Hector Guerra sat in a lounge chair with his bright flower-patterned shirt unbuttoned, exposing a huge and hairy paunch. Although a breeze blew off the ocean, it barely moved his perfectly styled hair. Next to him sat a man who seemed comfortable in these surroundings. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and dark sunglasses. His most distinguishing feature was the wedge of pink scarring beneath his chin. On his arm he wore a bandage from a recent battle, with another wrapping around his chest from a fall that had broken three ribs.
“Unfortunately,” said Guerra, “our economies will have to wait to see better times.”
The man who was Abraham Obadiah lifted his drink in the air, then sipped from it before placing it back on the table beside his chair. “For now,” he answered. “But I’ll never give up the cause for my people.”
“You know we could never risk another venture as we did with the pope.”
“There will always be opportunities, my friend. We’ll simply learn from our mistakes and better prepare from them.”
“But never at the risk of placing myself in jeopardy.”
“There will always be risks, Mr. Guerra, always. What you do is prognosticate the problems before they happen and plan for them.”
“Which is what you did with Kimball Hayden?”
“Kimball Hayden came out of nowhere.”
“My point exactly. Sometimes you just can‘t prepare for everything.”
“Next time we’ll know better.”
“And how does one prepare against somebody who does not exist?”
“Kimball Hayden has a background. We all do.” And then more to himself. ”I will find him.”
Both men remained quiet for the moment, each enjoying the light breeze coming off the surf as well as the scenery of creamy waves lapping the shoreline. Guerra queried him further.
“And when you find this Kimball Hayden, what will you do?”
Obadiah paused to think before answering. “That‘s my business,” he finally answered. “Right now I have far more pressing matters to deal with.”
Hector Guerra chortled. “What? Disrupting the firm balance of national psyches by using terrorism as a vehicle to promote fears? Isn’t that wonderful?”
“It’s what the Lohamah Psichlogit does best,” he said. “It’s what I get paid for.”
“Then if you meet this Hayden, just make sure that you live to see another day.”
“I would have to,” he returned. “If I am to make a better life for my people, then I have to make progress. And the price for progress, my friend, is destruction. And the destruction of Kimball Hayden would surely remove any future nuisances from my life.”
For a moment both men stared at each other, neither of their features betraying any thought or emotion, and watched the incoming waves.