Destroyer 033 by Voodoo Die

Author:Voodoo Die
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

The cable was marked "Top Secret Super Duper," so the secretary of state knew it was from

Baqia when the thin blue sheet, folded into a self-envelope, was placed on his desk.

The message inside was from Generalissimo Cora-zon and was brief:

"We starting relations with you again, okay?"

The secretary of state chewed a Mylanta for his stomach, which bubbled like a noxious vial of chemicals from a

horror movie. Nothing in the curriculum of the Woodrow Wilson School of International Affairs had prepared

him for this. Why hadn't they told him about people like Corazon and governments like Baqia's?

They had broken off relations two days earlier by announcing that they weren't going to

have sex with America anymore. No reason. Now they were re-

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opening diplomatic relations with a kindergarten note. Okay?

And it wasn't just Baqia, it was everywhere. Foreign policy seemed so easy when you were

just lecturing about it. But when you tried to practice it you found the theories and the plans

getting swamped by the people you had to deal with, people whose foreign policy might be

dictated by whether or not they liked their morning meal.

And so the United States had lost its initiative in the Mideast, and every time they though

they had put it back together that lunatic with a striped pillow case on his head would

threaten to shoot somebody else and it would all come unglued. The United States had

thrown its lot with the revolutionary rabble in South Africa and Rhodesia and, when the

governments of those countries backed down with concessions, the revolutionaries rejected them.

China seemed about ready to retreat back behind its traditional closed doors and no one knew

who to talk to to try to prevent it.

And then there were natural resources. Was it some kind of cosmic joke of God to have the

nitnats of the world breed and multiply over the oil and the gold and the diamonds and the

chrome and the asphalt and now the mung?

He sighed again. Sometimes he wished that all the one-term talk of this President were true,

so he could go back to college and lecture. At least a lecture was orderly, with a beginning,

middle, and end. Foreign policy was nothing but middles.

He told his secretary to get Generalissimo Corazon on the telephone. If mung was that important, he would

welcome El Presidente back into the American

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family of nations, assuming El Presidente Icnew what the American family of nations was.

His secretary was back on the line in three minutes.

"They don't answer," she said.

"What do you mean they don't answer?"

"Sorry, sir. There's no answer."

"Well, get me the deputy El Presidente if they have one . . . or the minister of justice . . . or

that dopey major that Corazon trusts. Yes, Estrada, I think it is. Get me him."

"He doesn't answer, either."

"He what?"

"I tried him. He doesn't answer, either."

"Is there anybody there I can talk to?"

"No sir, that's what I've been trying to tell you. The switchboard operator-"

"Where is she?"

"In Baqia."

"Of course she's in Baqia. Where in Baqia?"

"I don't know, Mister Secretary. They only have one operator in the whole country.

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