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By Root 1207 0

portion of the design seemed a perfectly assembled mass of soda straws. It almost made the German laugh. With tape measure, micrometer, and an expert eye - gradation marks had been machined into many of the parts, a small detail that had impressed Ghosn very greatly indeed. When Fromm was satisfied, they went on. First came the plastic foam blocks, each cut to precise specifications. They fit into the elliptical bomb-case. Ghosn and Fromm were now doing all the work. Slowly, carefully, they eased the first block into place within the flanges on the interior of the case. The straw bundles came next, one at a time, nesting perfectly with those immediately under them. At every step both men stopped to check the work. Fromm and Ghosn both checked the work, checked the plans, checked the work again, and checked the plans again.

For Bock and Qati, watching a few meters away, it was the most tedious thing they had ever seen.

"The people who do this work in America and Russia must die of boredom," the German said quietly.

"Perhaps."

"Next bundle, number thirty-six," Fromm said.

"Thirty-six," Ghosn replied, examining the three tags on the next batch of a hundred straws. "Bundle thirty-six."

"Thirty-six," Fromm agreed, looking at the tags. He took it and maneuvered it into place. It fit perfectly, Qati saw, coming closer. The German's skilled hands moved it slightly, so that the slits on its plastic jigs dropped into the slots on the jigs directly underneath. When Fromm was satisfied, Ghosn looked.

"Correct position," Ibrahim said, for what must have been the hundredth time of the day.

"I agree," Fromm announced, and both men wired it firmly into place.

"Like assembling a gun," Qati whispered to Gunther, as he walked away from the work table.

"No." Bock shook his head. "Worse than that. More like a child's toy." The two men looked at each other and started laughing.

"Enough of that!" Fromm said in annoyance. "This is serious work! We need silence! Next bundle, number thirty-seven!"

"Thirty-seven," Ghosn dutifully replied.

Bock and Qati walked out of the room together.

"Watching a woman having a baby cannot be as dreadful as this!" Qati raged when they got outside.

Bock lit a cigarette. "It isn't. I know. Women move faster than this."

"Indeed, that is unskilled labor." Qati laughed again. The humor vanished, and the Commander became serious. "It's a pity."

"Yes, it is. They have all served us well. When?"

"Very soon." Qati paused. "Gunther, your part in the plan it is very dangerous."

Bock took a long pull on his cigarette, blowing the smoke out into the chilled air. "It is my plan, is it not? I know the risks."

"I do not approve of suicidal plans," Qati observed after a moment.

"Nor do I. It is dangerous, but I expect to survive. Ismael, if we wanted a safe life, we would be working in offices - and we would never have met. What binds us is the danger and the mission. I've lost my Petra, my daughters, but I still have my mission. I do not say that this is enough, but is it not more than most men have?" Gunther looked up at the stars. "I have thought often of this, my friend. How does one change the world? Not in safety. The safe ones, the timid ones, they benefit from our work. They rage at life, but they lack the courage to act. We are the ones who act. We take the risks, we face the danger, we deny ourselves for others. It is our task. My friend, it is far too late to have second thoughts."

"Gunther, it is easier for me. I am a dying man."

"I know." He turned to look at his friend. "We're all dying men. We've cheated death, you and I. Eventually death will win, and the death we face lies not in bed. You chose this path, and so did I. Can we turn back now?"

"I cannot, but facing death is a hard thing." That is true." Gunther flipped his cigarette into the dirt. "But at least we have the privilege of knowing. The little people do not. In choosing not to act, they choose not to know. That is their choice. One can either be an agent of destiny or a victim of it.