Highlander - Donna Lettow [93]
“Peace?” Avram’s laugh was without humor. “You think this is peace? They’ll spend weeks of negotiations building up this fragile house of cards that no one likes, only to tear it down before the ink is dry on the page. They only want one kind of ‘peace,’ MacLeod. The kind that comes at the point of a sword. The kind that comes when the enemy is totally annihilated The kind of peace the Germans brought.” The two men stood toe-to-toe once again. Avram’s head might only come to MacLeod’s chin, but filled with rage he seemed larger. “I wonder what Miriam Kavner would think of her ‘hero’ now?”
Behind him, Constantine and Methos exchanged a look. Constantine was horrified at the row taking place between two good friends in his normally staid and quiet home. Methos was wishing he had popcorn to go along with the evening’s entertainment.
“Miriam believed there were things in life more important than politics,” MacLeod said carefully, stepping away from their battle stance.
“You said it yourself—this isn’t ‘politics.’” Avram spit out the word. “This is about murder. This is about Treblinka. This is about Warsaw. This is about making sure they never happen again. Never again!”
MacLeod knew there was nothing more he could say to Avram to sway his mind. Maybe later, some other time, they could talk as they once had. Friend to friend. Man to man. “I’m sorry you feel this way, Avram.”
“You’re sorry, all right. One sorry piece of shit.” He grabbed MacLeod tightly by the forearm, forced him to look him in the eyes. MacLeod didn’t pull away. “You remember what we did with collaborators in the Ghetto, MacLeod?”
MacLeod answered, “I remember,” but gave no ground.
“You’d better.” Avram shoved him away and stormed out of the study. They could hear the slam of the front door echo through the house.
MacLeod stood where he was, staring at the study door until long after his sense of Avram’s presence had faded into the night, replaying in his mind what had just happened. Was there any way he could salvage Avram’s friendship? And yet still not compromise his own values? If there was an answer, he couldn’t see it.
“Well, that went about as well as could be expected.” Methos’s cheery voice split the silence once again. Unfolding himself from the settee, he reached for his raincoat. “I think I’ve had about all the entertainment I can stand for one evening,” he said with a self-satisfied grin.
Constantine looked at Methos askance. “You don’t have to look like the cat that swallowed the canary, Pierson. Don’t tell me you actually wanted that to happen.”
“Of course I did,” Methos said with no trace of remorse.
MacLeod was more than a little annoyed. “And I suppose for your next trick, you’ll rub salt in old wounds?”
Methos heaved a dramatic sigh, as if he couldn’t believe he actually had to explain himself. “Look, the first step toward peace is always getting the grievances out on the table. Drag them out into the light of day, and suddenly they’re no longer the monsters under the bed. They’re something rational human beings can discuss and, with luck, come to terms with. But the first step is to get them out in the open.”
Both MacLeod and Constantine seemed unconvinced. “If that was your clever scheme, it failed,” MacLeod said, sagging into the leather chair and retrieving his drink.
“I’m afraid Avram is far from rational at the moment,” Constantine added.
“Hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know. Patience. You have to wage peace like you wage war. This was only the first skirmish, not the whole battle.” Methos slipped his coat on as he headed for the door of the study. “Ciao, guys,” he said, then stopped, turning to Constantine. “We still on for Saturday?”
“Of course we are. I feel lucky,” Constantine said with a greedy smile. Methos’s wicked “ha ha ha!” could be heard down the hallway as he left. Constantine saw MacLeod’s raised eyebrows and explained, “Departmental poker game. Pierson’s been on a winning streak lately. I intend to crush him like a bug.”
“He