You got that?” His voice was pitched low, and did not reach to bee pollen advocate who continued to drone on. “It’s the Arsenal-ship show. JCS has already bought off on it, so get with the program.”
Dailey nodded uneasily. He got it. And he hoped the only result would be the tarnishing of his own opinion of himself, that one more small compromise to political inevitability that he’d sworn he wouldn’t make.
Ambassador Wexler surveyed the faces arrayed at the round table. A wide range of colors were represented, ranging from the deep, purple-black of the Bahamian ambassador through the light, coffee-colored ambassador from Antigua to the barely diluted coffee color of the Cuban. So many cultures, so many nations and all gathered with one purpose in mind. Or, she amended silently, at least the majority of them were. None of the small nations that dotted the Caribbean wanted conflict between their northern patron, the United States, and their cultural kin, the Cubans. If pushed, they would come down on her side, she decided.
But the cost would be high. Too high, perhaps.
“We have two points to make. First, we must be allowed to inspect the wreckage of the fishing boat,” she said firmly.
Behind her, her aides rustled nervously, passing back and forth the reams of paper, documents, and incomprehensible multinational studies that were the lifeblood of the organization. “Our deep-diving rescue resources have the capability to recover parts of the wreckage if we move quickly, before the currents carry it too far away from the original site. Given the events of the last weeks, we are not prepared to accept Cuba’s unilateral assertion that our forces were responsible for the loss of the fishing vessels, particularly not when we show that no weapons have been extended by any of our aircraft. Without independent verification, it is difficult to arrive at a final analysis of the situation. Second, we will not recognize Cuba’s illegal and provocative no-fly zone and we require the return of the American pilot being held there.” She paused and waited for the storm to break over her.
“Independent? You claim that role for the United States?
You are the ones responsible. No one else.” The Cuban ambassador paused to suck in a deep breath and glare at her.
“The very audacity is” “Entirely within our rights,” she interrupted calmly.
“Under circumstances such as this, we have opened our records at all times to United Nations scrutiny. It is more than reasonable to expect you to do the same.”
“As though you need to inspect it,” he shot back bitterly.
“How many years of study has the United Nations devoted to determining the best way to decimate our poor nation?
We, who only want to be left alone to reach our own glorious future.
. ”
And who desperately need new trading partners, she noted.
“… to pursue our own great destiny and historic traditions of.
.
.”
Tyranny and oppression, building a nation of poverty by stripping out its national resources for the exploitation of the already rich.
“… our role in the Caribbean is one of …”
Fomenting hatred and dissension among your neighbors.
“… peaceful coexistence with the other island nations.
We would extend that same offer of friendship to the United States, but your politics have …”
Prevented you from growing rich on the backs of your wretched workers while simultaneously providing sanctuary to the dregs of your society.
Thugs, criminals, the diseased and insane. All dumped on our shores.
There were, she decided, studying him carefully, advantages to having the United States as a close neighbor, no matter the posturing of Cuba’s ambassador.
“… a truly independent commission, one not tainted by American influences and interests. Composed, perhaps, of nations strong in the rest of the world, areas in which the United States does not bully and strut, thrusting herself into every affair as though anointed of God.”
“And you would propose …?” She let the sentence trail off delicately, knowing that the words were a mistake as soon as they left her mouth.
“Algeria, Libya, Iran, perhaps the Saudis. And, of course, our friends in South Africa.”
“To summarize, any nation with whom we have had a conflict in the last twenty years,” she said sharply. “No, I think there are better choices. The Swiss, perhaps.”
The Cuban ambassador sneered. “The ones who hide so much of your money illegally?”
The debate, she knew, would continue for hours. Neither side would get what it wanted, and in the end, the truth would be hidden even deeper within layers of administrative demands, reckless proclamations, and finger-pointing. Cuba would continue to maintain that America had destroyed the aircraft, intervening in Cuba’s sovereign airspace. The U.S however, knew that it had been a strictly internal affair.
Furthermore, there was no way she could use the one trump card she’d already privately played with the Cuban ambassador. The presence of nuclear weapons on Cuban soil she shivered slightly, then regained control of herself.
To give details and provide proof would simply reveal too much about America’s intelligence capabilities. Like many bits of intelligence, this one was simply too dangerous to use.
Was there any hope for this process? There were days when she wondered. But still, all in all, the United Nations beat hands-down other forms developed for resolving conflict. Answers were slow, cumbersome, and often unworkable, but they represented the best intentions of the nations brought to bear on difficult and insoluble problems. And for that reason, she stayed.
She turned to the Bahamian chairman of the committee and lifted one hand in a gesture of resignation. “We are open to any reasonable proposal, but none has been tendered yet.
I ask you, Mr. Ambassador, as well as the other nations represented here” she glanced around the table, catching each set of eyes in turn” what you think we can achieve.
I beg you to reason with your neighbor to the west.”
Antigua and the Bahamas looked away, the blush barely visible on the Antiguan ambassador.
“You couldn’t have been serious about it?” the British ambassador queried. “I mean, really,” he finished, drawing the last word out in a patrician accent. “We know those people, of course. Colonies for years. Never should have let them declare independence weren’t ready for it, won’t be for centuries.” He shook his head. “You recall, the United States supported that.”
“Cut the crap, Geoffrey,” she said wearily. She reached across the table and fished another of the small, soft rolls out of the woven basket between them. “It won’t help things now. What I need is answers, not more problems.”
“Sometimes I see this relationship as strangely familial,” he said. He pushed the small china dish containing the freshly churned butter toward her. “We’re your older brother, of course, always there with advice and a bit of guidance when you chaps need it.”
“Would you like me to beg?”
He shook his head, a smile twitching at the corners of his normally impassive mouth. “Not this time. But I reserve the right to remind you of this conversation later.”
She nodded. “You know we didn’t do it.”
“Of course not. Play bloody hell with the rest of the world, though, convincing them.” The British ambassador glanced around the room, as though looking for their waiter.
“They’re all watching now, you know. Every last bloody one of them.”
“Tell me about Europe.” She saw him stiffen slightly at her bluntness, and was amused. Surely he was used to it by now, after all his years in the United States. Still, Geoffrey never passed up a chance to be thoroughly and totally British in front of her.