for asking an impolite question,” interrupted Rogers. “But why are you telling me all this?”
“You are aware, no doubt, that we have a presidential election coming soon,” said the general.
“I am indeed aware of that,” said Rogers.
“In our view, this election will determine the future of Lebanon. It will be a contest between the bloc we call the ‘ Nahj ’-a term that refers to the ‘method’ of our president, which has guided this country successfully for twelve years-and the forces of corruption and anarchy that would succeed him. If we lose, the forces of anarchy will assume power-the corrupt bureaucrats and traders, the Moslem hooligans, the Palestinians. We stand for stability and order. Our opponents stand for change and disorder. It is appalling to imagine what might happen if they win.”
The general looked to Rogers for a nod of agreement or support but received none.
“Perhaps you do not understand,” said the general. “We in the Deuxieme Bureau have devised a formula for governing this riotous little country. We propose to run it like the army. The generals are Christians, yes, it is true. But many of the other officers are Sunni Moslems and Druse Moslems. And for soldiers, we have the Shiite Moslems, who ask only to be led. In an army, who thinks about religion? We are all Lebanese in the army, with one common purpose.”
The general again looked for a nod of encouragement from Rogers. But still there was none.
“Do you know what our president calls these little men of the opposition who propose to take the country away from us?”
“What?” asked Rogers.
“The fromagistes- the cheesemen. That is what you will have if they win the election. A nation run by the cheesemen.”
Rogers smiled. So it’s the cheesemen versus the rats, he told himself.
“What do you want from us?” asked Rogers.
The general sighed.
“Support. Encouragement. Money. I have already explained the details of what we need to Mr. Hoffman.”
“And what has he told you?” asked Rogers.
“That it is the policy of the United States to remain neutral in the election.”
“That is also my understanding of our policy.”
General Jezzine clucked his tongue in exasperation.
“You cannot expect me to believe that.”
“But it is true,” said Rogers. “We are neutral. We aren’t providing money to either side, I assure you.”
“Then I am offended,” said the general icily. “I am perturbed that you care so little about us.”
Rogers cocked his head.
“Wait a minute,” said the American. “Are you telling me that you are disappointed in America because we aren’t trying to fix your election?”
“Precisely,” said the general. He looked genuinely hurt.
Rogers wanted to laugh out loud but feared that he would offend his host even more.
“Do you know what your Mr. Hoffman told me when I raised these issues with him?” asked the general.
“No,” said Rogers, wondering what pearl of wisdom the station chief had offered.
“He said: ‘Take a walk, Charlie.’ Those were his precise words. Tell me, please, what does that mean?”
“It means no,” said Rogers. “It’s an emphatic way of saying no.”
There was an awkward silence.
“When you called me and suggested that you pay a visit,” continued the general, “I hoped that perhaps it was Mr. Hoffman’s way of apologizing and showing that he had changed his mind. But I gather that is not the case. You are not coming to offer support in the election?”
“No, I am not.”
“Pity,” said the general.
He stood and walked to his gun case, took out a shotgun, and pointed it toward the valley.
“I have come here for a different reason,” said Rogers.
“What is that?” responded the general diffidently from the window, aiming his gun at unseen targets.
“I will explain,” said Rogers. He rose from the couch and walked over to where the general was standing. He spoke carefully, in a confidential voice.
“Sir,” began Rogers. “The embassy is worried about the growth of underground militias among the Christians. We are worried that these organizations are part of a cycle of violence in Lebanon that may eventually become impossible to control. We assume that you know about these organizations.”
“Of course I do,” said the general. “That is my job.”
“We hope that you share our concern.”
“That is a different matter,” said Jezzine. “My concern is for the future of Lebanon.”
“May I ask you a question?” said Rogers.
The general nodded his head.
“Why do these organizations exist?” pressed Rogers. “What is their purpose?”
“They exist because of the dangerous prospect I spoke of a moment ago. The prospect that the power of the army, represented by the Deuxieme Bureau, will be destroyed in the next election, leaving this country at the mercy of its enemies. In that event, it will be necessary to supplement the power of the army with private groups. Groups that can do things that the army, in a divided country like ours, cannot do.”
“What things?” pressed Rogers.
“I will leave that to your imagination. Let us simply say: things that are part of the reality of warfare, but cannot be publicly admitted.”
“That sounds dangerous to me.”
“You are not a Lebanese.”
“Let me put my cards on the table,” said Rogers. “The embassy wants to know more about these Christian underground groups. I have come to make a request: that you share with us whatever information you have on this subject.”
“Why don’t you just steal it from us?” asked the general. “We know you have your own agents inside our service. You won’t even need to steal it. We’ll probably give it away free.”
“I’m not talking about what we can get from file clerks,” said Rogers. “We don’t need any more telephone taps or stolen documents. We want what isn’t in the files. The things that people won’t talk about on the phone or put in writing but will tell you privately, because they trust you.”
“Impossible,” said the general.
“Why?” asked Rogers.
“Because I don’t agree with what you are doing. Why should I help you analyze the symptoms when I want to cure the disease?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you want to prevent the growth of underground terrorist organizations among the Christians, then help our side in the election. We are the alternative to that sort of anarchy.”
“We cannot do that,” said Rogers. “I have already explained that our policy is to remain neutral.”
“Then I refuse to help you destroy the secret weapons that we may need someday to protect Lebanon.”
Rogers began to speak again, making the same request in a different way, but General Jezzine cut him off.
“We will not speak about this subject again,” said the general coldly. His manner changed, as quickly and completely as if he had changed his clothes.
“I believe it is time for lunch,” said the Lebanese intelligence officer, leading Rogers through two large oak doors into a formal dining room.
Rogers took his place at the long dining table, which was set with the heaviest silver knives and forks he had ever hoisted. On his right was Madame Jezzine. She was wearing a black dress with a plunging neckline and a heavy gold necklace. The gold ornament gleamed above her bosom like a mark of ownership.
Madame Jezzine was as charming and flirtatious as Rogers had remembered. She resumed the conversation
