Liars and Tyrants and People Who Turn Blue (10 page)

“No, sir, I did not.”

There it was: a light pink glow, very faint, but definitely there. Shelby glanced at her machine—only one light lit. Martel's.

She signaled
No
.

The walrus bore in hard on Yglesias, and soon the frightened Mexican was contradicting himself, retracting. The story came out: Yglesias had “borrowed” a handgun from the Harlem warehouse arsenal and later found it wouldn't fire. He then “borrowed” a second gun and found that one wouldn't fire either. So he began to
suspect
there was something funny about the shipment but no sir he didn't really
know
they were all defective it wasn't his job to check them just to ship them sir.

Every light on Shelby's machine lit up. Unhesitatingly she hit the
Yes
button: this time the man was telling the truth.

Eight count them eight television cameras now pointing at Shelby Kent. She'd been a fool to think she could stay out of the limelight.

CHAPTER 21

INVITATION TO SMALLNESS

Test Your Ability in Syllogistic Reasoning

MAJOR PREMISE: Hard work is honorable
.

MINOR PREMISE: Stealing refrigerators is hard work
.

CONCLUSION:

“So much for anonymity,” Eric said sourly.

“Yes, it was a foolish idea.” She was tired. Only the first day, and already she was tired.

“What if you don't go back?”

“I don't think they'll let me not go back.”

“Bull. We can get on a plane tonight and be on the other side of the country by the time they convene tomorrow morning. What are they going to do, postpone the inquiry until an armed guard can come get you?”

Shelby smiled and didn't answer. They'd been through this so many times. In three weeks Eric was scheduled to leave for San Diego, where Shelby would join him as soon as the commission no longer needed her services. And until the inquiry was over, one or the other of them would make the cross-country flight every Friday night; Shelby had convinced her husband that a weekend marriage would be good for both of them for a while.

“Look, Shel, it was all right at first, when you were just sitting in on police interrogations here in town. That was local, confined—still in the family, so to speak. It was even all right when police agencies outside New York started asking for you,” Eric said, glowing pinkly.

“Why, thank you,” said Shelby.
How generous of you
.

“Don't be sarcastic, please, Shelby. You know as well as I that this thing has gotten out of hand. Have you looked outside the building?”

Shelby knew what was out there. Mobile units and cameras and cables and sight-destroying lights and earnest young people talking earnestly into microphones. Price of notoriety.

Say something soothing
. “It'll pass—the novelty will wear off. Something else will come along to distract them.”

“You know it's not just them.” Eric sat down tensely on the edge of a chair. Ready to spring and attack.

“Buck and Hubbs again?”

“Everybody. Thank God this is my last week with the Jets—I don't think I can take much more. People I thought were friends or at least friendly seem to be getting a hell of a kick out of my predicament.”

“Your
predicament!
”

“That's what I said. ‘Compulsory fidelity,' one of them called it.”

“And you accept that standard? That a man is somehow less of a man if he doesn't cheat on his wife?”

“Don't be naïve, Shelby. How far do you think I'm going to get in San Diego if I'm an object of fun to my co-workers out there as well? Can't you understand what it's like?”

“I think I can,” said Shelby, “and I'm truly sorry those clowns you work with are making you feel humiliated. And I'm even sorrier you're letting them do it.”

“How can I stop them? You—”

“No, I mean you should be ashamed of
them
instead of me.”

Eric grunted and didn't answer.

No lovemaking that night.

CHAPTER 22

WARTS AND ALL

Bored with listening to the same testimony over and over, Shelby turned down the volume of her earphone and just stared at the crowd of actors in this international Perry Mason show. Raised voice and flexed muscle—the UN's predictable response to any threat to its still new Militia. Like Creon, whose very first edict as king was violated by the young Antigone. Intraglobal hemistichs bounding back and forth throughout the hearing chamber.

By the end of the week the commission had finished questioning Mañuel Aguirrez's associates and were ready to start in on Aguirrez himself. Then the commission decided that all three of the about-to-be-accused should be present in the hearing chamber for the rest of the inquiry.

