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  * * *

  President Crawford turned to Franco. “What does this mean?”

  “I’ll tell you what it means, Mr. President,” General PA glefield replied angrily. “It means that, if this new country survives its genesis, it’ll have a stranglehold on the economy of Europe. It’ll be in a position to control the Mediterranean.”

  “Go ahead, General, tell me your concerns in a nutshell. Heaven knows I can use it.”

  “Well, Mr. President, history shows that the nation that controls the Mediterranean controls the economy of the world.

  Militarily, this new country will be in position to contest the control of the maritime choke points of the Strait of Gibraltar and the Suez Canal. If they bring Sudan into the fold, this new country will control the coastline from the Atlantic Ocean to the Red Sea. If they take Somalia, nearly fifty percent of the African coast will be theirs.”

  “The general is right, Mr. President,” Franco added. “If they are able to meld those North African Arab countries into this new nation, then that country is going to be a direct threat to the United States and its allies. Our economy and quality of life depend on free access to the Mediterranean. We fought the Barbary Coast wars in the late eighteenth century-against the forefather of this new nation. If it succeeds in its founding against the myriad of tribal and ethnic conflicts in this region, then our influence will pale in the remainder of the Arab world compared to theirs. And on top of that, Europe is going to be influenced politically and economically by them. That will in turn affect our politics and world influence.” He shook his head.

  “No, Mr. President, we have a big problem here. Even bigger, if this new Islamic country ends up like Iran and Egypt.”

  The red phone blinked. President Crawford picked it up. “Go ahead, Alex.”

  “Mr. President, the People’s Republic of China has been the first to recognize the new Islamic Republic of North Africa and Barbary. What do you want me to do? Should we take the bull by the horns and become the second?”

  “Nothing, Alex. I don’t want you to do anything until we have had time to sort out our position. Let Bob handle any recognition that we decide. What I do want you to do is to walk over to the Israeli delegation — be visible about it — and speak with them. I don’t care what you say, but I want the members of that assembly to see that America remains firmly behind Israel. Your presence at the Israeli desk will help send that message. If we think this will affect our politics, then you can bet your bottom dollar that the Israelis will see this as a threat to their survival.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President. I’ll have a summary of the reactions here on your desk in the next couple of hours.”

  “Alex, let us discuss the issues here and determine how we want to play this new hand that has been dealt.”

  “And the evacuation operation?”

  Franco leaned over. “Mr. President, Ambassador Mintab said that the Algerians would escort our citizens to the harbor for pickup, and that they should be doing it now.”

  General Eaglefield spoke up from behind the president. “Mr. President, I propose a flash message to Admiral Cameron, identifying some options, depending on the situation there. He is the on-scene commander, and I am sure that they saw the CNN broadcast of this speech. They will be waiting for directions.”

  “Roger, take care of that,” the president ordered.

  President Crawford stood. The television showed various members of the General Assembly leaving their desks to mill about in small groups.

  Already future politics were being decided at the United Nations level, and here he was without a clear idea on how this was going to affect the United States. Why didn’t he have any foreknowledge of this? Whatever happened, it would affect America, and it was not going to be to America’s advantage. Most of the Third World representatives from Africa and the Middle East were shaking hands with Mintab and the new deputies.

  President Crawford looked away from the screen. “Bob, I want a worst-case assessment of what this means to America, our economy, and how this new political entity will influence our foreign policy. Got it?”

  Franco hurriedly scratched notes on a three-by-five card from several that he carried in his shirt pocket.

  “Also, I want a series of options and recommendations on what our reaction should be depending on what scenarios unfold, and I want it tonight.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President.”

  “Give me the book, Franco, and I want to know what the new polls say about this as soon as possible. I want to compare it with what’s in there now.”

  He reached over, took the black three-ring binder from Franco, and opened it as he left the small theater. Head down, he scanned the poll results from last night. He passed a military courier hurrying into the theater, who stopped, snapped to attention, and rendered a snappy salute.

  “Oh, hi,” the president mumbled without looking up.

  As soon as the leader of the Free World passed, the courier walked briskly over to General Eaglefield.

  “General Eaglefield,” the courier said breathlessly. “It’s North Korea, sir. You’d better come.”

  * * *

  Colonel Aloahiray applauded as he jumped to his feet. The audience rose quickly.

  “Bravo, bravo. We have done it, my fellow warriors. Today we have changed the world and we have done it without destroying ours to do it.” He clenched his fist.

  “Go, and spread the news to everyone. As of now, this headquarters is the supreme military headquarters for the Islamic Republic of North Africa and Barbary. I am the supreme military commander for every military unit, Air Force element, and Navy ship between Morocco and Egypt. By this time next week, Sudan will have joined our new country. Well done!”

  He reached across the seats and grabbed Walid. Pulling the man to him, the colonel hugged him and planted a kiss on his forehead and both cheeks before releasing him. “Can you feel the excitement in the air, Walid? The electricity? Can you feel the call of destiny to our people?” Alqahiray’s eyes sparkled with emotion, looking to Walid like small pools at the bottom of a dark canyon.

  When Walid failed to reply, Colonel Alqahiray continued. “Well, I can.

