He put on the TV to see if there was a Giants game on. The black-and-white set was tuned to Channel 13 and a show called “The Open Mind” was on. He adjusted the rabbit ear antenna on the top of the Sears-Roebuck TV. Lewis Rukeyser was interviewing Dr. Ensiling and they were talking about whether or not nuclear power would ever be safe enough to deliver the promise it once held. Ensiling maintained that it was safe in the American design of double-walled reactors, but that the rest of the world didn’t have that technology and therefore as other countries became nuclear dependent the danger level would rise as less-safe reactors went into operation. He then almost casually threw in the point that, of course, the problem of nuclear waste is still to be adequately resolved, but in 10 years maybe they’ll have figured it out.
When the program was over, Peter was blown away. Wow. I know that guy. There was a Sinbad movie on Channel 2’s “Picture for a Sunday Afternoon.” He watched Sinbad in badly dubbed English fight a two-headed dragon and save a princess. He’d gotten dressed and, at the insistence of his father, he went to 4 o’clock mass. Then he took two trains and a bus to arrive at Kasiko’s house at seven sharp.
Peter handed the key to Kasiko as soon as he entered. As he said hello to everyone, he couldn’t get his eyes off Ensiling. It was sudden hero worship, as if Y.A. Tittle, the New York Giants quarterback, was in the room. Peter said nothing but listened intently to every word that flew around the table. They were speaking Hungarian politics and the politics of Europe as a whole. As dinner was served, one of the men asked Peter his thoughts on the SALT agreement. He felt a momentary wave of panic welling up inside him, and then he remembered that Ensiling had mentioned SALT in the show. He quickly rifled through the main points as he remembered them. “Well, I don’t know too much about it, but the problem is the two-headed serpent that nuclear power is. One head is the peaceful use, which is inherently dangerous, except for the United States reactors. But if we gave the world our design, then they’ll be that much closer to making high-quality atomic fuel for bombs.” And there in one succinct sentence was the summation of Peter’s day of watching TV. The only thing he’d left out was the Brylcreem commercial.
“My, what a colorful analogy,” another scientist named Brodenchy said. “A doubled-headed serpent; how insightful.”
“Peter, you are correct. But are you suggesting we limit the proliferation of nuclear energy?”
“Well… no. We could operate it for all the other countries then we can make sure it’s only used for peaceful means.”
“Peter, there are so many geo-political problems with that solution that I can’t even start.”
“Oh.” Peter was a little deflated.
Ensiling noticed his embarrassment. “Now you can’t blame Peter for his America-centric view of the world. He is, after all, the only American at this table.”
Peter smiled and felt that Prof. Ensiling was a nice guy because he was speaking up for him.
At one point, someone asked for mustard and Kasiko warned, “Only take a little; it’s very hot, you know.”
“Yeah, a little dab will do ya,” Peter said making it a clean sweep for Sunday afternoon TV.
After dinner, they retired to the living room. There, the talk turned to the committee. Most of it was proceduraclass="underline" when to plan future meetings, creating subcommittees, and the timing of interim reports. Eventually, the subject got to the book.
“Have the reports from Egypt come in yet?”
“No, we hope to have them by early next week.”
“Kasiko, do you have the document?”
“Yes. Thanks to Peter I have a copy for each of you on the Harmonic Sub committee.” He then doled out the books that Peter had copied. He returned the original to Prof. Ensiling. Thank you for bringing this to us.”
“I was never so nervous in all my life going through customs.”
Peter resisted the urge to add, I know what you mean, shheez! lest he reveal his skullduggery.
Chapter Seven
When Alizir had finished his morning prayers, he rattled his chain, the signal he had trained his captors to understand meant, “Bring me my food.” These Infidels were fools, He had braced himself for the worst after the stories of Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay. He thought they would surely torture him. But yesterday, he sent back his lunch because his meat was undercooked. They weren’t guards; they were servants. This wasn’t a country to be feared; it was a nation of men whose fathers abdicated their roles in teaching a man to pray and fight and die for a cause. Probably in deference to their wives, who were not intended by Allah to raise sons. They were half-men. He had fought the half-men of Russia as a Mujahedeen in the eighties. He volunteered in retribution for his father and sisters being brutally killed in his younger years. Lives extinguished for being nothing more than devoted Muslims; praise Allah, that he was able to save his younger brother. He and the Afghans with which he trained defeated the great Russian Army and sent them home to their weeping mothers to be breastfed once more. It was during those days he met the wealthy son of an Arab billionaire who traded a flamboyant life as a playboy in New York and Paris for the bone-chilling sanctuary of deep caves. Since those days, Osama had left his mark and, had the virus plan been executed, his name, Alizir, too would be blessed with the adoration of all those who fought the great Satan.
“Put it on the table.” The Sheik said, to the servant delivering his meal. His back was to the door. He turned when he didn’t hear the tray sliding onto the table.
It was her again.
“Good morning, Shiek,” was all she said as she walked over to the chain that was locked to the hoop on the floor. She tugged on the chain and gestured for him to give her some slack.
“You are releasing me?”
Without saying a word, she produced another lock and by threading it through the links, shortened the chain by about five feet.
“Sit down!”
He almost sat, but then remembered that this wasn’t a man or even an American half-man. This was only a woman.
“Are you going to sit?” She gestured to the chair.
He didn’t respond.
The impact between his shoulder blades made him lose his breath and he found himself dazed and confused on the floor. She was now standing in front of him, swinging a sock with a heavy weight in the end. He immediately scrambled to his feet and rushed at her, forgetting the newly shortened chain. It snagged him back just as he reached her.
“I used to do this with the neighbor’s dog. I knew how long his leash was and he just snarled and barked but couldn’t bite me.”
Brooke was lying; it was actually her dog that was tormented this way by her neighbor’s unbalanced son. But never let the facts get in the way of a threat. She smashed the sock onto the table, the energy and force made the Sheik wince.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Sheik. You scare the living daylights out of me. You have become a star in my nightmares.” Wham! She hit the table again. “My daddy taught me to face my fears, look them right in the eye, and see that they are nothing and only had the fear I gave them.”
She looked the Sheik in the eye and didn’t blink. It was he who eventually turned away.
“How did you achieve operational ability in America?”
He didn’t respond.
“Two, three, four.” Wham! She hit him so hard in the shoulder he was knocked to the floor on one knee.
“Hmmm didn’t leave a mark? Oh, we’re going to do this all day! And it will just be our little secret.”