Choosers of the Slain

43

The little case clock in President Sparza's private office chimed softly as Harrison Van Lynden was ushered through the door. The Argentine leader rose from behind his desk and nodded a greeting.

"Good evening, Mr. Secretary. Please be seated. May I offer you a cup of coffee? "

"Yes, I'd like that, Mr. President. Thank you."

They were alone in the room. Sparza himself poured and served the steaming beverage from a silver serving set that had been placed on a side table. It was good coffee, a Colombian blend brewed strong, "fighting coffee" intended for a long, sleepless night. Van Lynden knew that a pot full of a similar grade waited for him back at the United States Embassy.

"Now, Mr. Secretary," Sparza said, resuming his seat, "how may I help you?"

"Well, the problem at hand is fairly obvious. Your ships are at sea and so are ours. In the near future, possibly tonight, they are going to meet and there is going to be a battle."

"I know. I am waiting here for the reports to come in."

"We still have time to stop this, Mr. President. That's why I came this evening in this rather semiofficial mode. I'd like to ask if there is any way at all we can cut this thing off before we take any more casualties and before the relationship between our nations is further scarred."

Sparza stared down at his desktop for a long moment. "I do not know what I can say, Mr. Secretary, except that I believe the actions we have taken are necessary and right for the future of Argentina. My people have a destiny on the Antarctic continent, and I will not deny it to them. We will not back away from this."

"Then we have to stop you. One of the things I have learned over the past few days is that there is a destiny in Antarctica, but it's one for the entire human race, not for any single nation. The United States will not be backing down either."

"Then, Mr. Secretary, there will be a battle."

"Apparently so."

Both men were quiet for a moment, both sensing that with that final declaration, their role in these developing events had passed. They had become onlookers now, no more involved in the outcome than the rest of the world.

"It's a peculiar thing," Van Lynden said finally. "There's an old truism about two wrongs never making a right. Well, I fear that our two 'rights' are about to make a cataclysmic wrong."

"Possibly. The problem with the profession of statesmanship is that other men pay for your errors and failings with their blood." Sparza leaned forward intently. "Please believe me. When we initiated planning for Conquistador South, we did not intend for there to be a loss of life. We did not desire a conflict with the United States."

"I regret, Mr. President, that you have one." Van Lynden gave the softest and briefest of laughs. "That shoots down another old truism. The one about two democracies never going to war against one another."

Sparza shrugged. "That is an unrealistic expectation. Conflict between men and nations stem from deeply held beliefs and desires. This will remain a constant for as long as men and nations have differing beliefs and desires. The mere structure of the governments involved is an irrelevancy."

"I suspect you are right, Mr. President."

Van Lynden set his cup and saucer on the edge of the desk and rose from his chair. "If you will excuse me, I'll be returning to my embassy. I think we've both got a long night ahead of us."

"We do. I shall be here if you need to communicate with me, Mr. Secretary."

"I'll be standing by as well, although I doubt there'll be much for either of us to do until it's time to start picking up the pieces."