The Parade of the World-Shapers
. Accusees Numbers One, Two, and Three—Teutonic, Latin, Oriental. (
Once there were a German, a Mexican, and a Chinaman who had to cross a river in a two-man boat …
) All the news media had been quick to point out that the rebels the three had “assisted” lived in sections of the world where nationalistic feelings ran high. The UN openly advocated a policy of “reasonable ethnicity”: keeping some national identity, it was thought, would help mollify those who feared the impersonality of the global government toward which the world was clearly heading. So nationalist groups all over the world met regularly to complain, sing songs, wear uniforms, go home happy. Great unions from little catharses grow.

Three little conspirators sitting in a row. Li Xijuan in the center—small, poised, an almost-smile touching her lips. A Mona Lisa-Mata Hari whose face was the most familiar of the three. To her left, Mañuel Aguirrez—head lowered, body slumped in textbook posture of defeat. To Li Xijuan's right, Heinrich Schlimmermann—unfocused eyes, unmoving lips: inscrutable Occidental.

P. J. Martel was questioning Aguirrez. Yes, Aguirrez said, he had authorized the illegal shipment of arms to Honduras. Yes, he knew the defective weapons would lead to the deaths of the rebels. Yes, he had known he would eventually be found out. Occasionally a light would flash on Shelby's machine.
Yes, Yes, Yes
. Nothing but the truth.

Martel paused, looking more like a walrus than ever. “Ambassador Aguirrez,” said the walrus, “will you tell us why in the name of heaven you ordered faulty weapons supplied to the Honduran rebels?”

Aguirrez lost his dead, defeated look for the first time since he'd entered the hearing chamber. His head lifted. A shaky right hand began to raise itself. (
He's alive, Colin Clive, he's alive!
) Aguirrez used the hand to steady himself as he rose from his chair.

“For you,” said Aguirrez. “I do this thing for you!”

All the extraneous noise in the chamber died down. “Say again?” came a voice from somewhere.

“I do this thing for you!” Aguirrez shouted. “For you, for me, for all of us! For the United Nations! I help the United Nations!”

Holy frijoles
. Shelby ignored her flashing machine momentarily while she studied the excited man carefully. No doubt about it. She pressed
Yes
.

A murmur ran all the way down the commissioners' table. Shelby saw the walrus lean back and say something to an aide. The aide jumped up and hurried toward Shelby.

She anticipated the question. “The machine did not malfunction—I signaled
Yes
. As far as Aguirrez knows, he's telling the truth. He's sincerely convinced he was helping the UN.”

Scuttle back, tell the boss, pass the word. Mutter, mumble. Quiet, please: the show must go on.

“Ambassador, how does supplying rebels with faulty weapons help the UN?”

“If the weapons don't work, they cannot hurt the Militia, yes? And if the Militia is strong, the UN is strong. The Hondurans had been agitating for over a year, and yet no one was doing anything about it!”

“Because they weren't armed, Ambassador. They made a lot of noise, but they were a threat to no one. By putting weapons in their hands—weapons which the rebels didn't know were useless—you provoked the very sort of incident the Militia is supposed to
prevent
.”

Aguirrez grew agitated. “They had to be stopped—
someone
had to do something!”

“No sir, someone did
not
have to do something.” The walrus pawed through some papers until he found what he wanted. “Ambassador, I have here a list of casualties provided by the Militia. According to our count, five hundred ninety Honduran rebels were killed and eighty wounded, two Militia dead and one wounded, twenty-three non-rebelling villagers dead—four of whom were children. That's a total of six hundred fifteen people who are dead because you took unilateral action to, ah,
correct
a situation that was already under control.” Then, shrewdly: “Whose idea was this?”

Aguirrez closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “I am responsible for arming the Honduran rebels,” he maintained. “I alone. You may not understand, but history will judge me right! I do not regret what I have done, even if I die for it.”

