The Art of War

THIRTY-ONE

Ambassador Wexler stood, glanced around the room, and met the gaze of Ambassador Wells. She nodded slightly. Everything would go as they discussed, no surprises. With a deep breath, she asked for recognition from the Secretary General.

“Mr. Secretary General, members of the assembly, Thank you for attending this weekend session. My aides are passing out briefing sheets to you as I speak, and I believe you will see the necessity for extending our work week. In the folders, you’ll find full and complete documentation of the charges I am bringing today. I hope to answer any questions you may have in the short address.

“Most of you have heard of the events of the previous days, of the unexpected adventure that the ambassador from China and I were subjected to. The perpetrators of the attacks have not yet been caught—” A slight lie, she realized, as she suspected that T’ing had taken care of them. “—but we have hopes that they soon will be. In any event, I level this charge now — the country of Iran is behind everything that has happened, both to me personally and to America’s military forces. I ask for immediate sanctions from the assembly, as well as a resolution condemning this. We expect reparations, both compensatory and punitive. And finally, we wish the leaders of Iran to understand that this is not how civilized nations conduct business. The despicable treatment of women inside your own borders is abhorrent to civilized nations. But when you attempt the political assassination of a diplomatic representative simply on the basis of gender, you have gone too far.”

She paused for a moment, and let the angry rumble in the assembly build. “You will apologize, on behalf of your country for this manner. Publicly and fully, accepting complete responsibility for both the attempted assassination and the attack on our forces. Or I shall promise you, sir,” she continued, stabbing one finger in the direction of the ambassador from Iran, “that your country will experience immediate and irrevocable consequences. Yes, we know what is behind the recent maneuvers. Let me assure you that the American battle group you intended to trap in international waters is no longer held captive. She remains in the Gulf under the president’s orders, acting on authority of a resolution from this very body, and she is poised to inflict a damaging surgical strike on key military installations.”

Wexler stopped, took a sip of water and for a brief, irrelevant moment wished that it were orange oolong tea. What she was about to say went against every fiber of her being, but there was no backing down now. “I’ve been given to understand that you station civilian women and children at key military installations for the very purpose of deterring retaliation. We cannot tell you how despicable this is, but the fact remains that should harm befall them, their blood will be on your hands. A country must care for her own individual citizens — that you have elected to use your citizens in this fashion does nothing but bring scorn from the international community down on you. And if you believe the sanctions you’ve experienced in the last five years have worked a hardship upon you, let me promise you that is nothing compared to what is to come. Now apologize, or face the consequences.”

All around the chamber, the delegates stirred, looking uneasily at one another. All, except those from the Middle East. They sat frozen in position, as though waiting for a signal. And Ambassador Sarah Wexler, representative of the most powerful nation on Earth, realized with a sinking heart that the lessons she’d learned so many years ago still held true. The floor of the UN was not the place to resolve these matters. No, the deals were always made in the back rooms. She resisted the impulse to glance across to T’ing.

The seconds ticked by, and Wexler fought to not let the tension show in her face or demeanor. She remained standing, projecting confidence and determination, waiting. Ambassador Wells made a movement as though to stand, then stayed in his seat. She knew now that he, too, understood how things worked.

Finally, the utter stillness broke. In one smooth motion, the ambassador from Iran stood. Without looking at the rest of his allies, without saying a word, he turned and left the room.

The silence continued long enough for his first footsteps on the tiled area to be heard, the rustle of his garments, the small noises that people make when they walk. But then chaos erupted, several nations screaming for immediate recognition. Ambassador Wexler stood silent and implacable as she watched the rest of the Middle Eastern delegates walk out.

This battle had been won. The question remained who would win the war.