Melissa Farnsworth said, “That may be an isolated incident too. The man could be compassionate in one sense and ruthless in another.”
“I can only tell you what I saw firsthand and what I saw was a man with a forgiving heart — something you would not regularly see in a world leader.”
Landenberger raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”
“… Other than the president of the United States, of course.”
“Bravo, you are a true diplomat Houston Robinson.” The president straightened his tie as he so often did. “In the final analysis he is a politician — a very shrewd one at that and he comes from a country that is never to be trusted completely as it has many interests.”
Bumgardner added, “We should keep an eye on his every move. Robinson reported that Vissarionovich was skulking around in Venezuela last week. That is an enigma. Why would the heavyweight Russians be down there? Now Somalia? They could operate from the Kremlin well enough. They have plenty of personnel that can handle the details.”
“Maybe they are ‘hands on’ personalities. They like to see first hand who they are dealing with.” Landenberger nodded to Prottenger as he could tell he had something on his mind.
The vice president rubbed his eyes and placed his wire rimmed spectacles on the table. “Gentlemen we must remember that Kuznetsov has told us that we should not entirely believe the public statements that come from his office. If you listened carefully to Vissarionovich a few minutes ago, he is very guarded with his statements about what they are going to do with supplying the Iranians from this point. He walks carefully on eggshells as they want to keep making sales to Iran and make the rest of us his allies at the same time.”
“It would make one wonder what they plan to sell us next?”
Nervous laughter filled the room.
An hour later Robinson was sitting in his living room.
The pair of DSS agents that guarded his home waved to him from across the street as he entered. He lived about a mile from the Baltimore/Washington International Thurgood Marshall Airport where his government jet was sequestered in a state of constant preparedness. He was always careful to lock the door behind him. His mother could be heard rustling around in the kitchen as he tossed his keys on the shelf, hung up his coat, and pressed the TV remote for the news.
“Hi Mom, how are you feeling today?” He gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“I’m feeling OK. I slept all afternoon and now I’m hungry. Dad is mowing the grass. I’ll cook some burgers, a baked potato and make a salad.”
“That would be great.”
“Your old friend Carol called today. She is all excited about an assignment in Somalia.”
“She is a wonderful gal. We need more caring people in this world like her. If we had more like her, the world would be a very different place.”
“She wanted me to say ‘still love ya’ to you too. She leaves in two days. I do hope she will be OK there.”
“She can take care of herself and the Red Cross would not place her in any danger, I am sure.”
The news viewed the last few days’ world events very differently. The coup in Venezuela was cheered by some and jeered by others. The Cuban president threatened to attack the borders; however Robinson wondered how that could be accomplished with a rag-tag military. He imagined that Santiago and the Cuban leader were allies and must have smoked cigars on the veranda. No one paid any serious attention to Cuba.
FOX’s eight o’clock talk show interviewed a succession of guests who said they were glad to be rid of Santiago and that Rio was a respected dignitary that would hold the country together for the interim.
One guest noted, “It will be interesting to see how the Russians get along with the new leaders. There is talk about exactly what was going on down there. Most figure that the Russians had some arms deals going down. Two more aircraft carriers have been reported hanging out off the coast.”
Another marched around in a South American military uniform and mocked the former dictator/president. He declared in his usual sarcastic demeanor, “Bye Bye Santiago; if you thought it was hot in Venezuela, wait till ya arrive at your new destination! Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”
With little exception, everyone was upset with Iran. Alternate viewpoints were presented by Muslim guests who declared what a peace loving people they all were. Worldwide protests depicted tens of thousands lining the streets in the US, India, Japan and all of Western Europe. Footage provided by IRIB ran the footage of the blast depicting the ground heaving up like a large cancerous wart over and over. Iranians lined the street with signs indicating how delighted they were to possess the bomb while they burned Israeli and American flags.
Robinson imagined there were Iranian protests of the opposite view that would never be seen anywhere.
Chapter Eleven
Admiral Mustafa Mahdi got right to the point.
“We must be faithful to ourselves!” His band of Tswana, B-Wasy, and Kinyamwezi Marines sat around a large oak table in a lavish villa that overlooked Basaco, the port city of Puntland. They were a motley looking crew of native Bantu sporting straw hats, khaki shorts, tennis shoes and AK-47’s. Mahdi operated his marines much like the Italian mafia with a hierarchy of captains, lieutenants, and soldiers. For a soldier to work his way up the ladder, a trail of bullet ridden bodies was often left behind.
I must show them who is in charge here. He looked at the faces of each. They all know Saad has betrayed me. When I am finished they will know I am no fool.
“The one thing I must have from all of you is trust.” He circled around behind the table with his hands clasped behind his back as though he were an erudite scholar teaching seniors at Benadir University. “For without trust we cannot function. We are like a family and must trust in one another. All of you are like brothers to me. I would lay down my life for my brother and I would expect him to do the same for me.”
All nodded in agreement. “Trust…,” muttered one. “Lay down our lives….”
Mahdi spoke of trust and family for several minutes and gathered a frenzied momentum. “TRUST ABOVE ALL! Among us lies a traitor, one who has dipped ever so slightly into the till. The amount is trivial, however when a trust is broken, there are no bounds in where a transgression will end.”
The Admiral found a grappling hook resting against the wall and clutched it tightly in his hand while he continued to circle the table like a vulture descending upon a dying prey. He stood behind one with his hand resting gently upon the shoulder. He smiled at the congregation.
No one moved. Eyes did not blink.
“TRUST!” Suddenly he hammered the hook into the top of the head as though it were a watermelon, splitting it in half. The body fell forward and a puddle of blood washed across the table. Those sitting closest pulled back their chairs and stood respectfully off to the side while the crimson stain spilled onto the tiled floor. “Yes Admiral Mahdi.” They acknowledged, “Trust above all.”
He tossed the hook to the floor with a look of disdain. “I trust in all of you. Do not let me down like Saad. I loved him like a bother and he has betrayed me.”
Crack! Crack! Crack! The sound of gunfire filled the air. Everyone jumped to their feet clutching their AK-47’s and headed for the exit.
What is happening? Those are not the sounds of my men.