Casing the Colors © Week 23

Casing the Colors © Week 23 • • • CHAPTER 40 • • The French Air Force escort left General Julien and his American companion as they entered Moroccan airspace, replaced by a Moroccan Air Force squadron. They landed at a remote air field in the northern interior. General Julien said they were near Taza. Because they were guests of the king, they were treated with great courtesy and deference. After being offered sweet tea and warm, scented towels to refresh themselves, they were taken by helicopter to the royal palace in Rabat. As they flew over the middle Atlas, through the low passes in the mountains and out onto the coastal plain, they could see the Rif, scene of conflict for a thousand years, stretching along the Mediterranean coast. Inside the palace, servants led them through a maze of connected buildings and passageways ending deep in the private quarters reserved for personal guests of the king. The suites were in a white stucco building with colorful geometric patterns painted over the doorways and set into the interior walls with mosaic tiles. The windows opened onto an inner courtyard where green palms and flowering plants around a shallow pool gave shade to an otherwise hot and arid garden. Kate Gordon entered her suite, which was refreshingly cool after the heat of the desert helicopter ride. The antique rosewood furniture was inlaid with brass and ivory and softened with Kilim cushions. The pale blue walls were covered with large Persian carpets of delicate blue and rose tones. Maurice Julien knocked on her door to ask if she was comfortable. They drank more tea served by the maid, a tall and silent, but watchful, Berber woman. The early evening, hot and still, made them drowsy as Maurice talked about the king and offered advice about what Kate could expect at dinner. He was wearing a caftan while his formal dress uniform was being pressed. Kate didn't have an evening dress with her, but the Berber woman arrived to show her an exquisite French gown and a caftan of fine turquoise silk, trimmed with golden beads. "Wear the caftan," Maurice said. "The king will be pleased." Kate agreed, but she asked, "Don't you feel guilty, Maurice, to be indulged while the world is in such great danger." "If we don't play the game by the king's rules, we won't receive his blessing or his help. While we are playing, we may as well enjoy ourselves. It could be our last opportunity before the world evaporates," he said casually. A servant came for them at that last, clear, deep blue moment before night settles over Mediterranean Africa. They followed the servant, enjoying the night breezes and listening to a muezzin calling the palace to prayer. Although they hadn't spoken of it, the sound had haunted Maurice Julien and Kate Gordon alike from the first time each of them had heard it, with its otherworldly sound that combined beckoning and separatism. Kate stopped to watch the evening darken into night but Maurice took her arm to hurry her along. "I know what you are feeling," he whispered. "I have felt the same thing for almost forty years. But, remember, elegant and pure as they may seem, they are as human as we are, and much more cunning and elemental. It is why I love them so." They turned a corner and started down a long corridor. The elaborately carved double doors opened and they entered the king's reception hall. It was sparsely furnished but spectacularly beautiful, with silk carpets scattered over the ochre-colored tile floor and hundreds of geometrically patterned pillows lining the banquettes built into the white walls. Looking around the huge room to find their host, Kate saw the king waiting at the opposite end, arms outstretched to greet his old friend, Maurice Julien. She was astonished to see on either side of him the presidents of Syria and Egypt. "My friend," the king said, embracing Maurice, "Allah be with you. You are always most welcome in my house. And this is the lovely American diplomat," he said, turning toward Kate. "Welcome, my dear. I am honored by your presence." "She is indeed beautiful, Maurice. You have, as always, chosen your companion with care." Turning back toward Kate, he continued, "I believe you know President Fayoum." Kate looked up at the Egyptian president. "Hassan, dearest friend, I have not seen you for too long." President Fayoum took both her hands in his and introduced her to the Syrian president, Saadi al-Hafiz. "Allah be with you," the Syrian president said formally. Kate returned his greeting, trying to smile but wondering if at that moment Raqqa was killing Americans with Saadi al-Hafiz's money. Maurice knew the two presidents well. They exchanged greetings in Arabic and embraced one another. While Maurice and Kate drank superb white burgundy, their hosts sipped mineral water. Everyone was interested to have the United States view of events and listened politely as Kate put her best diplomatic spin on things and told them that most American cities would soon be back in government control. They asked about President Wellford and her father. They lamented the terrible events of the past weeks and wondered how to stop men from destroying themselves and the world. Kate had little idea whether they were sincere or merely mocking her American bravura, but she knew Maurice had been right in his prediction of the evening's agenda. Only polite generalities were spoken. In an effort to break the irritating cordiality, Kate asked, "What has been the reaction to the terrorist campaign against America and Europe here in North Africa?" President Fayoum chose to answer, taking the first step toward substance. "America has favored Egypt and so we are somewhat spared the more violent forms of anti-Americanism, but there is public pressure to be more conservative, to favor the fundamentalists. These sentiments come from all strata of our society, but they represent a minority of Egyptians. The majority want peace and security and they are irritated that America would jeopardize world stability by blaming Arabs because it has problems with its poor black citizens. Here, the terrorists are menacing but because they are everywhere, we are less frightened by their activities. It is difficult to condone mass attacks in order to eliminate a few thousand terrorists." "As always," Kate responded, "you are courageous in speaking the truth. But, these American black youth are being armed and led by islamic fundamentalists." The Syrian president spoke soothingly of cooperation and discussions. He was interrupted when dinner was announced. The group was seated in an outdoor pavilion in a courtyard near the king's reception hall. The night was warm, its darkness lit by candles and soft lights set into the canopy above their table. Dinner was an expert blend of French and Moroccan cuisine, served by waiters wearing long white Moroccan caftans embroidered with green and gold geometric patterns. Kate Gordon tried to enjoy the occasion, but a clock ticked in her head, counting the continuing hours of violence and refugee displacement. She thought it particularly arrogant that they