"I am sorry, but it is true." The defense minister squeezed tears from his eyes. Frowning, Maddas Hinsein extracted his pistol from its holster and casually shot his defense minister in the face. Everyone was impressed by the results. Not to mention splattered.
The muzzle shifted to the culture minister. "You! The Maddas Line-does it hold?"
"Yes, Precious Leader. It stands as unbreached as before," the man said quickly.
"You are lying," said Maddas Hinsein, performing a radical tracheotomy with a lead slug.
The culture minister fell off his chair gurgling. The muzzle next went to the foreign minister.
"The truth! Speak it!"
"Pigs!" bleated the foreign minister. "The Americans have been breeding with swine! Genetic mutant pig soldiers have overrun our first line of defense. Mechanized sows! Flying pigs! What Moslem can stand before such an unclean army?"
Maddas Hinsein's sad brown eyes fluttered at this report.
"Preposterous! I will spare you if you speak the truth in the next few seconds."
"But . . . Precious Leader. This is the truth. Before Allah, I-"
The foreign minister's mustache was driven into his teeth, and his teeth through his spine by another bullet.
Vice-President Juniper Jackman would have been next, but a messenger entered at that point, crying, "Precious Leader, the Renaissance Guard! They are being destroyed!"
"By what army?"
"By our own army. Iraiti regulars have overun them in their panic to flee the advancing pig dancers."
"Dancers?"
"They appear to be dancing as they advance. And whistling."
Maddas Hinsein lifted a field telephone from under the table. It connected directly with the general in charge of Renaissance Guard forces in occupied Kuran, now Maddas Province.
Instead of an Arabic voice answering, he heard whistling. He recognized the theme from Bridge over the River Kwai. The Scimitar of the Arabs had no doubts that these were American pigs whistling. Bridge over the River Kwai was on the Iraiti forbidden-films list.
Woodenly he dropped the phone.
"There is worse news, Precious Leader," the guardsman said stiffly. "The U.S. government has declared that you are a war criminal. They say they intend to hang you until dead."
"I will not hang!" roared Maddas Hinsein. "I am the Scimitar of the Arabs. There is not a man alive who can make me hang if I do not wish to. Is that not so, my loyal ones?"
"Absolutely, Precious Leader," chorused the surviving members of the Revolting Command Council, save the vice-president and the information minister, who, not understanding Arabic, settled for staring wide-eyed into space and keeping their legs together so their bladders did not empty themselves.
"They say the Pigs of Peace, as the propaganda broadcasts call them, will cross into Irait if war criminals are not turned over to them. They are very angry over the gas attack on their computer outpost."
"Then they shall have war criminals," Maddas Hinsein announced resolutely. He gazed about the room. "Who will volunteer to surrender themselves? Those who do will go down in Iraiti history. The others will remain with me. Come, come. I know it is a difficult choice, but you are brave men."
A lot of fast thinking went on in the collective brains of the Revolting Command Council. Either option was grave. Neither was desirable. A few considered the American option, but the fear that this was a trick question, a test of loyalty, stayed them.
The minister of agriculture had the presence of mind to translate the option into English for the vice-president and the information minister.
Jackman and Cooder took only a second to decide.
"I'll do it!" said the former.
"No, I will," said the latter. "I'll gladly turn myself over to the Americans."
Their words did not have to be translated into Arabic for the benefit of Maddas Hinsein. Their eagerness to sacrifice themselves for him was plain on their infidel faces. This brought a tear to his eyes.
He came to his feet and gathered up both men in a bear hug. He kissed them on each cheek. Twice.
"You will never be forgotten," said the Scimitar of the Arabs. "Go, now. A plane will be waiting for you."
On the way out of the palace, Don Cooder said, "I can't believe the big lummox fell for it."
"Amen, brother."
As they stood outside the palace trying to hail a cab, Reverend Jackman raised a possibility that had not occurred to them before. "You don't think the U.S. will actually hang us for war criminals, do you?"
The anchor and the reverend exchanged sagging expressions.
They dashed back to the iron entrance gate, banging and shouting and begging for their old jobs back. This was reported to the president, who was forced to brush a tear from his face at the news. "Do not let them in," he added.
Then he turned to his council, saying, "I have this moment decided that I will not allow Iraiti honor to be sullied by this insult. If I cannot possess Kuran, no one may. Defense Minister-"
Maddas Hinsein looked around the table. The late defense minister's left foot had caught on the table edge. That was all of him that could be seen from a sitting position.
"Who would like to be the new defense minister?"
No one raised a hand, so Maddas Hinsein casually waved a hand in the direction of the health minister.
"You."
"I accept, O Precious Leader," said the new defense minister unhappily.
"Go forth and launch all our Scuds."
"The target, Precious Leader?"
Maddas leaned forward. His smile was sick.
"Jerusalem," he said.
An audible gasp filled the room.
"But, Precious Leader, Jerusalem is sacred."
"To the Jews. And the Christians."
"And to us. The Dome of the Rock is there. If we gas Jerusalem, not only will the infidel and the Jew be down upon us, each of our Arab neighbors will be too. Our allies."
"This is what I wish," said Maddas Hinsein firmly. "If I cannot have my way with the world, then everyone on earth must die. I have decided this. Issue the commands. Shoot any who hesitate."
"But, Precious Leader-"
"When you are done, shoot yourself," Maddas said flatly. "There will be no shirking. The hour of glory has come! Civilization was born in the glory that was Abominadad, and from here we will transform the world into a caldron of blood."
The defense minister hurried from the room.
On the way out, he bumped into Sky Bluel, who wore an unhappy expression on her well-scrubbed face. She pushed past into the council room.
"Excuse me," she said, "but I think this so-called tritium is actually a cheesy grade of uranium. I need better materials if I'm going to whip up a working neutron bomb, know what I mean?"
This was relayed to Maddas Hinsein, who invited the American girl to join him at the conference table.
"You want my advice?" she said. "Boss move."
Sky Bluel obligingly went for the seat indicated by the Iraiti president's careless gesture. It happened to be between the dead defense minister and the deceased foreign minister.
"Oh, gross! Are these guys dead?"
No one answered.
"What killed them, anyway?"
"Our Precious Leader has invited you to sit, so you must sit," said the minister of agriculture.
"I'm not sitting between two dead guys," Sky insisted. "No way. They smell and they're making uncool noises."
And since the Scimitar of the Arabs no longer needed an American nuclear expert because he expected American and Israeli nukes to rain down upon all their heads at any minute, he ordered the noisy American girl to be taken to the lowermost torture chamber to await his pleasure.
As she was dragged off, Sky Bluel hurled back the most vicious insult she could summon up.
"You're no Ho Chi Minh! You're not even a CU Guevara!"
Sky Bluel grew silent as she was escorted to the dungeon area. Her guard happened to speak English and remarked with some relish, "I will put you in with the dead American imperalists."