after you said that, the question, the very next question I thought to ask those two losers, was this: 'Do you honestly think the President of the United States is responsible for the ten thousand deaths in the explosion of the nuclear bomb in New York?'
'That's a very good question,' Salentine said.
In the month of June, Bert Audick traveled on his private plane to Sherhaben to discuss with the Sultan the rebuilding of Dak. The Sultan entertained him royally. There were dancing girls, fine food, and a consortium of international financiers the Sultan had assembled who would be willing to invest their money in a new Dak. Audick spent a wonderful week of hard work picking their pockets for a hundred million-dollar 'unit' here and a 'unit' there, but the real money would have to come from his own oil firm and the Sultan of Sherhaben.
On the final night of his stay he and the Sultan were alone together in the Sultan's palace. At the end of the meal the Sultan banished the servants and bodyguards from the room.
He smiled at Audick and said, 'I think now we should get down to our real business.' He paused for a moment. 'Did you bring what I requested?'
Bert Audick said, 'I want you to understand one thing. I am not acting against my country. I just have to get rid of that Kennedy bastard or I'll wind up in jail. And he's going to track down all the ins and outs of our dealings over the past ten years.
So what I am doing is very much in your interest. '
'I understand,' the Sultan said gently. 'And we are far removed from the events that will happen. Have you made sure the documents cannot be traced to you in any way?'
Bert Audick said, 'Of course.' He then handed over the leather briefcase beside him. The Sultan took it and drew out a file that contained photographs and diagrams.
The Sultan looked at them. They were photos of the White House interiors, and the diagrams showed the control posts in different parts of the building. 'Are these up to date?' the Sultan asked.
'No,' Bert Audick said. 'After Kennedy took office three years ago,
Christian Klee, who's head of the FBI and the Secret Service, changed a lot of it around. He added another floor to the White House for the presidential residence. I know that the fourth floor is like a steel box.
Nobody knows what the setup is. Nothing is ever published, and they sure as hell don't let people know. It's all secret except to the President's closest advisers and friends.'
'This can help,' the Sultan said.
Audick shrugged. 'I can help with money. We need fast action, preferably before Kennedy gets reelected.'
'The Hundred can always use the money,' the Sultan said. 'I'll see that it gets to them. But you must understand that these people act out of their own true faith. They are not hired assassins. So they will have to believe the money comes from me as head of an oppressed small country.' He smiled.
'After the destruction of Dak, I believe Sherhaben qualifies…
Audick said, 'That's another matter I've come to discuss.
My company lost fifty billion dollars when Dak was destroyed. I think we should restructure the deal we have on your oil. You were pretty rough last time.'
The Sultan laughed but in a friendly way. 'Mr. Audick,' he said, 'for over fifty years the American and British oil companies raped the Arab lands of their oil. You gave ignorant nomad sheiks pennies while you made billions. Really it was shameful. And now your countrymen get indignant when we want to charge what the oil is worth. As if we had anything to say about the price of your heavy equipment and your technological skills for which you charge so dearly. But now it is your turn to pay properly, it is your turn even to be exploited if you care to make such a claim.
Please don't be offended, but I was even thinking of asking you to sweeten our deal.'
They recognized in each other a kindred soul who never missed the chance to pursue a negotiation. They smiled at each other in a friendly fashion.
'I guess the American consumer will have to pick up the bill for the crazy President they voted into office,' Audick said. 'I sure hate to do it to them.'
'But you will,' the Sultan said. 'You are a businessman, after all, not a politician.'
'On my way to being a jailbird,' Audick said with a laugh. 'Unless I get lucky and Kennedy disappears. I don't want you to misunderstand me. I would do anything for my country, but I sure as hell won't let the politicians push me around.'
The Sultan smiled in agreement. 'No more than I would let my parliament.'
He clapped his hands for servants and then he said to Audick, 'Now I think it is time for us to enjoy ourselves. Enough of this dirty business of rule and power. Let us live life while we still have it.'
Soon they were sitting down to an elaborate dinner. Audick enjoyed Arab food, he was not squeamish like other Americans; the heads and eyeballs of sheep were mother's milk to him.
As they were eating, Audick said to the Sultan, 'If you need money for some worthy cause, I can arrange for its transfer from an untraceable source on my end. It is very important to me that we do something about Kennedy.'
'I understand completely,' the Sultan said. 'And now, no more talk of business. I have a duty as your host.'
Annee, who had been hiding out with her family in Sicily, was surprised when she was summoned to a meeting with fellow members of the Hundred.
She met with them in Palermo. They were two young men she had known when they were all university students in Rome. The oldest, now about thirty years of age, she had always liked very much. He was tall, but stooped, and wore gold-rimmed glasses. He had been a brilliant scholar, destined for a distinguished career as a professor of Etruscan studies. In personal relationships he was gentle and kind. His political violence sprang from a mind that detested the cruel illogic of a capitalistic society. His name was Giancarlo.
The other member of the First Hundred she knew as the firebrand of leftist parties at the university. A loudmouth, but a brilliant orator who enjoyed spurring crowds to violence though he himself was essentially inept in action. His character changed after he was picked up by the antiterrorist special police and severely interrogated. In other words, Annee thought, they had kicked the shit out of him and put him in the hospital for a month. Sallu, for that was his name, then talked less and acted more.
Finally he was recognized as one of the Christs of Violence, one of the First Hundred.
Both of these men, Giancarlo and Sallu, now lived underground to elude the antiterrorist police. And they had arranged this meeting with care. Annee had been summoned to the town of Palermo and instructed to wander and sightsee until she was contacted. On the second day she had encountered a woman named Livia in a boutique who had taken her to a meeting in a small restaurant where they were the only customers. The restaurant had then closed its doors to the public; the proprietors and the single waiter were obviously members of the cadre. Then Giancarlo and Sallu had emerged from the kitchen. Giancarlo was in chef's regalia and his eyes were twinkling with amusement. In his hands was a huge bowl of spaghetti dyed black with the ink of chopped squid. Sallu, behind him, carried a wooden basket filled with sesame-seeded golden bread and a bottle of wine.
The four of them-Annee, Livia, Giancarlo and Sallusat down to lunch.
Giancarlo served them portions of spaghetti from the bowl, and the waiter brought them salad, a dish of pink ham and a black-and-white grainy cheese.
'Just because we fight for a better world, we shouldn't starve,' Giancarlo said. He was smiling and seemed completely at ease.
'Nor die of thirst,' Sallu said as he poured the wine. But he was nervous.
The women let themselves be served; as a matter of revolutionary protocol, they did not assume the stereotypical feminine role. But they were amused: they were here to take orders from men.
As they were eating, Giancarlo opened the conference. 'You two have been very clever,' he said. 'It seems you are not under suspicion for the Easter operation. So it has been decided that we can use you for our new task. You are both extremely qualified. You have the experience, but more important, you have the will. So you are being called. But I must warn you. This is more dangerous than Easter.'
Livia asked, 'Do we have to volunteer before we hear the details?'
It was Sallu who answered, and abruptly, 'Yes.'
Annee said impatiently, 'You always go through this routine and ask, 'Do you volunteer? Do we come
