And the line went silent.
The President picked his coat off the bedpost and drew it on. Of all the perils that had loomed on the international horizon-a fractured Russia and an increasingly belligerent China-this was the one he never saw coming.
It was a good thing no one knew he had a hand in creating it.
Chapter 29
In his office on the thirty-eighth floor of the United Nations Building overlooking the East River, Secretary-General Anwar Anwar-Sadat was fielding telephone calls.
Strange things were happening in the world. The call to roll back the two-hundred-mile limit seemed to be resonating in certain world capitals.
From Argentina a thickly accented voice was telling him that his was the first sane voice heard on the subject in decades.
From South Korea there were plaudits. Japan appeared interested. Of course, they would be. Their fleets plied the seven seas voraciously, often encountering resistance and sanctions.
From other quarters, of course, came dark threats. Russia had been claiming dubious management rights over disputed waters, and Moscow was irate. Likewise Burma, or whatever the current name was, engaged in raffling off their coastal fishing rights, was being unpleasant.
The U.S. ambassador to the United Nations was particularly upset, if her telephonic screeches were any indicator.
Anwar Anwar-Sadat excused himself in the middle of her unrelenting vitriol and stood up.
It was the turning point, but it was very strange. All he had done was make a speech. It wasn't even a very good speech, although it was delivered with conviction. With force. Obviously that was why it had resonated so.
His chief aide buzzed him very soon after the first wave of calls to inform him, "A Miss Calley to speak with you."
Anwar Anwar-Sadat perked up. "Really?"
"Yes. She is not on the list, but she sounded so sure of herself, I said I would see if you were in."
"I will take the call," Anwar Anwar-Sadat said eagerly.
Taking his chair, he cleared his throat twice very noisily because he seemed to have raised a bothersome frog, then took up the receiver. "This is Secretary-General Anwar Anwar-Sadat speaking," he said, his voice a quavering purr.
"Good of you to take my call, my Anwar," a cool female voice said crisply.
He all but gasped. "It is you?"
"It is I."
"I have longed for this moment."
"And for another moment, nearing soon."
"You are in New York?" he said joyously.
"No. But you are coming here."
"I look forward to our first meeting. I must say that I very much admire your voice."
"And I yours."
"It is-how shall I put it?-uplifting." He tittered.
"I will accept that as the compliment of a gentleman, and keep my innuendo to myself."
She was charming. Her voice was a husky contralto. Sexy, yes, but not sluttish. It did not quite go with his mental image of a blond goddess, but in fact, it was an improvement. It was a very capable voice.
"I am very excited about the reception to my speech," he said.
"The world's ears are turned in your direction, my Anwar."
"Although my duty calls for me to be here, I will come to your city wherever it may be."
"Ottawa. Come tonight."
"We will laugh, we will dance and we will dine on one another's charms," Anwar Anwar-Sadat tittered.
"And we will confer with the Canadian minister of fisheries," said Mistress Kali.
Anwar-Sadat's face quirked as if bee-stung.
"That does not sound very ...romantic."
"We will have our little romance, you and I. But your words have struck a chord. The minister of fisheries has struck a like chord in his own nation. I thought you two should meet."
"Whatever for?"
"To plot your dual strategy."
"I do not have dual strategy."
"No. You have a unified strategy. My strategy."
"And after this meeting, what shall I look forward to?"
"What would please you, my Anwar?"
"Something new. Something extraordinary."
"I am adept in many arts. Both subtle and sensual. I will conjure up something appropriate for the occasion of our first meeting."
"It is done."
"A car will meet you at the Ottawa airport. Please hurry. Events are overtaking the globe. We must move to control them, if we are to profit by them."
"Until tonight," purred Anwar Anwar-Sadat, who blew a kiss into the receiver and was rewarded with a breathy return peck.
Hanging up reluctantly, he came to his feet and called out. "Christos! Book me on the earliest flight to Ottawa."
Christos came into the room and noticed the unseemly bulge in Anwar Anwar-Sadat's well-tailored crotch and averted his eyes with red-faced embarrassment.
"At once, my General," he said, saluting crisply.
CANADIAN FISHERIES Minister Gilbert Houghton was giving a follow-up speech where the Fraser River emptied out into the Strait of Georgia among the coastal pines of British Columbia. Vancouver's sparkling towers formed an impressive backdrop.
The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation was there. As were foreign press, including a solitary representative from the U.S. ABC, of course. Their chief anchor was Canadian. A good man to have in New York when the Canadian view needed putting forth.
The cold winds were out of the Pacific. They ran chilly fingers through Houghton's crisp hair. Opening his mouth, he inhaled a bracing charge of the purest air in Mother Nature.
"I have come here to our fifth province to make a firm stand against piracy and environmental pillaging."
From a packet he took up a dead fish. It lay limp in his hand.
"This is a green sturgeon. A brave, mighty and tasty fish. Here in the Fraser, green sturgeon are all but extinct." He lifted up another fish, this one white. "If something is not done, his brother, white sturgeon, will go the way of all fish. My friends, we are expecting here in B.C. a die-off of fish unprecedented in modern history. Just as the dodo is extinct, just as the whale was hunted to near extinction, we are about to lose our sturgeon and salmon. It must not be allowed to come to pass.
"It is no secret that one of the chief causes of this die-off is overfishing. In that, we Canadians must assume our rightful share of blame."
From the crowd there were boos-fishermen, many of whom were restricted from fishing in their own waters. Among these men the name of Gilbert Houghton was something to expectorate from the mouth.
"Some blame logging for injuring the habitats. Others say El Nino's warmer waters are responsible for diminishing salmon returns. While these events may have their individual impacts, there is a greater menace. Salmon return to the Fraser and other B.C. rivers to spawn. If they do not return, they cannot spawn. It is no secret that virtually all the salmon runs in this part of the world belong to British Columbia. Nor it is any secret that the salmon do not return to the Fraser and other coastal streams as they have because they are intercepted."
He let the word hang in the cold air, bitter as castor oil.
"U.S. fishermen operating in the shared waterways off B.C. are capturing salmon in record numbers. In doing so, they are confiscating the next generation of salmon before they can hatch. Confiscating our food, our livelihood and our very futures!"
"The bloody bastards!" a man cried out.
Gilbert Houghton looked out. It was a typical B.C. fisherman. But his face was painted white, and smack in the middle, resembling a blotch of fresh blood, was the red maple leaf of Canada.
Houghton suppressed a smile. A plant. There were others. They were salted throughout the crowd for the benefit of the camera.
"In the Atlantic my predecessor stepped in to arrest the Maritime cod crisis. He was a good man, but he acted too late. I have taken steps to halt the salmon crisis. For this I have been roundly and unfairly criticized."