  I feel it in every fiber of my being. This is a glorious moment for us — a most glorious event!”

  “Yes, Colonel,” Walid answered, his voice low. “Our new country is something that must be treated as a mother would care for her newborn infant. With tender care we must nurture it to adulthood.” His voice grew in strength. “We may spill some of the nourishment as we feed it, and we will clean the waste from its mistakes as we grow. It is time for politicians and not for the military to lead the way. It is a time for us to show the world that we are a civilized military responsible to a civilian authority. We must be an instrument to guard the government so they may determine in peace how we will be governed!”

  The colonel stepped back and grinned. “Ah, Walid. Foolish words — profound, but foolish. Politicians are shit. They only argue and seek material gains for themselves. It is we, the new military, who will guide the politicians in how they form the new government. We will take a lesson from the Turkish General Staff. As they guide their government behind the scenes, so shall we.”

  Colonel Alqahiray raised his arms, his hands outstretched. “Did you hear what Mintab said? That’s camel dung for the Western press! Do you think we can sit idly by and let such a radical government germinate? A government where the people are manipulated to whatever designs that a good orator desires? People need discipline.

  Discipline that only we can give. We will tell the world what they want to hear, but we will do what is right for us. Do you think I intend to let the Palestinian trash into our country? That is more foolish political talk. Wherever Palestinian refugees have been accepted, there has been trouble. Look at Lebanon and Jordan.” He spat on the carpet. “That is what I think of that idea.”

  Walid and Samir walked to the end of the row and approached the colo
nel. The other two intelligence officers stepped apart. The colonel’s cousin moved beside Alqahiray.

  “Ah, Colonel,” said Walid. “I think I understand. What you intend is a military dynasty to drive the Arab world and build an empire.

  Unfortunately, the majority of us believe this is an opportunity to build an Islamic nation dedicated to Mohammed and the Moslem faith. Are you not a Moslem, my colonel?” Walid stood directly in front of the Colonel.

  Colonel Alqahiray’s eyes blazed in anger. Walid imagined the canyon pools bubbling with heat, and quickly looked away.

  The colonel pushed Walid backward. Walid stumbled a couple of steps.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Alqahiray demanded. “How dare you speak to me like this! I am your superior. I promoted you and I can disgrace you, like this.” He snapped his fingers at Walid.

  “Everything you are is because of me and don’t forget it. I could have you shot, as quick as this.” He snapped his fingers again. This time six inches from Walid’s face. His anger grew, fueled by his arrogance.

  The cousin reached for his pistol. Samir pulled his first and shot the man. The pistol clattered as it hit the floor and rolled across the tiles. The shot echoed in the small theater. The two operations officers reached for their pistols, but stopped and quickly raised their hands when the two Intelligence Officers swung their guns on them. Smoke curled from the barrel of Samir’s pistol, and the smell of cordite quickly filled the room. To one side, the two senior security guards trained their weapons on the two operations officers.

  “Keep your hands raised, please,” Walid said firmly. “Don’t try anything and no one will get hurt.” His hands shook.

  “Help me! I’ve been shot!” cried the cousin, holding both hands over a spurting stomach wound. Blood flowed between the man’s fingers, forming a spreading pool around him.

  Colonel Alqahiray looked down at his cousin. “Sorry, Mah-mud. It’s a stomach wound, and a bad one, it seems. I think you should pray to Allah.” He turned back to Walid, ignoring the weapon pointed at him by Major Samir. He focused on Walid, oblivious to the continuing entreaties from his dying cousin for help.

  The security guards herded the two operations officers against the far wall.

  “Walid, what is the meaning of this?” the colonel asked in a dejected voice, hoping the change of tactic would work. “Why have you betrayed me? It was I who pulled you along with me wherever I have gone. Have you not been taken care of? Where is your loyalty?”

  “Colonel, you have never taken me along with you!” Walid yelled. “You kept me with you because you needed someone to fawn over your every whim and desire. I met those qualifications. I foamed at the mouth like a panting dog. When we started on this path two years ago, your dedication to the cause and the sterling principles of Islam inspired me. They inspired all who followed you. Months ago some of us began to suspect that your dedication was rhetoric and little else. This realization was like the disappointment you feel when you first discover that your father is not omniscient, but has faults. You were that father to us. So, no, this was not an easy decision that brought us to this point.”

  Walid leaned forward and removed the colonel’s pistol. “We cannot allow personal ambition to override the true purpose of the revolution.

  You yourself two years ago would have agreed. Not so today. As our new nation tries to escape the pains of birth, it is time for you to step down. You will retire to the countryside as a founding father of the new nation. In short, my colonel, you are being retired.” Walid thought he detected a slight sag in the colonel’s shoulders.

  “Colonel Alqahiray, you will be retired as a hero — to a position of honor. A position that requires twenty-four-hour protection against the enemies who would see your death as a strike against the Islamic Republic. Your advice will be asked and your thoughts will be promulgated to provide guidance and encouragement to our people. You will be seen as a fountainhead of Islamic thought. To help you with this effort, Samir will author those thoughts for you so that you will truly be seen as the father of this new nation.”

