“You’re in charge here while I’m meeting with General Striganov,” Ben told Ike. “I’m only taking four people with me.”
“Plus your bodyguards.”
“Only four people,” Ben repeated.
“Plus your bodyguards,” Ike insisted, staring out the windshield.
Ben sighed. “All right, Ike. If it will make you happy.”
Ike sniffed the air of the cab. “Smells like perfume in here, Ben. Have you gone funny on me?”
Ben gave him a hard look. But it was to no avail. No one could stay miffed at Ike. Ben told him about Gale.
“One good thing came of this trip anyway,” the stocky ex-Seal said with a grin. His grin faded. “We got a little more trouble down home, though.”
“Oh?”
“Emil Hite and his band of kookies and fruities. They’re growing, Ben. Seems people are looking for something or someone to believe in. ‘Bout five or six hundred more new members just joined up with Hite and his cream- pies.”
“Moving into our area?”
“I don’t know how to keep them out, Ben. They’re not armed, never make any kind of hostile move. They are not aggressive at all. What the hell can we do under those circumstances?”
“We can run their paganistic asses clear out of the area,” Ben spoke through clenched teeth. Emil Hite was the Jim Jones type-only worse. Ben suspected, but had no way of proving, that Hite was having sexual relations
with young boys and girls ten years of age-and less. And he knew comhaving seen with his own eyes-Hite and his followers were worshipping idols. Well, they could worship a pile of horse hockey if they chose, but it was the children that concerned Ben.
Ike glanced at him and worked his chewing tobacco over to the other side of his mouth. “The mutants might not like that too much, ol” buddy.”
“What the hell do the mutants have to do with Emil Hite?”
“Well-was Ike spat out the open window-“Emile Hite and his nutsos kind of worship the ugly bastards.”
That so startled Ben he almost lost the pickup. He was glad Gale was not with him. “What!”
“Yeah. Our intelligence just discovered that a few days ago. Seems they-Hite and his jellybeans-have been feeding the mutants for the past year or so; kind of tamed some of them, I reckon. And hold on to your balls for this one: Every now and then, so intelligence has gathered, Hite gives the ugly things women.”
“You have got to be kidding!”
“Nope.” Ike shrugged philosophically. “Savage and stupid people the world over have been doing things similar since the beginnings of time, Ben. You know that.”
“Yeah. The Aztecs, Mayans, hell, the Hawaiians used to toss selected maidens into volcanoes.” He shook his head in disgust. “Well, I’ll deal with Hite later. Right now, let’s worry about the Russians.”
“One thing at a time.” Ike grinned.
The men stood for a full minute, each silently appraising the other. They were very close in age; no more than
a year or two separated them. Both were in excellent physical shape, heavily muscled and lean-waisted.
“General Striganov.” Ben was the first to speak. He extended his hand. The Russian took it.
“So good to at last meet you, General Raines. It’s rare one gets to meet a legend.”
“If indeed I am a legend.”
“Oh, you are, sir.” Georgi said with a smile. “Have no doubts concerning that.”
Ben decided to pull no punches with the man. “I won’t apologize for what happened to your young man in Rolla, General. He and his men raped one of my people and roughed up another.”
The Russian smiled grimly. “No apologies expected, General. I personally shot him.”
Ben lifted his eyes to meet the Russian’s open gaze.
“Oh yes, General Raines. His orders were not to rape or physically abuse the population. And I run a very tight ship, so to speak. I will not tolerate any breach of discipline. Besides, Mikael, so I learned, was somewhat of a-how to say this-was twisted sexually. He will not be missed. His rather lame excuse about your two young people being spies had no validity. Spies against what or whom? Russia no longer exists as a government; America no longer exists as a government, a power. The world, indeed, is a free, open land, as unbridled by man-made law as the vast seas. I view it this way, General: If you have the right to set in place your own form of government, amenable to the people who follow you, then so do I. Would you argue that?”
Ben had to smile. Putting the question that simplistically, Ben could not argue the concept or the method- thus far-but he could argue and question the ideology.
The Russian returned the smile, viewing the American through cold eyes. “As the Americans used to be fond of saying, General, I’m being quite “up front” with the people. At first I was not; I will admit-openly-to some initial deceit. But no longer. I am telling the people who I was and what I have now become: a communist who has now shifted a bit to become a pure socialist in thinking and actions.”
“And of the caste system you advocate?” Ben was not letting him off the hook that easily.
But the Russian was full of surprises. “But of course! Stupid and shallow people are very often quite vain, General Raines. You are a very intelligent man; I don’t have to tell you about human nature. Oh no, General, I am now-much to Sam Hartline’s disgust-being quite open and honest in my dealings with the people. But what is amusing to me is this: Not one of the people who now embraces my form of government actually believes he will be placed in the lower levels of the system, even though I intimate they certainly will. That, I believe, is the dubious beauty of the naive and the arrogant man who knows not that he is either. And would not believe it if he was so informed. You know those types, General Raines. The world is-or was-full of them.”
The man was anything but a fool, Ben reluctantly conceded. And he would be a formidable adversary. If it came to that.
As if on some invisible signal, an aide brought them coffee-real coffee. Ben savored the rich smell and taste. He had to ask where in the world General Striganov got the coffee.
“Call me Georgi-please. And may I call you Ben?”
“Certainly, Georgi.”
“Stockpiled it, Ben. Hundreds of tons of the finest coffee beans in the world, although I can’t personally guarantee each bean was hand-picked by that fellow on your American TV.”
Ben smiled in remembrance of that commercial: a coffee bean picker with manicured fingernails.
“And also some of the finest tea in the world, as well,” Georgi concluded proudly.
“But none of that will be shared with the, ah, lower classes of your system?”
“Certainly not.”
“I could attack that, Georgi.”
“But of course you could! However, Ben-was the Russian leaned forward, pyramiding his finger tips in a vague gesture of praying-“do tell me this: Does an ignorant person appreciate the beauty and talents of a Renoir, a Van Gogh, Cezanne, Caravaggio?” He smiled in anticipation of an easily won verbal victory. “We both know the answer to that. If an ignorant person had a choice, which would you envision him hanging in his hovel: a print of a famous master, or some hideous cloth depicting dogs playing billiards or poker?”
Ben had to laugh at that, for in that, he shared the Russian’s philosophy. But he felt compelled to say: “They could be taught to appreciate fine art; are you in agreement with that?”
Striganov waggled his left hand in a gesture of comme ci, comme ca. “I can attack that, Ben. Back in the eighties, before the world exploded in nuclear and germ madness-which brought us to this point today-which TV program do you think drew more viewers, Hee Haw or a special from the Metropolitan Opera?”
Ben could but smile. Again, he agreed with the Russian. “We’re speaking of personal choices, Georgi; that is the price a society must pay if said society is to live in freedom.”
“Nice safe answer, Ben. So you are admitting that freedom can sometimes bring mediocrity to the forefront?”
“That’s an interesting way of putting it,” Ben said.
“And you’re hedging the question.”
