Bright Star

Chapter 7

The staff officers that comprised the core of the CENTCOM crisis action team, or CAT, were used to dealing with situations that suddenly cropped up out of nowhere. The assassination attempt on the two presidents was no different. Although they were supported by the most sophisticated intelligence network in the world, the officers' ability to project what would happen in the future was still, at best, guesswork.

Information gathered from many sources is dumped on a handful of people every day, three hundred sixty-five days a year. These people, called analysts, have the task of sorting through the glut of data they are given and putting together an intelligence summary that can be used by those who make the plans and decisions. The problem is that there is a tremendous amount of raw data available. It is impossible for a small group of people, let alone one person, to see and digest all the information available. Therefore, a system of screening and compartmenting this information as it comes in is used. Some of it is never forwarded because it does not fit an established criterion. Some, because it concerns only one military service or is gathered and used by nonuniform intelligence agencies such as the CIA and FBI, is sent to that service for handling. Even after the initial screening and sorting takes place, the analyst must still pick those items that he deems to be important based on the current situation as it exists or as he projects it will be. The final product, a summary at best, is based on many factors: the nature of the situation, the training and experience of the analyst, his personal biases and view of the world, and the information and guidance given to him for sorting through the data.

General Horn reviewed the revised intelligence summary, less than two hours old, and clearly saw, through 20–20 hindsight, how they had missed calling this one. With so many of the limited intelligence assets in the region oriented on the Soviet deployment and the joint Soviet-Cuban-Libyan exercise, one seemingly insignificant man easily slipped by. The report started with a summary of sightings of a known Egyptian extremist, Muhammad Sadiq. A terrorist who had learned his trade in Lebanon, Sadiq had become a prominent leader in the pan-Arabian fundamentalist movement and, with connections in the Egyptian military, was considered to be a dangerous man. He was spotted in Tripoli, Libya, on 12 November after being out of sight for six months. The CIA tracked him: he was next seen in Cairo on 15 November, then on 29 November at the international airport in Rome, transferring from a plane just arriving from Tripoli to one headed for Cairo. After that, he fell out of sight again until today, when his body was identified by the Egyptian military at Cairo West. The CIA had shared this information with the Egyptian Government but not with CENTCOM, since it was a CIA and FBI matter that did not concern the military.

The next item in the summary described the increased readiness status of Libyan air defense search radars. Both the U.S. 6th Fleet and the U.S. Air Force operating out of Italy had monitored the increased activity by Libyan air defense not associated with the Soviet-Libyan exercise and forwarded their findings, separately, to the U.S. European Command; sanitized versions of the summary were provided to the Italian military, but not the Egyptian military. Because this information was strictly military in nature, it was not immediately passed to the CIA.

The final item, provided by the Egyptian military, identified three of the terrorists killed in the aborted assassination attempt as Libyan. Evidence to corroborate this claim, including a picture of one of the men standing with the Libyan head of state, was enclosed.

There was no doubt in General Horn's mind that the Egyptians were doing their damnedest to build a case against Libya. He had four questions that needed to be answered, and he put them to his crisis action team. First, why were the Egyptians building a case against the Libyans? Second, what would the Egyptians do if and when they blamed Libya? Third, what immediate actions, if any, should U.S. forces in the region take? Fourth, what actions, if any, would the Soviet and Cuban forces in Libya take?

Though there were no immediate threats to the American President or to U.S. forces, the presence of U.S. forces in Egypt and Soviet/ Cuban forces in Libya were factors that complicated the entire situation. If the United States unilaterally withdrew its forces, it might send a false signal to both the Libyans and other terrorist groups, as well as to the Soviets. In doing so, it would present the image of a nation easily frightened by acts of terrorism and willing to abandon a friend. Such a move would also allow the Soviets a free hand to use its forces to influence the situation as it saw fit. Finally, if the Egyptians retaliated and the U.S. forces were left in place, it would appear that the United States was sanctioning the actions of Egypt — actions that the United States might not be able to control — and was prepared to back Egypt, even if it meant confrontation with the Soviets. Any way he and his staff looked at it, Horn came up with a no-win situation for the United States, unless both the Americans and the Soviets could defuse the situation and quietly draw down their own forces simultaneously.

Horn put the summary down, leaned back in his chair, and turned to his operations officer. "Jim, where is the President now?"

