If it had been the Russians who had that force with them, Corazon would have gone directly to the Russians, run the hammer and sickle up the Baqian flagpoles, and declared his everlasting friendship.
But you didn't do that with Americans. When America or any of its allies used force, it became the focus of ill will at the United Nations. People from all over condemned the U.S. warmongers. As the Russian had reminded Corazon today:
"Be a full-fledged member of the Third World, supporting us in everything, and you can't commit a crime. Only America and friends of America can commit crimes. And we can give you two hundred American professors swearing you are being picked on unfairly if you should ever have to start a real bloodbath. And we're the only ones still making gas ovens for human disposal. And no one says a word."
The Russian pointed out that good, safe governments had to kill all the time. It was the only sure
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way of getting respect. With communism, one could do it free of criticism. And never have to hold an election.
Now Corazon did not like Russians as people, but as a leader one had to make sacrifices.
"Break the relations with America," said Corazon.
"What?" asked Major Estrada.
"Break the relations with America and bring me the Russian ambassador."
"I don't know how to break the relations with a country."
"Do I have to do everything?"
"All right. When?" asked Corazon.
"Now," said Corazon.
"Anything else?"
Corazon shook his head. "It is big thing, breaking the relations with a country. People read this to me all the time."
"Who reads?" asked Estrada.
"The minister of education. He reads."
"He's a good reader," admitted Estrada. He had seen him read for an audience once. The minister of education had gotten through a big fat book with no pictures in one short afternoon. Once, Estrada had asked a so-called smart American how fast he had read that book and the so-called smart American said it had taken him a week. Baqia had a good minister of education.
"Another thing," said Corazon. 'Take care of this man here." He nodded to the dazed Dr. Jameson.
"Bring him to the British consul?" asked Estrada.
"No," said Corazon.
"Oh," said Estrada, and with his .44 put two thumping slugs into the blue blazer. One of the slugs blew the breast patch off the jacket.
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"Not here, stupido," yelled Corazon. "I want him shoot here, I shoot him here myself."
"You say take care of him. You say break the relations with America. You say get Russian ambassador and get him here. Hey, what's all this, eh? I got one afternoon."
"Anybody else as stupid as you, Estrada, I shoot."
"You can't shoot me," said Estrada, putting his smoking pistol back in the holster.
"Why not?" demanded Corazon. He didn't like hearing a thing like that.
"Because I the only one you know who won't shoot you if I get a chance."
The Russian ambassador perspired profusely. He rubbed his hands. He wore a very floppy suit. He was a middle-aged man and had served as a consul in Chile, Ecuador, Peru, and now here in Baqia. He had his own ratings for countries, on a scale of one to ten. Ten being the most likely to get killed in. He didn't mind living for socialism but he certainly didn't want to die for it. He rated Baqia at twelve.
He had three children and a wife at home in Sverdlovsk. He had a sixteen-year-old dark-eyed island beauty here in Baqia. He didn't want to go home.
When he heard the Generalissimo wanted to see him, he didn't know if it was for his own execution, someone else's execution, or just a request to give more help to another Third World country aspiring to break the chains of colonialism, which was just another word for a shakedown. The Russian ambassador was Anastas Bogrebyan. He was of Armenian descent. He had one purpose on this island and that was to oversee all operations aimed at getting the device that disintegrated people, and failing that to make sure no
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one else got it. On important scientific matters that had to be done right, the Russians now sent Armenians. It used to be Jews, but too many kept right on going once outside Russia.
"I love Russia and communism and socialism and all that stuff," Corazon told the ambassador. "And I am thinking what can I do for my Russian friends, I am thinking?"
Corazon tapped the blue velvet drape over the special machine. Bogrebyan had dealt with natives before. He knew he wasn't going to get this machine right away. Not without bargaining.
"What is the very best thing I can give my friends, the Russians?"
Bogrebyan shrugged. Was it really possible he was going to give the machine itself to Russia? No, it was impossible. Even though he was hearing what he was hearing, Bogrebyan did not think Corazon was the kind of man to surrender so easily what he knew was the only thing that was pumping money into his country. Moreover, this man who had lived all his life by stealth and death was not about to panic into giving something away when he could put on the squeeze. And then Bogrebyan saw the squeeze.
Corazon announced he was breaking diplomatic relations with America, but he was afraid.
"Afraid of what?" asked Bogrebyan.
"What America will do to me. Will you protect me?"
"Of course. We love you," said Bogrebyan, knowing there was more to come.
"There are American CIA killer agent spies here, on my sacred soil of Baqia."
"There is no place of value that does not have spies from everywhere, comrade," said Bogrebyan shrewd-
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ly. He had a honker of a nose with a few small hairs on the end of it. Perspiration collected on the hairs. But Bogrebyan's soul was cool.
Corazon grinned. He had a round face like a big dark melon.
"You protect us?" he said.
"What do you want?"
"I want Americans dead. Over there. In the Astarse. Americans, yes?"
"Perhaps," said Bogrebyan. "But we want something in return. We want to help you use your new device for the good of all mankind. For peaceful purposes. For us."
Corazon knew he had been outmaneuvered, but he was not about to give up.
"Or I might join those killers over there. In the Astarse. Throw myself at their mercy. It can happen."
Now Bogrebyan wondered why Corazon himself could not take care of the Americans. Cautiously he said, "We'll see. There are many, many spies here now. We are not quite sure, comrade, why you fear these two."
"Comrade," said Corazon, embracing the Russian. "Get them, you get my magic." But in his heart the great fear was growing. It was possible the Russians would fail. "Do not fail," Corazon blurted. "Use enough men and do not fail."
In the evening he went to his window overlooking the Astarse. He waited for the Russians. They would be coming soon. Bogrebyan was not a stupid man. The sun set red down Baqian Route 1. He saw the Russians then, down the road, strolling quite casually. Twenty-five men with guns and ropes and light mortars. All pretenses were gone. It was going to be a war.
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Corazon's heart beat with a dash of joy now. It might work. It might very well work, he thought.
He had heard among other things that morning that one of the lower officers who worked at the airport said there was an old Oriental one should be afraid of who was part of the American team. Old men died quicker when helped to their deaths. And then to his further joy Corazon, peering from the palace window, saw that another equally strong group of Russians were coming from the other direction on Route 1.