The phone clicked as it was put on hold on both ends.
“General Eaglefield,” the president said pensively. “We’re waiting for everyone to move into position to rescue our citizens. What if we had to go right now, before all our forces were in place?”
“Mr. President, we have always had the Marines offshore. One word and they’ll own Algiers before nightfall.”
“I think sometimes, Roger, you are too melodramatic,” Franco said.
Colonel Alqahiray sat in the center seat of the operations theater, absentmindedly brushing cigarette ash off his tunic. Overhead, the live transmission from the United Nations General Assembly filled the large screen.
He turned to those sitting in the row behind him. “Colonel Walid, I am thankful you are behind me, protecting me from these ill-bred intelligence officers,” he said, smiling, as he pointed to Major Samir and the two officers who always shadowed the morning intelligence briefer. “Why are they here anyway? Haven’t I told you, Walid, that Intelligence Officers are supposed to be making intelligence, not watching it so they can come to me a few hours later, rearrange the events, and then tell me what I’ve just seen?”
Colonel Alqahiray smiled at the discomfort his remarks caused. He laughed. “Don’t shake like cowards, Major. We have proven that Libyan warriors are anything but cowards.” Alqahiray had little idea the shaking was anger waiting for its time.
The silence dragged out. Finally, Alqahiray stood and faced the small crowd. To his right sat the cousin who had led the execution of the junta. The remaining seats in the first row contained the other two operations officers from the command post. In the second row Colonel Walid, Major Samir, alongside the two other intelligence officers, sat with two individuals Colonel Alqahiray recognized as senior security guards of the compound. Why were they here? He was on the verge of ordering them out, but in the exuberance of the moment he decided they could stay. The more witnesses to his victory, the quicker the word would spread.
He cleared his throat. “This is a glorious moment in history, my fellow Islamic warriors. In ten days we have shook the world as no Moslem has since the eleventh century. Tomorrow, we will no longer be a Third World country to be ridiculed, ignored, and scorned by the West. No, we’ll be in a position to control the world economically, defend ourselves militarily, and wield world influence unparalleled for a Moslem country. We will control the lifelines of the world. We’ll own the Mediterranean. We’ll have power. We will inspire every Arab in the world as we lead Islam once again into greatness. For that, you will be remembered as architects of the rise of Islamic greatness in what the Westerners call the twenty-first century. The great years are yet to come as Allah ordains our victory.”
On the screen the new Algerian ambassador began his walk down the aisle toward the podium, where the huge lectern gave the speaker a grand view of the enormous hall and the gallery above it.
Walid coughed slightly. “Colonel, it has begun.”
The colonel’s eyes gleaned with a flash of anger over being interrupted. He hated to be interrupted. Alqahiray buried the fiery emotion quickly, and reluctantly sat down to yield the attention to the screen in front. No applause. No adulation. It was Walid’s fault.
Who was more important? Him or his mouthpiece at the U. N.? Walid needed to be reminded of his place. That would come with time.
Walid wiped the sweat from his forehead. So much to do in the next hour, and even though he was committed to doing it, Colonel Alqahiray still frightened him.
Colonel Alqahiray was Jihad Wahid. Without his insight and cunning, without his forethought and plans, without his leadership and political tempering of tribal diversities — without him making the covert arrangement with the Chinese, they would not be here today. It brought tears of respect to Walid’s eyes. And tears of sadness, too.
The Chinese general walked slowly around the room, shaking hands and exchanging small talk with the others. The air-conditioning was cool on his skin after the brisk walk uphill in the hot morning sun.
Sharing the thrill of a plan coming to fruition, he basked in the admiration and the congratulatory comments. Several attentive minutes later he sat down at one end of the long, well-polished table to join the high-ranking Chinese ministers. He took a deep breath when he realized he was the only military person present. He wiped the sweat from his palms. A great honor, if nothing goes wrong.
The ancient gentleman in the dark suit at the other end pushed himself up from his seat. “General Xing, congratulations on your accomplishment. We honor you for the brilliant execution of a scheme that furthers the world influence of the People’s Republic of China.
Few could have taken a concept such as this and achieved the secrecy and applied the tact necessary to bring it to a successful conclusion — a conclusion without tainting our hands. One that will enhance Chinese influence throughout the world with little, if any, political fallout.” He lifted his wineglass. “Gentlemen, please stand with me in drinking a toast to General Xing, without whose foresight and clarity our government would not have achieved this success. To paraphrase the English despot Churchill, “Never have so many owed so much for so little.” Dao Chu Shai smiled, knowing everyone in the room attributed the success to his foresightedness.
General Xing remained seated. He nodded deeply, and forced the smile from his lips as he paid respect to the wispy gray-haired Chairman Dao Chu Shai. Everyone stood, lifted their glasses to him, and sipped the French wine. They would have been drinking champagne if the chairman hadn’t preferred wine. A round of polite fingertips-in-palms applause followed. Every one of them envied the chairman’s power, but his knowledge of their weaknesses and their interwoven intrigues kept them pitted against each other.
One of the two assistants who were always with him pulled the chairman’s chair further out. The chairman put his hand on the arm of the shorter assistant as he turned and began his shuffle toward General Xing. The old man balanced his movement with a hand on the back of the chairs along the way. Why did the body always go before the intellect?
He waved the assistant back. The others remained standing, but no one offered to help the frail leader of the People’s Republic of China.
They remembered, too well, the last time. Each nodded respectfully as Dao passed. And when he passed, each finished off the remnants of wine in his glass and nervously poured a refill. They should be worried, Dao gloated to himself.
The general stood as the chairman reached him.
“General, on behalf of a grateful nation, I award you the Red Order of Mao.” he said, his voice vibrating from age. “You have done well, and we of the People’s Republic of China are proud of our patriots. Your initiative highlights the increased decline of American supremacy and relegates both Americans and their lackeys to a secondary status. And the funny thing is, General, they don’t even know it! They will never realize our success or how this marks the turning point in world dominion.”
The chairman put his hand out to brace himself on the walnut table. “I am hopeful that I may live to witness Communism spread in its true form as hand-in-hand we lead the lesser nations into the future. World dominion cannot be accomplished militarily. No, world dominion is like a good game of chess. One must be patient to the point of even allowing your opponent the initial onslaught on the board. Let him expend his forces against a strong defense while you look several moves beyond for the ultimate victory. Never confront him head-on when you can enter his garden from the rear. And when the time is right, you strike with everything and send him reeling back until he cries in defeat. We could have accomplished the same things by military force.