“You don’t think that God could have had anything to do with Moses and Jesus?” Katzen asked solemnly.
Coffey raised the canto his lips. “Touché,” he said before he drank again.
Katzen turned to the young black woman standing to his right. She was dressed in khaki shorts, a sweat-stained khaki blouse, and a white headband. The uniform was “sterile.” Nowhere did she display the winged-lightning shield of the rapid-deployment Striker force to which she belonged. Nor was there any other sign of military affiliation. Like the van itself, whose side-mounted mirror looked just like a mirror and not a parabolic dish, whose walls were intentionally dented and artificially rusted and didn’t show a hint of the reinforced steel underneath, the woman looked like she was a seasoned archaeological field worker.
“What do you think, Sondra?” Katzen asked.
“With all due respect,” said the young black woman, “I think you’re both wrong. I think peace and war and sanity are all questions of leadership. Look at that old city out there.” She spoke with quiet reverence. “Thirty centuries ago the prophet Abraham was born—right there. That was where he lived when God told him to move his family to Canaan. That man was touched by the Holy Spirit. He founded a people, a nation, a morality. I’m sure he was as warm as we are, especially when God told him to put a dagger into the bosom of his son. I’m sure his sweat as well as his tears fell onto the frightened face of Isaac.” She looked from Katzen to Coffey. “His leadership was based on faith and love, and he is revered by Jews and Muslims alike.”
“Nicely put, Private DeVonne,” Katzen said.
“Very nicely put,” Coffey agreed, “but it doesn’t contradict my point. We’re not all made of the same obedient, determined stuff as Abraham. And for some of us, the heat makes our natural irritability worse.” He took another long drink from his sweating can of Tab. “There’s another thing too. After twenty-seven hours and fifteen minutes of camping here, I hate the living hell out of this place. I like air conditioning and cold water from a glass instead of hot water from a plastic bottle. And bathrooms. Those are good too.”
Katzen smiled. “Maybe you’ll appreciate them a whole lot more when you get back.”
“I appreciated them before I left. Frankly, I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have tested this prototype in the U.S. We have enemies at home. I could have gotten clearance from any number of judges to spy on suspected terrorists, paramilitary camps, Mafiosi, you-name-it.”
“You know the answer as well as I do,” Katzen said.
“Sure,” Coffey said. He drained the can of soda, dropped it in the plastic trash bag, and walked back to the van. “If we don’t help the moderate True Path Party, the Islamic fundamentalists and their Welfare Party will continue to make gains here. And then you’ve got the Social Democratic Populist Party, the Democratic Left Party, the Democratic Center Party, the Reform Democratic Party, the Prosperity Party, the Refah Party, the Socialist Unity Party, the Correct Way Party, and the Great Anatolia Party, all of which have to be dealt with and all of whom want their piece of the very small Turkish pie. Not to mention the Kurds, who want freedom from the Turks, Iraqis, and Syrians.” Coffey used his index fingers to wipe sweat from his eyes. “If the Welfare Party does happen to take control of Turkey and its military, Greece will be threatened. Disputes in the Aegean Sea will come to a head and NATO will be torn apart. Europe and the Middle East will be endangered and everyone will turn to the U.S. for help. We’ll gladly provide it, of course, but only in the form of shuttle diplomacy. We can’t afford to take sides in a war like that.”
“Excellent summation, counselor.”
“Except for one thing,” Coffey continued. “For my money, they can all take a flying leap. This isn’t like when you took a leave of absence to save the spotted owl from loggers.”
“Stop,” Katzen said. “You’re embarrassing me. I’m not all that virtuous.”
“I’m not talking about virtue,” Coffey said. “I’m talking about being committed to something worthwhile. You went to Oregon, did your on-site protest, testified at the state legislature, and got the problem solved. This situation is fifty centuries years old. Ethnic factions have always fought one another here and they always will. We can’t stop them, and it’s a waste of valuable resources even trying.”
“I disagree,” Katzen replied. “We can mitigate the situation. And who knows? Maybe the next five thousand years will be better.”