  The colonel’s head snapped up, anger overriding his attempt to twist the moment. “You camel-dung beetle! Who else could have accomplished this? Tell me who, you piece of desert shit!” the colonel shouted, his face beet-red. “I’ll tell you who … no one! I am the only one in the Arab world who could have forged this magnificent creation. I am the father of the Islamic Republic of North Africa and Barbary. I am the designer of every event that led to this creation! And you stand there and tell me that now, when the country is born, that my services are no longer needed? Who the hell do you think you are?”

  Moaning came from the figure lying on the floor. “Can’t you die in quiet, Mahmud?” Colonel Alqahiray yelled. He kicked his cousin in the side, drawing a weak scream from the man. His combat boot came away spotted with blood. The cousin’s head fell to the side as he exhaled and died.

  “To hell with you, Walid. What if I refuse to retire? What if I refuse to go to the countryside and, as you say, become a shrine for the people to worship as a founding father of the new republic?” he asked, derision dripping like hot fat from his lips. “Who is going to run this diverse military? You?” He laughed. “You can’t even run the computers without someone sitting there punching the keys for you.

  You’ve never been in charge of anything larger than a platoon on a field exercise. No, Walid, you can’t do it. This new country needs me and you know it.” He paused. Then, sticking his hand out, and in a voice disturbingly calm, he said, “Surrender those guns and return to your positions and we will forget this ever happened.” He reached for Samir’s gun.

  Samir stepped back out of reach; the gun never wavered from Alqahiray’s direction.

  “Colonel, unless you accept our offer of early retirement then we will be forced to go to plan B,” said Walid.

  “And what, pray tell, is plan B, camel shit?” The calm tone disappeared.

  Samir pulled the slide back on his pistol, glanced to make sure a bullet was loaded, and then let it go.

  “Plan B is that you become a martyr, sir. Your cousin killed you and we killed your cousin.”

  “I have had it with playing around with you three low-caste dogs.”

  Colonel Alqahiray leaped for Walid.

  Samir shot the colonel in the arm, knocking the man backward into the wall.

  Though the operations theater was soundproof, Walid still glanced at the locked door as if expecting a security team to burst in at any moment.

  Colonel Alqahiray moaned and put his hand over the bullet wound.

  “Congratulations, Colonel,” said Walid. “You have been wounded in the battle. It will add to your mystique. What more could a hero ask for?

  A new nation needs heroes to rally a diverse populace. You are that hero. Dead or alive, we accomplish the same results. The Islamic Republic of North Africa and Barbary will need respected public figures to represent the will of the people. Respected figures to present on parades and give guidance. Colonel, please accept our offer,” Walid begged. “It is your one way to live in greatness. We do not want to kill you.” The colonel continued to press his left hand over the wound as he stared past Walid at the far wall. “You shot me.”

  Walid signed. “It is truly the only offer we are prepared to make.”

  Colonel Alqahiray looked down at the bullet wound. “You shot me?” His eyes were wide in astonishment. He had made the plans for this victorious day. “I can’t believe it. You shot me. Me, Colonel Alqahiray,” he mumbled, disbelieving what was happening.

  “It was with reluctance that Major Samir shot you, Colonel. It was truly an accident.”

  “Yes, with true reluctance,” Samir added, smiling. He lifted the pistol to his lips and blew across the barrel. “True reluctance.”

  “Samir, no!” Walid cried. Then he turned to Colonel Alqahiray. “The story we will tell is that your cousin shot you. A cousin who worked for the satanic C
IA. In self-defense you killed him, but not without receiving a wound yourself. You will be a hero, Colonel. The people will worship you as no other Arab leader has been worshipped, including Gamal Abdel Nasser, Muammar Qaddafi, Anwar El Sadat, or the aging Saddam Hussein. Only Mohammed will be better known than you. All you have to do is cooperate.”

  The colonel slid down the wall to a sitting position. His hand compressed the wound to slow the bleeding. He opened his mouth to say something, but words failed. How could this be happening? This entire scheme had been his idea — his genesis. He’d personally convinced the Chinese it would work. He shook his head in disbelief.

  “Colonel, though you are shaking your head no, I believe what you are trying to say is that you accept our offer?”

  After a few seconds the colonel raised his head, looked at Walid, and nodded.

  Walid smiled, a breath of gratitude escaped. “Thank you, Colonel. As a retired hero you must not try to regain your position or plot against the republic, and will not try to escape from your retirement home.

  Agreed?”

  The colonel nodded again. How could this be happening to him? He was Colonel Alqahiray — Al Madi. “I can’t believe you shot me,” he whispered. “I can’t believe it. I am the father of this new nation.”

  “Yes, my colonel, you are. But even fathers someday must step aside for their sons.”

  Walid motioned to the two intelligence officers standing nearby. One of the security guards walked to the door and opened it. Additional security personnel rushed inside.

  “Lieutenant, the colonel is wounded. His cousin, working for the American CIA, shot him, and the colonel was forced to kill the traitor.

  Please take him to medical for treatment. Major Samir and his team will accompany you, and escort the colonel to a safe haven afterwards.”