Opening a folder that contained a revised itinerary, the operations officer looked at his watch, "then down the list. "He should be having dinner with the ambassador right now. The Egyptian president was to have been in attendance but excused himself."

His face still expressionless, Horn turned to his intelligence officer. "What about troop movements? Any reported activity on either side of the border in the Western Desert?"

The intelligence officer replied without referring to his notes. "Movements? No, not yet. But the entire Western Military District is on full alert, with the rest at a higher state of readiness. Air Force personnel have been recalled from leave. In addition, six guided missile boats and one frigate left Alexandria less than two hours ago. Libya has taken similar measures. Forces involved in the joint Soviet-Cuban-Libyan exercise have stood down and commenced redeployment to assembly areas south and west of Tobruk. Right now, each side has only a handful of aircraft and vessels in position and ready to pounce. We do not, however, have any indication that they will. Neither side appears to be really ready to do anything substantial."

Leaning forward, Horn continued his interrogation of his intelligence officer. "Okay, Edgar, I want your no-bullshit best guess what you expect to see happen in the next forty-eight to ninety-six hours."

For a moment there was silence. Then the intelligence officer answered, carefully considering his words. "I expect that the Egyptians will begin by building a case against the Libyans via the media. The photos and information on Sadiq provided to us is just the beginning — probably an attempt to get us to help spread the hue and cry. While the PR campaign is building, the Western Military District will be quietly reinforced, probably from units of the 1st Army. When world opinion has been sufficiently whipped up in their favor, the Egyptians will move."

The intelligence officer stood up and walked over to a map on the wall. Picking up a wooden pointer hanging from a string next to the map, he continued, pointing to the locations as he spoke. "I expect some type of limited retaliation, much like what the Egyptians did in 1978.1 see ground forces striking out at the Kufra Oasis and occupying it for several days before withdrawing. In the north, I see a combination of ground attack and commando operations aimed at destroying or damaging the oil fields at Sarir, Awjiah, Natora, Gialo, and Harash. We can expect naval operations along the coast, either limited landings or perhaps commando operations, aimed at destroying the refinery at Tubra, which we call Tobruk. It will take the Egyptians five days to stage their forces, four to five to do what they want, then three to pull back and dig in on their own side of the wire fence." Putting the pointer back onto its hook, the intelligence officer turned to Horn. "If we see no movement of 1st Army units in the next forty-eight hours, odds are the Egyptians will do nothing. If, however, they begin to move, the first crossing of the border will occur within ninety-six hours from that time."

Horn thought about that for a moment. "Why the 1st Army? Why not the 2nd Army? That's Egypt's best equipped and best led."

The intelligence officer pointed to Israel on the map with his finger. "Despite the Camp David agreement and years of peace, Israel is still seen as Egypt's greatest and most immediate threat. If the retaliation against Libya is only going to be a punitive raid, then it would be foolish, militarily and economically, to expose their rear by removing forces from the Sinai and moving all that equipment the entire length of Egypt. It would be much cheaper and put far less wear and tear on the equipment if units of the 1st Army are used. Also, the combat service support for the units in the Sinai are all layered to support operations in the east, not the west." The intelligence officer paused for a moment to allow Horn to consider what he had just said. "Having said that, if there is a sudden flurry of diplomatic exchanges between Egypt and Israel before Egypt begins to move any of its forces, then we may see movement of units from the Sinai to the Western Desert. That movement would mean a major war, not just a raid."

"Tell me, Edgar, what are the odds that Egypt will go into Libya with the aim of ripping that little shit's heart out?"

"Almost none. Simply put, unless we provide them with tremendous amounts of logistical support, or they are willing to mortgage their entire economy, Egypt lacks the ability to overrun Libya. Besides, there are the Soviets. The Soviets don't have to lift a finger to stop the Egyptians. If they simply sit astride the coastal road — say, there at Ayn Al Ghazalah — with the forces they currently have in country, they'll keep the Egyptians from moving any further west."

With a nod Horn signaled to the intelligence officer that he was finished.

For a moment there was silence in the room while the CAT staff considered what the intelligence officer had just said. This silence was broken by the operations officer. "General, if the Egyptians do move, what do we do with our people in country? They are right there, sitting between Cairo, where the 1st Army units will move from, and the border. Do we pull the plug and run, or stand fast?"

Leaning back into his chair, Horn stared at the ceiling and considered that question before answering. Without turning his gaze from the ceiling, he mumbled, almost to himself, "That, my boy, is a political decision — one that's going to be made by someone with more horsepower than you or I, thank God."