“Or maybe the U.S. will get sucked into a religious war that’ll tear us apart,” Coffey replied. “I’m an isolationist at heart, Phil. That’s one thing Senator Fox and I have in common. We’ve got the best country in the history of the world, and those who don’t want to join us in the democratic melting pot can shoot, bomb, gas, nuke, and martyr each other until they’re all in Paradise. I really don’t care.”
Katzen scowled. “That’s one point of view, I suppose.”
“Damn right,” Coffey replied. “And I’m not apologizing for it. But there is one thing you can tell me.”
“What?” Katzen asked.
Coffey’s mouth twisted. “What is the difference between a porpoise and a dolphin?”
Before he could answer, the door of the van opened and Mike Rodgers stepped out. Coffey savored the blast of air-conditioning before the ramrod-straight general shut the door. He was dressed in jeans and a tight gray Gettysburg Campaign souvenir T-shirt. His light brown eyes seemed almost golden in the bright sun.
Mike Rodgers rarely smiled, but Coffey noticed the hint of a grin tugging at the side of his mouth.
“So?” Coffey asked.
“It’s running,” Rodgers said. “We were able to uplink to all five of the selected National Reconnaissance Office satellites. We have video, audio, and thermal views of the target region as well as complete electronic surveillance. Mary Rose is talking to Matt Stoll right now, making sure all of the data is getting through.” Rodgers’s reluctant smile bloomed. “The battery-powered son of a gun works.”
Katzen offered him his hand. “Congratulations, General. Matt must be ecstatic.”
“Yeah, he’s a pretty happy fella,” Rodgers said. “After everything we went through to put the ROC together, I’m pretty happy myself.”
Coffey toasted General Rodgers with a swig from the water bottle. “Forget everything I said, Phil. If Mike Rodgers is pleased, then we really must’ve batted one out of the park.”
“Grand slam,” Rodgers said, “That’s the good news. The bad news is that the chopper which is supposed to take you and Phil to Lake Van’s been delayed.”
“For how long?” Katzen asked.
“Permanently,” said Rodgers. “Seems someone in the Motherland Party objects to the excursion. They don’t buy our ecology cover story, that we’re out here to study the rising alkaline levels of Turkish waterways and its percolation effect on the soil.”
“Aw, jeez,” Katzen said. “What the hell do they think we want to do out there?”
“You ready for this?” Rodgers asked. “They believe we’ve found Noah’s Ark and that we plan to take it to the U.S. They want the Council of Ministers to cancel our permits.”
Katzen angrily jabbed the toe of his boot at the parched ground. “I really did want to have a look at that lake. It’s got just one species of fish, the darek, which evolved to survive in the soda-rich water. We can learn a lot about adaptation from it.”
“Sorry,” Rodgers said. “We’re going to have to do some adapting of our own.” He looked over at Coffey. “What do you know about this Motherland Party, Lowell? Do they have enough power to screw up our shakedown session?”
Coffey dragged the kerchief along his strong jaw and then across the back of his neck. “Probably not,” he said, “though you might want to check with Martha. They’re pretty strong and considerably right-of-center. But any debate they start will go back and forth between the Prime Minister and the Motherlanders for two or three days before it’s brought to the Grand National Assembly for a vote. I don’t know about Phil’s excursion, but I think that’ll give us the time to do what we came here for.”
Rodgers nodded. He turned to Sondra. “Private DeVonne, the Deputy Prime Minister also told me that leaflets are being passed out in the streets, informing citizens about our plan to rob Turkey of its heritage. The government is sending an intelligence agent, Colonel Nejat Seden, to help us deal with any incidents. Until then, please inform Private Pupshaw that some of the people who’ll be heading to the watermelon festival in Diyarbakir may be carrying a grudge as well as fruit. Tell him to stay cool.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sondra saluted and jogged toward the burly Pupshaw, who was stationed on the other side of the tents. He was watching the road where it disappeared behind a row of hills.