“It’ll be thought that as soon as all your people are out, you’ll have no compunction about striking,” the Son said.
She nodded. “I have some who’d advise that. We both have people who mistrust.”
Abdullah nudged aside the untouched soup. “Quotas and small children to begin.”
“Children and old people.”
“Small quotas.”
“How many?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“I need a sense of some figure.”
“You ask something which cuts to the core of our suspicions.”
“Yes, losing all those hostages will be unsettling.”
Abdullah glared. “You abandoned them, Grandma. You chose surrender.”
“Rather than mutual annihilation,” she said softly.
“Spare me your piety. I hear enough human interpretations of how Allah wants us to behave.”
“And I hear enough of how I’m supposed to behave,” she flared, turning toward Azhar. “What do you think, Captain?”
Azhar kept his eyes lowered. “The Jew soup is tasty.”
“You know I didn’t mean that,” she whispered; the feeling of him splashing about in the warm bath resumed.
“I think we should return what isn’t ours and regain what is.” He glanced at Abdullah, who nodded in sudden respect.
“I believe you just asserted the fundamental principles of war and peace, Azhar,” Grandma looked at Abdullah. “An agreement in principle to seek the resettlement of foreign nationals.”
The Son wouldn’t budge. “That implies you have any of our people. I think you killed the last…”
“Are we going to do this all night?” Grandma snapped.
He glanced at Azhar and shook his head. “The structured return of Christians and reparations for the murder of Muslims.”
“A new emigration policy for Christians and review of Muslim repatriation claims. No blame either way.”
He nodded slowly. “And?”
“You refer to this as a peace treaty.”
“I can’t,” he snapped. “That strips away our original victory of all its glory. We lost thirty-seven million. They won’t be disgraced.”
She shrugged. “How about a pan-Atlantic trade agreement. Goods and people.”
Abdullah grinned, realizing Grandma had planned that response. “I feel you’re picking my pockets, as you might say.”
Lenora gestured at the slurping Azhar. “He won’t let that happen.”
The two leaders laughed wearily at the baffled Captain. Finally Abdullah asked, “Now what?”
Grandma waved over Nathan, who set down the sandwiches, giving a brief guided tour of the differences among corned beef, pastrami and brisket. He proudly added a pile of round fried potatoes.
“Latkes,” Nathan said gravely. “Use either the sour cream or apple sauce.”
Abdullah bit carefully into the brisket, while Mustafa happily made his way through the corned beef, dumping apple sauce and sour cream onto his potatoes. By the counter, Nathan grumbled satisfaction.
“How long for you to sell in this agreement?” Grandma layered a spoonful of mustard onto her meat.
“I have to get everyone together.”
“Who is everyone?”
“Leaders like me.”
“That’s not good enough. Who are they?”
Abdullah hesitated, before conceding. “Ali Koury in France. Omar Mouluf in Germany. Ibrahim Safar in Palestine. Ismael Shalhoub in Kenya.”
Grandma’ face tightened. “Two generals, a colonel and a vice-admiral. That’s it?”
“All I can freely name.”
“But there’s more?” Abdullah nodded. “More committed or more you can approach.”
“Both.” The Son sneered. “We control over two million men in arms along with the Channel fleet.”
“The Kaddafy Brigade in Paris alone controls five million and they border Mouluf…”
“The Parisian Army’s a shell,” he caught himself. “I can’t say more, Grandma. Trust only goes so far.”
“Screw trust. This is about self-interest.”
Abdullah smiled coldly. “Always. These men are with me. Theirs are with me.”
“I need proof.”
He thought for a moment. “Give me time when I return. I’ll send word through the Collector.”
“He’s compromised. Only use them for misinformation. I’ll have a new means of communication shortly. And your father?”
“I’ll take care of him.”
“Assassination is not a good way to start a peace.”
“Perhaps it won’t be necessary. But if so.” He shrugged carelessly. “And you?”
“No one I can’t handle.” She chewed the sandwich, murmuring loud approval toward the pleased Nathan. “We can tape the joint spot later tonight.”
“Tonight? I haven’t prepared anything.”
“I think you’ve spent your life preparing for this, Abdullah.”
He smiled faintly. “Can this work, Grandma?”
She pressed a napkin to her lips. “There was a great leader from the past century, Golda Meir, perhaps you heard of her? No? Oh, I’m surprised. Anyway, Meir said that peace will come, she being Israeli, when the Arabs love their children more than they hate us.”
The Son’s hand trembled slightly with anger. “Another metaphor, Lenora?”
“Yes. For both our people.”
• • • •
BETH PRESSED THROUGH the thick crowd swallowing up the entrance to the stadium, but she didn’t find Ruben or recognize any of his friends. She could’ve waited for him to come home, but every night he’d gone straight to Dale’s and then back here; there’d been no messages from the school so somehow he was juggling education between work and sex. Beth smiled impishly; Dale’s a sweet kid. Ruben needed someone like her, a little more wired so he could learn limits.
She quickly examined herself in the glass door of the Yankee Clubhouse. As best as she could tell against the background of fans buying her Forgiveness t-shirts, this black dress and white blouse worked. Damn hair didn’t; she scolded the thin spikes reaching up like stalks.
A husky man smiled admiringly. Beth pulled a face, scanning the long corridor one last time and walking down the lower field boxes to the railing. The Yankees spilled lazily all over the field, hitting and throwing and running and stretching.
Puppy finally acknowledged her silent waves. As he hurried over, about a dozen young men and women poured down the aisle, barking and shouting his name. He happily shook hands, posed for pictures and made small talk in that modest conceited way as the fans drifted away, glazed like they’d spent a minute with St. Peter.
“Hey, how are you?”
She let him kiss her cheek. “Fine. Have you seen my son?”
“No. Is something wrong?”
“Should there be?”
“You look worried.”
She frowned. “That’s just my face.”
“And a beautiful face it is.”
Beth rolled her eyes and pulled the white Yankees and blue Cubs banners out of her bag. “I made these
