and for all. Clearly, the Israel Lobby in America has been planning this trick for some time. What makes it different is Soviet acquiescence. What we now face is not merely America, but conspiracy on a global scale. We have no friends, Ismael. We have only ourselves.”
“Do you say we are defeated?”
“No!” Bock's eyes blazed for a moment. “If we stop now — they have advantage enough already, my friend. Give them one more and they will use the current state of affairs to hunt all of us down. Your relationship with the Russians is as bad as it has ever been. It will get worse still. Next, the Russians will begin cooperation with the Americans and Zionists.”
“Who would have ever thought that the Americans and Russians would—”
“No one. No one except those who brought it about, the American ruling elite and their bought dogs, Narmonov and his lackies. They were exceeding clever, my friend. We ought to have seen it coming, but we did not. You didn't see it coming here. I never saw it coming in Europe. The failure was ours.”
Qati told himself that the truth was precisely what he needed to hear, but his stomach told him something else entirely.
“What ideas do you have for remedying the situation?” the Commander asked.
“We are faced with an alliance of two very unlikely friends and their hangers-on. One must find a way to destroy the alliance. In historical terms, when an alliance is broken, the former allies are even more suspicious of each other than they were before the alliance was formed. How to do that?” Bock shrugged. “I don't know. That will require time… The opportunities are there. Should be there,” he corrected himself. There is much potential for discord. There are many people who feel as we do, many still in Germany who feel as I do.'
“But you say it must begin between America and Russia?” Qati asked, interested as always by his friend's meanderings.
“That is where it must lead. If there were a way to make it start there, so much the better, but that would seem unlikely.”
“Perhaps not as unlikely as you imagine, Gunther,” Qati thought to himself, scarcely aware that he'd spoken aloud.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. We will discuss this later. I am tired, my friend.”
“Forgive me for troubling you, Ismael.”
“We will avenge Petra, my friend. They will pay for their crimes!” Qati promised him.
“Thank you.” Bock left. Two minutes later, he was back in his room. The radio was still on, now playing traditional music. It came back to him then, the weight of the moment. He did not manage tears, however. All Bock felt was rage. Petra 's death was a wrenching personal tragedy, but his whole world of ideas had been betrayed. The death of his wife was just one more symptom of a deeper and more virulent disease. The whole world would pay for Petra 's murder, if he could manage it. All in the name of revolutionary justice, of course.
Sleep came hard for Qati. Surprisingly, part of the problem was guilt. He too had his memories of Petra Hassler and her supple body — she hadn't been married to Gunther then — and the thought of her dead, found at the end of a German rope… How had she died? Suicide, the news report had said? Qati believed it. They were brittle, these Europeans. Clever, but brittle. They knew the passion of the struggle, but they did not know of endurance. Their advantage lay in their broader view. That came from their more cosmopolitan environment and their generally superior education. Whereas Qati and his people tended to be overly focused on their immediate problem, their European comrades could see the broader issues more clearly. The moment of perceptive clarity came as something of a surprise. Qati and his people had always regarded the Europeans as comrades but not as equals, as dilettantes in the business of revolution. That was a mistake. They had always faced a more rigorous revolutionary task because they lacked the ready-made sea of discontent from which Qati and his colleagues drew their recruits. That they had been less successful in their goals was due to objective circumstances, not a reflection on their intelligence or dedication.
Bock could have made a superb operations officer because he saw things clearly.
And now? Qati asked himself. That was a question, but one that would require time for contemplation. It was not a question for a hasty answer. He'd sleep on that one for several days… more like a week, the Commander promised himself, as he tried to find sleep.
“… I have the great privilege and high honor of introducing the President of the United States.”
The assembled members of Congress stood as one person from their crowded seats in the House chamber. Arrayed in the front row were the members of the cabinet, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the Justices of the Supreme Court, who also rose. In the balconies were others, among them the Saudi and Israeli ambassadors sitting side-by- side for the first time in memory. The TV cameras panned the great room in which both history and infamy had been made. The applause echoed from wall to wall until hands grew red from it.
President Fowler rested his notes on the lectern. He turned to shake the hand of the Speaker of the House, the President Pro Tempore of the Senate, and his own Vice President, Roger Durling. In the euphoria of the moment, no one would comment that Durling came last. Next he turned to smile and wave at the assembled multitude, and the noise increased yet again. Every gesture in Fowler's repertoire came into play. The one-hand wave, the two-hand wave, hands at shoulder level, and hands over the head. The response was truly bipartisan, and that was remarkable, Fowler noted. His most vociferous enemies in the House and Senate were assiduous in their enthusiasm, and he knew it to be genuine. There still was true patriotism in the Congress, much to the surprise of everyone. Finally, he waved for silence and the applause grudgingly subsided.
“My fellow Americans, I come to this house to report on recent events in Europe and the Middle East, and to lay before the United States Senate a pair of treaty documents which, I hope, will meet with your speedy and enthusiastic approval.” More applause. 'With these treaties, the United States, operating in close cooperation with many other nations — some trusted old friends, and some valuable new ones — has helped to bring about peace in a region that has helped to give peace to the world, but which has known all too little peace itself.
“One can search all of human history. One can trace the evolution of the human spirit. All of human progress, all the shining lights that have lit our way up from barbarism, all the great and good men and women who have prayed and dreamed and hoped and worked for this moment — this moment, this opportunity, this culmination, is the last page in the history of human conflict. We have reached not a starting point, but a stopping point. We—” More applause interrupted the President. He was very slightly annoyed, having not planned for this interruption. Fowler smiled broadly, waving for silence.
“We have reached a stopping point. I have the honor to report to you that America has led the way on the road to justice and peace.” Applause. “It is fitting that this should be so…”
“A little thick, isn't it?” Cathy Ryan asked.
“A little.” Jack grunted in his chair and reached for his wine. “It's just how things go, babe. There are rules for this sort of thing just as there are for opera. You have to follow the formula. Besides, it is a major — hell, a colossal development. Peace is breaking out again.”
“When are you leaving?” Cathy asked.
“Soon,” Jack replied.
“Of course, there is a price we must pay for this, but history demands responsibility from those who forge it,” Fowler said on the TV. “It is our task to guarantee the peace. We must send American men and women to protect the State of Israel. We are sworn to defend that small and courageous country against all enemies.”
“What enemies are they?” Cathy asked.
“ Syria isn't happy with the treaty as yet. Neither is Iran. As far as Lebanon goes, well, there isn't any Lebanon in any real sense of the word. It's just a place on the map where people die. Libya and all those terrorist groups. There are still enemies to be concerned about.” Ryan finished off the glass and walked into the kitchen to refill it. It was a shame to waste good wine like this, Jack told himself. The way he was guzzling it, he might as well drink anything…
“There will be a monetary cost as well,” Fowler was saying, as Ryan came back.
“Taxes are going up again,” Cathy observed crossly.
“Well, what did you expect?” Fifty million of it is my fault, of course. A billion here, and a billion there…
“Will this really make a difference?” she asked.
“It should. We'll find out if all those religious leaders believe in what they say, or if they're just bullshit artists.
