Rubin felt so good he was down to one Percodan an hour, and it was then that he told Beatrice:
“Your Majesty, we are ready.”
Beatrice chortled. She confided to her new minister, Oscar, the souvenir man:
“We're not taking it anymore.”
And then on a phone system as mysterious as the far reaches of the planet Neptune and sometimes just as inaccessible, she telephoned the State Department of the United States of America and told them she wanted to speak to the President on a matter of utmost urgency.
“And who is this?”
“This is Beatrice of Alarkin. We are a newly independent state and we can go either way. There already is a Russian delegation here willing to sell us all the weapons we might need.”
The President was on the phone in a half-hour.
“We certainly wish to extend the greetings of the American people to your new nation. However, we also have relations with the Bahamas and with Great Britain and I do believe that to be recognized, you must clear up the question of your legitimacy first.”
Thus spoke the President of the United States from his new office, with the State Department brief in front of him. Intelligence had reported a takeover of the small Bahamian island.
Under the new setup he touched nothing. No paper came to him, rather all material came through a computer screen. He was a healthy man for his seventy-odd years, and his mind was sharp. He didn't want to get America entangled in a revolution, especially one against nations that were friends. On the other hand, he wanted to keep communications open.
The name Alarkin struck a bell with him. But his two aides, now restricted to only entering the outer edge of the office, just shook their heads when he asked them what Alarkin reminded them of.
“Nothing, sir,” said the aides.
A door opened and a lemony-faced man in a gray three-piece suit stood in the doorway.
“I'm fine,” said the President.
And Smith left, shutting the door.
The aides had seen the man in the gray suit do that several times. One of them thought the man might be a personal physician but the other had been told he was a new private secretary. There were even rumors about an old Oriental who seemed to vanish when anyone saw him.
And even stranger, the President refused to enter the Oval Office anymore.
The President put his hand over the phone.
“Alarkin. I've heard that name somewhere.”
“Might be one of the old native gods.”
“She sounds white. She sounds American,” said the President.
Both aides shrugged.
“They're in a revolutionary secession from the Bahamas,” said one aide.
“Right,” said the President, and taking his hand off the phone, spoke into the receiver.
“Can we possibly help you resolve your differences with the main islands?” the President asked.
“What we want is freedom of religion,” said the Queen of Alarkin.
“We too want that, and we support it,” said the President. He turned up the speaker so that the aides could hear. He shrugged. They shrugged.
“The Bahamas have never been known for religious intolerance,” said the President, signaling that he wanted all of this recorded.
“No, but you have,” said the woman who called herself Queen of Alarkin.
“I beg to differ, ma'am. America from its very founding has promised and given freedom of religion. We are proud of it.”
“Religious freedom for some. For the large, for the wealthy, for the powerful. But what about the small and oppressed?”
“Are you talking about small black churches? They do very well here, your Majesty.”
“I am talking about those churches that dare to tell the truth. Those churches that dare to risk new and startling ideas.”
“The fact is, your Majesty, America has more and different churches than any other country in the world.”
“Yes, and what about Poweressence?”
“Ma'am, the people who run that are not facing charges because of teaching new religious doctrines. You may or may not be aware of it, but they put an alligator into the pool of a columnist who was exposing them. The post office has a good case for mail fraud, and we believe they are behind the murder — and I call it murder — of an Air Force colonel, a United States senator, and an entire plane crew. Those poor people died when the rulers of Poweressence tried to kill me.”
“There is no need for death,” said the Queen of Alarkin.
“I'd like to believe that,” said the President.
“If you dropped your cases against them, no one would have to die.”
“I would not interfere with our judicial system for anyone, but least of all for that pair of con artists and murderers,” said the President, his voice rising in anger. He remembered Colonel Armbruster, remembered how he would ask if the landing was just right sometimes, remembered the man had a family.
“I want you to know,” continued the President, “we are not giving in to terrorism of any kind.”
“I am speaking of your life. I can not guarantee the safety of your life as long as the thousands of devoted followers of Poweressence see their leaders persecuted.”
“Is that a threat?” asked the President.
“It is a friendly warning for you to be evenhanded in the matter of the Dolomos. Why do you act friendly to the Catholics, Protestants, and Jews, and feel nothing for the Poweressence devotees, beautiful people, beautiful people all?”
“I will tell you how I will be evenhanded. I am going to suggest Congress deliver me an antifraud-cult bill today. And we are going to put bums like that out of business. Because that's all they are, Queen of Alarkin. Bums.”
“Well, I can only say, Mr. President, you have only yourself to blame. Because we are not taking it anymore.”
“I don't understand.”
“You're not picking on a couple of defenseless citizens anymore. We are a nation. And we have a right to defend ourselves from oppression in any way possible. I warn you. Look to the sea. Look to the skies. Look to the land. We're not taking it anymore. We're going to get you.”
“Who is this?”
“The beautiful wife of Rubin Dolomo herself.”
“He doesn't have a beautiful wife.”
“That has to be against the Geneva Convention. That's low. For that you will pay. I've warned you. We're not taking it anymore.”
The aides saw the President hang up and then dismiss them.
“Smith, come in here please,” he said into an intercom that worked off a button under the rug beneath his desk.
“Are you feeling all right?” asked Smith as he entered. Chiun, the Oriental who worked with Smith's organization, was with him.
“I'm feeling fine,” said the President.
The Oriental bowed and left the room.
“The Dolomos have taken over a small island in the Bahamas. They have declared themselves independent. They are now foreign leaders, and they have heaven knows what at their disposal. They are totally ruthless and unscrupulous. I suggest we use the other one to go at them now.”
“He's been lost,” said Smith.
“No,” said the President, shaking his head. “If they got him, they can get anyone.”
“Probably, but Chiun is better, I believe. Remo was not in top shape.”
“Then why did you send him?”
“We didn't have anyone else, sir.”
“Send the Oriental then.”
“I'd like to keep him here.”
“Look, if we get them, then I won't be in danger,” said the President.
“And if they get him?”
“Then they'll get me. They offered terms, you know. Just now. Let them off the hook in the courts, and they will let me off.”
“Are you going to take it?”
“No.”
“I wonder if this once we shouldn't back down, and get them at an easier time.”