Sitting upright in his chair, then standing in one motion, Horn brought the meeting to an end. There was much that needed to be done. Although his staff didn't know it yet, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff had given him a warning to be prepared to fly to Egypt with a small staff to assume control of a military operation if the National Security Council opted for one. Until that happened, all he and his people could do was wait and watch.

The tension that hung in the air in the 3rd Brigade's assembly areas was oppressive. While details concerning the assassination attempt were at best sketchy, the proximity of the brigade to the incident and the involvement of American forces in the attack caused a great deal of excitement. The exercise was terminated and the entire brigade was ordered to move back into assembly areas. Once there, the troops were placed on full alert. Orders went out that no Egyptian personnel, military or civilian, was to be allowed into a U.S. area unless in the company of a U.S. Army officer. Even then, the U.S. officer had to identify himself and have his identity verified by the unit intelligence officer.

As he walked back from chow to the area where his platoon was located, Staff Sergeant Maxwell was pelted with questions from his men. Were they going home? Were they going to be issued more ammunition? What had really happened? Was the U.S. at war? And if so, against whom? A veteran of the war in Iran, Maxwell knew that a lack of information bred fear; rumors and imagination ran wild. They were at the lowest end of the information chain, a tank crew was on the cutting edge. Maxwell knew that it was not that the higher-ups wanted to keep the men in the dark. The problem was that since only so much can go down, at each level the information is refined, strained, and reworked, and by the time a tank commander hears something, only that information necessary to accomplish the given operation is provided. Even in the task force in which he had fought during the Iranian war, Maxwell was seldom told anything other than to move to such-and-such a place and orient to a certain direction. There was definitely no information glut in Maxwell's platoon.

As he came to the last tank position, the man on guard challenged him. After giving the proper password to the soldier's challenge, Maxwell walked up to the young man and asked if he had seen or heard anything. Private Willie B. Graddy from Atlanta, Georgia, shook his head, said no, then asked what he should be looking out for. Maxwell sighed, then simply responded, "Anything or any person that don't speak or understand English. And if they do but speak it with an accent, let me know."

Graddy, half seriously, asked if that included Sergeant Yermo. Maxwell, fighting the urge to whop the soldier up the side of the head for being so stupid, simply replied no, that did not include Sergeant Yermo. Graddy, he knew, was confused, nervous, and concerned. None of them knew for sure what was happening or what the next day would bring. It was, Maxwell said to himself, Iran all over again.

The crunching of sand under boots caught Maxwell's attention.

He moved up next to Graddy, putting one hand on Graddy's shoulder and signaling him to be still with the other hand. The two men stood motionless, staring into the darkness, watching and listening. There was silence. Whoever had been moving was now also stationary. Taking his hand from Graddy's shoulder, Maxwell slowly reached down, unsnapped his holster, and carefully drew his pistol. With his arm bent at the elbow and the pistol pointed up, Maxwell carefully cocked the pistol's hammer with his thumb as he continued to scan the darkness. Taking his cue from his platoon sergeant, Graddy brought his M-16 up to the ready and flipped the safety to fire.

From the darkness a voice thundered, "Okay, bang! You're both dead. Now I get to send your miserable bodies back in a flag-draped box." The voice belonged to their task force commander, Lieutenant Colonel Vennelli. Releasing the hammer of his pistol back to the safe position, Maxwell put the pistol back into its holster and awaited an ass chewing — something that, according to the men of the task force, was Vennelli's favorite sport. Maxwell didn't have long to wait.

"It doesn't do us a damned bit of good having guards posted if a goddamn blind elephant with a roaring case of hemorrhoids can come crashing in here without being challenged!" Maxwell grunted. For some reason Vennelli thought he was funny. Maxwell didn't mind being corrected when he was wrong. He didn't mind being dumped on when he had screwed up. He did, however, get bent out of shape when those above him used ridicule and mockery as a means of correcting their soldiers. He felt his men were good soldiers and should be treated as such. He also believed that the men in his platoon were just that— men, men who deserved to be treated better. Unfortunately, that philosophy was no longer in style in the task force. It was almost as if every officer in the unit wanted to top the task force commander in the number and severity of ass chewings. There were a few exceptions, but very few. Vennelli's foul mouth and abusive manner, coupled with an ego that could fill a county, had made working for him during this operation a miserable experience.