should spend an evening pretending the world was a cruise ship while her father was desperately trying to salvage the American position in Texas, and in Europe refugees were fleeing westward to Germany along the Baltic coastline, hopping from one tiny port to the next in small fishing boats. No one in Rabat had even asked about the NATO bombings of Sicily. Kate could have believed it was all an illusion, except for the body counts she had been given at the Paris Embassy. She tried to eat but the food sticking in her dry throat occasionally refused to be swallowed. Maurice Julien chatted amiably with the others, shamelessly unhurried, tasting each course as it was brought to the table, commenting pleasantly to the king about the wines chosen for him and Kate, interspersing his culinary remarks with polite conversation about the latest French books and Parisian society gossip. When the main courses were finished, the king told his guests there would be a few minutes to walk and refresh themselves before the desserts were served. President Fayoum asked if Kate would stroll with him in the gardens. She began to speak seriously in an effort to make him understand the gravity of the situation confronting the world, but he touched her arm to stop her and moved through the softly lit garden to a stone bench placed discreetly at the far end of the winding path. As he sat, he turned his elegant mahogany face toward her, its high cheek bones and straight Hellenic profile silhouetted against the stucco wall behind them. "Katharine, we fully understand why you are here and what your government wants from us. But, it isn't simply a matter of preparing the best arguments and negotiating a legal agreement. We have many fears to deal with, both real and imaginary, as well as ancient traditions and deeply held beliefs to consider. If the king and Saadi come to believe that they can trust you, they will act quickly, but they must not be hurried. Let them come to you." He paused, searching for his next words. "To us," he finally added, "because I will support you." Kate considered the words of the man she respected and had often relied on for sound advice in her dealings in the Middle East. "Maurice Julien gave me the same advice," she responded. "But, we need to act. It is a matter of the greatest urgency that we stop Raqqa before he overruns the American southwest and propels the United States into a civil war. Our middle class is very conservative. They won't tolerate these troubles moving outside inner city ghettos." "You know, my dear," the Egyptian president answered, "there are times when nothing seems fair. Iraq's people suffer because they are trapped by their government. Your cities are poisoned by fundamentalists who are determined to conquer the world by means of its poor and ignorant. Becoming terrorists ourselves will not help. The world needs moderation, not generals and armies. They will only increase the speed of our destruction." "I agree, Hassan," she replied, "but if we can stop Raqqa and the traitors inside our government, perhaps we can start again. President Katerinov and President Wellford have agreed to an Alliance, a coalition for peace and development. They are determined to change the world, to share its riches with everyone. Europe and Japan will support us, but we need your help if our plan is to succeed." "Simply to stop the Moslem fundamentalists?" he asked. "I would have thought you would have asked for more," he said softly. "More," she repeated, realizing that Europe and America had not considered including the Arab world in the Alliance. "Of course, Hassan, we would not have an Alliance that excludes your world. I am certain President Wellford and President Katerinov would support it. How would you choose to join us?" The Egyptian president looked at the young woman facing him as if she were a new person being spun into existence from the remnants of the wealthy lawyer he had known. "My dear friend, how you have changed," he smiled. "Where is your love of legal intrigue and winning. Where is your disdain for Russia and its potential for leadership. And, how can you speak with such assurance for Russia?" he asked. His eyes looked deeply into hers, his face placid, the edge of a smile on his lips. Kate was sure he knew that she was married to Alexei and was asking for confirmation as an expression of trust. She told him of their marriage and added that they both wanted to help salvage a future for mankind from the current disaster. "Katharine, you have my prayers for your marriage and you know I will support you politically. Remember that you are not alone tonight. All of us here have lived our lives in the shadow of the menace that is only now threatening your world. We need your help and you must have ours, if either world is to survive." They heard footsteps and looked down the path as Maurice came toward them. "The king is asking for you," he said, "dessert is being served." As Hassan started toward the pavilion, Maurice held Kate back. "The king and Saadi asked Hassan to talk to you because you know him well. Later, they will discuss together our request. Enjoy your dessert and be charming. Breakfast will be more businesslike." After dinner, the king entertained his guests with a chamber concert of French music in honor of General Julien. As the musicians prepared for their final selection, the king leaned toward Katharine. "Perhaps you would walk with me. We will be able to hear the music." He took a gold and turquoise silk scarf from a servant, draping it over her shoulders as they wandered through the gardens near his private quarters. "My dear," he said, as they stopped to admire a Roman mosaic depicting Aeneas leaving the court at Carthage, "you are in a unique position. As the daughter of General Gordon and the wife of Alexei Katerinov, you can exert great influence to bring the world together in a united effort for peace." "You all know we are married," she said. "Forgive us old men," he replied, "but President LeNoir phoned me after you and General Julien left Paris. He wanted us to be able to take full advantage of your visit." "Does it make your decision easier, to know that I'm married to the President of Russia?" "Infinitely easier. I am not certain we can rely on America." His words stung and she started to protest, but he motioned gently. "It is not that America is perfidious, only young and excitable. I have confidence in Alexei Katerinov because Russia is old and predictable. And, above all, I trust Jacques LeNoir. He possesses wisdom, combined with intellect and a passion for mankind. He told me that you are also passionate to enrich the future of mankind." "I can only tell you," she responded, hoping that her words would be right, "that I represent the majority of my country and that I speak for Alexei Katerinov. Hassan will tell you that my word is sacred to me, and I give you my word that we will not violate your trust. But, we must begin from a point free of terrorism and deceit." "I will speak to Hassan and Saadi tonight," he said. "We will have a decision for you at breakfast."