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Friday, October 06, 2006
Tit For Tat
(This is a sequel to “Impurities.”)
The prime minister strained against his bonds, to no avail. The plastic cuffs at his wrists were unbreakable. Similar pinions at his elbows, knees, and ankles held him securely to his seat. His captor sat unspeaking and impassive, arms crossed over his chest, as the silent drama of vengeance played out on the monitor before them.
The prime minister's towering rage at being treated like a common criminal, snatched by unspeaking ruffians from his home, cuffed, blindfolded, drugged to sleep and awakened in an impersonally sterile place of confinement, had metamorphosed long ago into weak tears of helplessness. His rank was as nothing here. His captor had told him that, had assured him that he would live, had set the monitor before him, and then seated himself to watch.
For the head of state of a sovereign nation to be reduced to such a state was unthinkable, intolerable. It violated all the laws of international dealing. But who in the world could do anything about it? Certainly no one he could name. Nor could any nation upon whose powers he might call for assistance, even if he could make himself heard beyond the walls of that starkly white, windowless room.
He could not say how much time had passed since he'd awakened. He'd exhausted his voice in screaming long ago. He'd flailed and squirmed and rattled his bonds. He'd even allowed his bladder to empty, to his own shame. It had accomplished nothing. All he knew was the grip of his bonds, the silent company of his captor, and the sequence unfolding inexorably on the screen.
Finally the sleek black shape he'd watched for an unknown time pitched upward, opened its bomb bay doors, and released a cruise missile. As the missile's jet engine ignited and its wings deployed, the airplane wheeled and accelerated away. The missile descended unhurriedly to follow the nap of the earth. The image from its nose camera replaced that of the fighter plane that had guarded its deliverer.
The fields over which the missile flew streaked by too quickly for him to identify them, but he knew with a certainty that transcended reason what the thing's target would be. Three minutes after its release, the missile executed its terminal pop-up maneuver, tipped over and began its final descent. He wanted to close his eyes, but found that he could not.
The video feed switched off just as the screen flared white.
The prime minister wept. His captor rose, turned off the monitor, and faced him squarely.
"You did not heed me."
"It was an accident! In Allah's name, what kind of beast are you to take such vengeance on half a million unsuspecting people for an accident, a thing neither of us wanted and would have stopped the world to prevent?"
His captor inclined his head. "But you could have prevented it. You could have turned your weapons over to us, as we demanded that you do, not once but many times. You sat in my office and assured me that they were well guarded, utterly secure. Yet al-Qaeda infiltrators managed to steal one, didn't they? My operatives are still counting the bodies."
"I could not have given in to your demands and kept my position," the prime minister wheezed. "An appearance of weakness is a sentence of death among my people. You know that as well as I."
"Just so," his captor said. "You scamped your responsibility as a sovereign for the appearance of strength -- a strength, as it developed, you did not possess. You brushed aside our offer of assistance because to accept it would have put you in a secondary position to a greater power. You made statements of confidence in your control of your country's arsenal that were a sham from first to last. And here is the result."
Stephen Sumner's eyes, mild until then, turned in an instant to daggers of ice.
"It was no accident, General. It was a failure of your security apparatus, noted neither by you nor by anyone under your authority. I'm willing to believe that it wasn't according to your wishes. That's why I refrained from incinerating your entire country. But perhaps there will be no more such...accidents, now that thirty-four thousand Israelis and half a million of your subjects are dead in consequence. Perhaps you will accept my offer and allow American experts to destroy your remaining nukes and war gases. At the least, you and your fellows will know better than to doubt me. For you did doubt me, didn't you? You thought such a deed was impossible to an American president, that his tender conscience would prevent him from even thinking of it."
"I..." The prime minister choked on his grief and shame, unable to force out another word.
"You were wrong. Your people have paid for your arrogance. So have you, in your fashion." Sumner closed his eyes. "And so have I, General. I can never forgive you for forcing this on me. But my responsibility to my people left me no choice." He turned and made for the door.
"I am a dead man," the prime minister whispered.
Sumner looked back over his shoulder a final time. "Ultimately, General, we all are. You will now be returned to your palace. Have a nice day."