For the next five minutes Maxwell and Graddy endured a tongue lashing that did nothing but give Vennelli the satisfaction that somehow he was doing his job of beating his unit into shape. When he was finished, Vennelli turned and walked into the darkness. Graddy watched him disappear, then turned to Maxwell. "What a shithead."

Barely able to contain his own anger, Maxwell looked at Graddy. "Regardless of what you think, soldier, that man is your superior ranking officer. I will not have men in my platoon calling officers shitheads. Is that clear?"

Confused, Graddy stuttered for a moment. "But, Sarge, that man—"

Cutting him off, Maxwell continued. "No buts! The man is an officer and he is our commander. You will not call him 'shithead,' 'moron,' 'idiot,' or anything else other than 'sir' in my presence. Is that understood, Graddy?"

Graddy shook his head. "No, I don't understand, Sarge, but I'll do what you say."

"Good. Now carry on." Turning, Maxwell began to march off, thinking over and over that Graddy was right — the man was a shithead. Then Maxwell stopped, turned back to Graddy, and called out, "And for Christ's sake, challenge anything that moves. If it don't answer, shoot."

The staff of the WNN Cairo Bureau, standing in front of a bank of TV monitors, watched copies of the news story WNN and five news teams from other networks had fed back to the States. Half a dozen national news programs in the U.S. would be opening their nightly news broadcasts with the footage of the assassination attempt that Jan Fields and her British camera crew had taped less than seven hours before. All the news commentators, faces fixed in grave masks of concern, spoke in deep monotones of how terrorism had again raised its ugly head. Fortunately for their viewers, they cut quickly to the tape, which all dubbed "dramatic and harrowing" after warning their viewers that the clip contained scenes of violence. In quick succession, Jan Fields was plastered across all the TV monitors in the room.

The clip started with her introduction and selected shots of the VIPs arriving, the live fire exercise as it progressed, and an occasional comment by Fields. Suddenly, in the middle of one of her comments, the scene became blurred as the camera was jerked away from the exercise and Fields toward the rear of the reviewing stands. When the camera stopped and refocused, it did so on two Egyptian army jeeps charging for the reviewing stands. The scene was jumbled as the cameramen ran closer. Despite the distortion, however, the TV viewers could clearly see two figures, one dressed in the camouflage uniform worn by the U.S. Army, pistols drawn, run toward the charging jeeps. These figures, followed by Egyptian soldiers, stopped and began to fire at the jeeps. A zoom to the jeep on the left showed a terrorist hanging out of it, firing his automatic rifle. The camera remained fixed on this jeep until it made a sharp turn to the right, then rolled over several times.

Not waiting for it to stop, the camera jerked over to the jeep on the right. The second jeep continued to charge. Panning back, the camera caught three men standing in the path of the jeep. Focusing in on them, the camera watched as one of the three was thrown back by the impact of rounds hitting him. The other two, one of them the man in the U.S. Army uniform, leveled their weapons and began to fire. Like the first jeep, the second one suddenly jerked to one side, then rolled over. The camera stayed on it for a moment before panning back and forth from one jeep to the other as more soldiers ran up and searched the wreckage. There was a slight pause; then the tape continued. This time the man in the American uniform was in front of the camera, the rank of a lieutenant colonel visible on his collar. He was still panting as if he had just finished a run. In his right hand, ready for use, was his 9mm pistol. He glanced from side to side, looking at one jeep, then the other, then toward the reviewing stands. When he saw the camera watching him, he waved his left hand in front of it, motioning it to cut. The camera crew did not leave him until he turned his back on it and walked away.

The crowd in the newsroom commented on or exclaimed at the quality of the camera work. Despite the speed of the action and the distance involved, the TV viewers could see everything, from the bloodstained body of the Egyptian soldier at the American colonel's feet to the colonel's name tag. Fay Dixon, however, didn't need exceptional camera work to be able to recognize her husband. She could have picked him out of a crowd of American officers wearing the same uniform.

She had overseen the editing of the tape before it was fed to the WNN home office. Even though she had reviewed it a half a dozen times already and knew every inch of it, every word, the image of her husband standing there, pistol in hand and a body at his feet, still sent a shiver up her spine. It was hard for Fay to relate the figure she had seen blasting away in the tape, killing real people, to the man with whom she shared a bed. Though she knew Scott was a soldier, and a veteran, Fay had always been able to conveniently ignore that aspect of her husband's life. The tape of the shooting, however, rubbed her nose in it. Inch by bloody inch ran past her eyes as she edited it, burning images in her mind of her husband placing himself in danger with seemingly careless abandon while taking other men's lives. Though she tried to be rational and professional about what she was doing, the fact that it was Scott bothered her as nothing ever had before.

