The sum of all fears - Tom Clancy [108]
"Ilya Selvinskiy," the Marine lieutenant said.
"Hmph?"
"Ilya Selvinskiy, Russian poet, did some famous work during the Second World War. I know this one, Strakh, the title is "Fear." It's very good." The young officer grinned. "My opposite number is pretty literate. So "
TRANSMISSION RECEIVED. THE REST OF THE POEM IS EVEN BETTER, ALEKSEY, the lieutenant typed, STAND BY FOR REPLY.
"What do you send back?" Rosselli asked.
"Today maybe a little Emily Dickinson. She was a morbid bitch, always talking about death and stuff. No, better yet - Edgar Allan Poe. They really like him over there. Hmmm, which one ?" The lieutenant opened a desk drawer and pulled out a volume.
"Don't you do it in advance?" Rosselli asked.
The Marine grinned up at his boss. "No, sir, that's cheating. We used to do it that way, but we changed things about two years ago, when things lightened up. Now it's sort of a game. He picks a poem, and I have to respond with a corresponding passage from an American poet. It helps pass the time, Cap'n. Good for language skills on both sides. Translating poetry is a bitch - good exercise." The Soviet side transmitted its messages in Russian, and the Americans in English, necessitating skilled translators at both ends.
"Much real business on the line?"
"Captain, I've never seen much more than test messages. Oh, when we have the Sec-State flying over, sometimes we check weather data. We even chatted a little about hockey when their national team came over to play with the NHL guys last August, but mainly it's duller than dirt, and that's why we trade poetry passages. Weren't for that, we'd all go nuts. Shame we can't talk like on CB or something, but the rules are the rules."
"Guess so. They say anything about the treaty stuff in Rome?"
"Not a word. We don't do that, sir."
"I see." Rosselli watched the lieutenant pick a stanza from 'Annabel Lee.' He was surprised. Rosey had expected something from 'The Raven.' Nevermore
The arrival day was one of rest and ceremony - and mystery. The treaty terms had still not been leaked, and news agencies, knowing that something 'historic' had happened, were frantic to discover exactly what it was. To no avail. The chiefs of state of Israel, Saudi Arabia, Switzerland, the Soviet Union, the United States of America, and their host, Italy, arrayed themselves around a massive 18th Century table, punctuated with their chief diplomats and representatives of the Vatican and the Greek Orthodox church. In deference to the Saudis, toasts were offered in water or orange juice, which was the only discordant note of the evening. Soviet President Andrey Il'ych Narmonov was particularly effusive. His country's participation in the treaty was a matter of great importance, and the inclusion of the Russian Orthodox Church on the Commission for Christian Shrines would have major political import in Moscow. The dinner lasted three hours, after which the guests departed in view of the cameras on the far side of the avenue, and once more the newsies were thunderstruck by the fellowship. A jovial Fowler and Narmonov traveled together to the former's hotel and availed themselves for only the second time of the opportunity to discuss matters of bilateral interest.
"You have fallen behind in your deactivation of your missile forces." Fowler observed after pleasantries were dispensed with. He eased the blow by handing over a glass of wine.
"Thank you, Mr President. As we told your people last week, our disposal facility has proven inadequate. We can't dismantle the damned things fast enough, and our nature-lovers in parliament are objecting to our method of neutralizing the propellant stocks."
Fowler smiled in sympathy. "I know the problem, Mr President." The environmental movement had taken off in the Soviet Union the previous spring, with the Russian parliament passing a new set of laws modeled on - but much tougher than - American statutes. The amazing