The walrus looked pained at the other man's melodramatics but merely said, “Did someone approach you with a plan for strengthening the Militia by providing its enemies with inoperative weapons?”

Aguirrez had already implicated Li Xijuan in the pre-inquiry questioning, so he said, “Yes, the Ambassador from the People's Republic of China.” The woman's face remained a mask.

Li Xijuan's name was now in the record.

Aguirrez became confused and incoherent under further questioning. It was clear to Shelby that the man didn't really understand that the arbitrary violence he'd made possible hadn't helped anybody. But that didn't make any difference to Aguirrez. Hero, martyr, defender of his fellow man! That was how he saw himself. Understanding was less important than wholehearted conviction.

And Mañuel Aguirrez was just bursting with conviction.

CHAPTER 23

YES, SANTA CLAUS, THERE IS A VIRGINIA

Q
. Over six hundred deaths resulted from the Honduras rebellion for which Mañuel Aguirrez authorized the shipment of arms, even though the rebels earlier posed no serious threat. And yet you signaled the commissioners that Aguirrez was telling the truth when he said he was helping the UN. Could you explain that to our viewing audience?

A
. If you mean can I explain Aguirrez's line of reasoning, no, I can't. I'm not a mind reader, remember. What I can do is tell whether someone is lying or not. Aguirrez
believed
he was helping the UN. He
believed
the rebels were dangerous. Therefore, he was telling the truth.

Q
. So all truth is relative?

A
. Hardly. But one man's “truth” depends upon the limits of his own understanding. All I can say is that Aguirrez was not deliberately lying.

Q
. But six hundred people are dead because of him. To call this “helping” the UN is slightly ridiculous, wouldn't you say?

A
. I'd say it's more than ridiculous. I'd call it ugly and horrible and insane. But my opinion doesn't matter. It's
Aguirrez's
truth that's being questioned.

Q
. Is it true that your testimony is inadmissable in a court of law?

A
. Yes. That's why I never testify.

Q
. Yet you influence the commissioners in their line of questioning?

A
. I am here in an advisory capacity, to be consulted or ignored at the commissioners' discretion.

Q
. But they all depend on that little machine of yours, don't they? I've noticed some of the commissioners never move their hands away from their signal button.

A
. How very observant of you.

Q
. Do you think it's quite ethical that someone with no legal standing should control an inquiry of this magnitude?

A
. I don't control the inquiry! What an absurd idea.

Q
. Is it? Isn't it true that the questions would most likely take a different tack if you weren't present?

A
. You could say that of everyone who's participating in these proceedings. I'm merely one part of a large organization. I don't even know ahead of time what questions are going to be—

Q
. Surely you don't claim your part in all this is just like everyone else's?

A
. Oh, no. My part is quite different. Not more, or better—just different. That's why you keep thrusting that microphone under my nose every time you see me. My differentness. It makes a story for you.

Q
. More than that. We're all deeply concerned about the legal and ethical implications of using your services.

A
. You're lying.

CHAPTER 24

LIKE NIOBE, ALL TEARS

“Kind of rough today, wasn't it?” Eric said.

“Is that a chortle I hear in your voice?”

“Well, Shelby, when you push yourself into the public eye, you've got to expect things like that.”

When you push yourself
. “I've not ‘got' to expect
any
thing.” Shelby dropped into a chair and kicked off her shoes. “What I'd like to expect is a little understanding and support from my loving husband.”

Eric smiled tightly. “Sorry, didn't mean to rub it in. Tee called—wants us to come to dinner. Feel up to it?”

“Did she sound nervous?”

“No, she was very cheerful.”

“Then let's go. I could do with a spot of cheer.”

Tee Bradley, nee Martita Fleming, formerly
pianiste extraordinaire
, now would-be housewife, valiantly fought the battle of middle cuisine to, at best, a draw.
If you can read, you can cook
, the saying went. Tee believed that. She really did. And she tried.