Standing alone against the back wall, Fay watched the TV monitors and the rest of the staff. When the spot on the assassination attempt was finished, the monitors went blank. The WN staff, as one, turned to Jan Fields and applauded. Watching them push and shove to get close to Jan, Fay felt real anger and hatred. What bothered her, however, was that she was unsure whom she was angry at. Was she mad at Jan for building a career on the death and misery of others? Or was she mad at Scott, for the casual manner in which he placed himself in harm's way?

She was still mulling over her feelings when Jan, breaking free from her admirers, came up, grabbed Fay by the shoulders, gave her a hug, and announced to the others that without a great producer like Fay, a reporter was nothing. Caught off guard, Fay looked about as the others in the room came up to shake her hand or give her a peck on the cheek. Jan Fields stood next to her, arm in arm and all smiles. For the moment, the concerns of the real world disappeared as Fay graciously accepted the warm regards of her fellow workers.

The meeting of the General Secretariat had long ago degenerated into a screaming and shouting match as those who had been lukewarm about the operation heaped abuse on those who had pushed it. At the head of the table, the Leader of the Revolution sat calmly, detached from the melee in which his council was engaged. He watched without comment, as accusation and counteraccusation were flung across the table. At the far end, Colonel Nafissi also stood aloof from the fracas, watching the Leader of the Revolution and waiting for the other members of the council to wear themselves out. The only break in the marathon screaming match had come when the council stopped to view a television in the comer of the room. The news program they watched showed the same tape clip around the world. There was no need for Nafissi to become involved in the petty war of words. Those of the council who supported him were more than holding their own against those who supported the Leader.

For a moment Nafissi pictured the council as nothing but pawns in a great chess game between himself and the Leader. Everyone knew who had the power and who were the mouthpieces. There would be much shifting of power as a result of the failed plot. An astute politician had much to gain if he made the right moves and was ruthless. Nafissi was ruthless; no one doubted that. What remained to be seen was whether or not he could make the right moves.

Tiring of the squabbles, the Leader of the Revolution sat up and, with the wave of a hand, brought silence to the council chamber. "We have solved nothing. Were we in the desert, your hot air would have blown away all the sand. What we have not discussed is what we will do now. As we have seen, the Egyptians are building a campaign of hate and falsehoods against us. No doubt, once they have convinced the world that we were responsible, they will use this excuse to strike at us and destroy not only us but what we stand for. With the fall of Iran, we are the last true defenders of the faith. What we do is therefore critical not only to the survival of our people but also to all those who truly believe. As the chief of staff of the armed forces, what do you propose to do now, Colonel Nafissi?"

There was silence as all eyes shifted from the Leader of the Revolution to Nafissi. All waited to see if Nafissi would pounce and attack, defending his decision directly and giving the Leader a retort, or ignore the comment about the "failure" and bide his time. Nafissi thought about his options, carefully guarding against any show of emotion. Deciding that now was not the time or place, he did not push. Instead, he simply reported the status of his military forces and what actions he had taken to safeguard the state and the council against retaliation by the Egyptians. "We continue to maintain our vigilance in the Western Desert. Air defense forces are fully alert and interceptors on standby. A flotilla of missile boats has been dispatched from Tobruk to find and shadow Egyptian naval forces that were reported headed west toward our territorial waters. If the Egyptians begin a buildup of forces in their Western Military District, we will implement our mobilization plans."

As if watching a tennis match, all eyes shifted back to the Leader of the Revolution to see what he would say next. The two antagonists, their eyes locked, considered their next move. The Leader spoke first.

"And if the Egyptians do strike, how far do we let them go? You know as well as I that we cannot do any more than delay the Egyptians if they wish to attack in force."

Nafissi leaned back and smiled. "Yes — alone, we cannot stop them. But we are not alone."

"The Soviets have no desire to commit their forces. Their ambassador has already informed me that their ground forces are being withdrawn into assembly areas where they will wait for redeployment."

Nafissi continued. "The Russians cannot be allowed to leave. They have on many occasions pledged their support. While none of us can, in our hearts, forgive them for what they did to our brothers in Iran, we must overlook that in our time of crisis. Instead, we must do as the Egyptians themselves did: use them. When it fits our need, we will invite them in, take their equipment, and accept their advisors and troops. When it no longer suits our needs, we will send them home. Right now, we need them. So long as they are here, the United States will restrain the Egyptians. Even if Soviet ground and air units do not actively participate in combat, the Egyptians dare not confront them. We must keep the Soviets here, regardless of whether they help us or not."

"How do you propose we do that, my friend?"

Pointing to the television in the corner, Nafissi smiled. "The American and European media is already doing that for us. We must play upon the Soviets' fear of losing influence and face in this region and world. So long as the American forces are in Egypt, the Soviets must stay. So long as the Soviets stay, the Americans must stay. With their forces near at hand, any confrontation will be limited in size of forces used and area of operation. With American forces west of Alexandria and the Soviets west of Tobruk, their mere presence will ensure that the conflict remains limited and controllable.

"The Europeans will also assist us in limiting the war. Fearful that any type of confrontation involving the U.S. and the Soviets will end their cherished glasnost, they will exert pressure on the U.S. to defuse the confrontation. With luck, if the Egyptians are foolish enough to attack, we can avenge the defeats we suffered in 1977 by meeting whatever limited force they use to retaliate head-to-head, on equal terms. A defeat in open battle for the Egyptian forces, regardless of how small the force, would open the doors for a campaign to discredit their government. In the ensuing chaos, opportunities would abound."

The Leader of the Revolution thought about Nafissi's proposal. "Why would the Russians continue to support our efforts? While we may be able to fool some that what happened in Egypt today was not our doing, the Russians know. Besides, there is the chance that the Americans will come to the aid of the Egyptians. The American President, after all, was nearly assassinated. They have attacked us in the past for less. It would be all too easy for the American fleet in the Mediterranean to lock out further Russian support. Their Air Force will throw a shield over us that no one will penetrate. Under that shield, we, along with the few combat troops the Russians care to sacrifice, will wither away like leaves before the winter wind. How do you propose we neutralize the Americans?"

"We attack the Americans in their own homes through television. There are many antiwar factions in the United States. Properly manipulated, the Americans will be far too divided to take effective action."

"What you propose, Nafissi, is playing with the devil. If we misjudge, as your people did today, we will be finished."

Again ignoring the remark about failing, Nafissi continued to smile. "It is only through great challenges that great things are achieved. Mohammed was only one when he came out of the desert. But he conquered much because he had a pure heart and the fire of the True Faith in him. Egypt is a house of sand. We can scatter it before us and establish ourselves as the rightful leaders of the Arab and Islamic world. Let the Egyptians strike the first blow. Let them pound their chests in feigned righteous indignation. In the end, we will prevail because we are bold and we believe."

Nafissi leaned back and waited. The members of the council who sat between him and the committee looked at one, then the other, waiting to see who spoke first. Finally, the Leader of the Revolution stood. "There is much to do. We must go forth into danger with courage and a pure heart. With Allah as our guide, we cannot fail in our noble task."

As the members of the council left the room, those who were followers of Nafissi looked into his eyes and saw the smile concealed from the rest. They, like him, were prepared to seize victory from the flames of disaster.

Outside, one of his supporters, a frown on his face, approached Nafissi, leaned over to him, and whispered into his ear. "What do we do, my friend, if the Egyptians do not oblige us and strike?"

In the half-moon, a huge smile shone on Nafissi's face. "Have no fear of that, brother. They shall strike. And if they hesitate, we shall encourage them."

Still not convinced, the supporter continued to badger Nafissi. "Encourage them? How?"

"In the night, who is to say which man cast the first stone? Even if foreign intelligence detects our little ploy, it will be our word against theirs. Most Westerners, especially Americans and Europeans, will choose to believe that which they want. If by believing their government, they place themselves in a position where they must do something that is dangerous or expensive, they will ignore it."

"How can you be so sure?"

Tiring of the stream of questions, Nafissi stopped. "My friend, during the 1970s, Americans spent millions trying to save whales and little white furry seals but didn't lift a finger to stop the slaughter of three million Cambodians. Do you really believe that the American public and its Congress will care what happens between two Arab countries?"

Finally convinced, the supporter also began to smile. "Yes, I see. You are right."

Nafissi, glad that the conversation was over, turned and continued to walk. He didn't care whether his man understood what was happening. Only he needed to.