“A little more of this,” Mary murmured, “and Constant Viewer is going to throw up.”

  “Hush, Mother,” Bets said with a chuckle. “You know how much they both mean it. When two old con artists get together, you know—”

  “Disrespectful,” her father admonished with mock severity. “Listen to Able, now. He’ll jump in with both feet.”

  “Mr. President,” Able said, polite but determined, “why are you so concerned about President Sidi? Why do you think America should be so excited about one who is, after all, a third-rate dictator in a third-rate country a long way away?”

  “That,” the President said with a comfortable laugh, “is the no-frills way to look at it. It is not, perhaps, the most realistic or the most pertinent to the best interests of this country or to those of a stable, peaceful world. Atomic bombs are not a joke. Long-range missiles are not a joke. Irresponsible dictators in charge of weapons of mass destruction are not a joke. Bloody irresponsible tyrants professing themselves to be completely free of all restraints and completely contemptuous of world opinion and world peace, threatening to destabilize their regions and launch attacks on their neighbors, are the farthest thing from a joke. It seems to me the answer to your question is very clear.”

  “But why us?” Able inquired, still polite and also still determined—he always was, which was one of his chief strengths as a reporter: he didn’t snipe, snarl, confront, or impute in the modern manner. He just asked, politely and persistently.

  The President gave him a bland look.

  “Why not us?” he responded. “Somebody has to. Who has greater responsibilities in the world?”

  “Very true, sir,” Able said, “but I’m sure a lot of our countrymen must wonder why the administration—why you—must almost seem to volunteer to be the cop on the beat when Sidi runs amok. Particularly when it is not, you might say, our beat.”

  “Unhappily for us,” the President said, looking genuinely saddened by it, “the whole world seems to have become our beat in recent years. This government is constantly asked to involve itself in many world events far beyond our shores. Many states and nations seem to feel better if we’re involved with them in trying to solve major problems that threaten world stability and peace.”

  Able looked respectfully puzzled.

  “Don’t some states, sir, sometimes rather resent our involvement? Isn’t there occasionally some wish that we would refrain from getting involved in quite so many things? It sometimes seems to me that not a sparrow can fall, not a noticeable event of any prominence can occur anywhere on earth, but what a moral pronouncement doesn’t come zinging out of Washington approving, deploring, denouncing, or warning. Other countries don’t do this. Why are we always in there sounding off?” He smiled his deprecating, ingenuous smile. “You understand I’m playing the devil’s advocate here, but I know it must seem that way to other peoples and probably to a lot of Americans as well. Frankly, it does to me, too.”

  The President smiled, not at all hard-pressed.

  “I appreciate your candor,” he said, “and I know that, as always, you speak for an intelligent, informed, and highly responsible segment of opinion here and overseas. In recent years our worldwide responsibilities have seemed to put upon us the burden of furnishing an example, of trying to adhere to certain standards, of trying to further such causes as international stability and the advancement of human rights. Recent administrations have seemed to feel, and I feel, that one way to do this is to make our position very clear on events that seem to be threatening these desirable goals.”

  Able looked apologetic but soldiered on.

  “You don’t think this could be regarded as arrogant and overbearing, American ego carried to insufferable extremes? You don’t think it arouses more resentment than approval?”

  “If no one set a standard,” the President said, “if no one enunciated a principle, where would the world be? If there were no one at all to express concern, no one would care about anything. Our efforts are feeble sometimes; perhaps sometimes they may seem a bit egotistical and even overbearing, as you say, but without some attempt to define decent behavior as opposed to bad, what then? Would the world be better off or would it be drifting even further toward the anarchy that threatens in so many places? I submit we have a duty to speak out. I certainly don’t intend to shirk it.”

  “No, sir,” Able said with a smile. “That is certainly obvious…. What, then, should we do about Sidi? Sanctions? An embargo? Armed conflict? A ‘third Gulf War,’ as some are already warning us against? How do you answer these critics?”

  “Whoa!” the President exclaimed with an easy laugh. “You’re throwing too many things at me all at once. Shall I tell you what we should do about Sidi, or do you want me to tell you what I think about those uninformed souls who criticize what seems to me to be the only valid course for a decent man and responsible world leader to follow?”

  “Mr. President,” Able said with a chuckle, “you do have a way with words. I think you’ve disposed of your critics in that one well-thought-out sentence with the stinger in its tail. Now, what do you propose to do about Sidi?”

  “That’s the trouble with you, Able,” the President said with a smile he made warm and affectionate. “You’re so persistent. Which of course is what makes you the great reporter you are. What do I propose to do about Sidi? I propose first to go to the United Nations—”

  “Why?” Able interrupted innocently. For just a second the question hung in the air; for just a second the President for the first time looked, fleetingly a little nonplussed. Recovery was instantaneous though. He laughed again, friendly and intimate.

  “There you go again,” he remarked. “Because the United Nations is the body through which the United States and all reasonable nations must work in the endless quest for a stable and lasting peace.”

  “Why?” Able inquired.

  The President looked a trifle less chummy but still comfortable and cozy.

  “Because that’s the way it is,” he said. “Isn’t it? What other body is there? What other international peace-keeping organization do we have?”

  “Some critics might argue,” Able said, “that as peace-keeping bodies go, the UN is not the greatest—”

  “Human nature,” the President interjected blandly. “What is?”

  “—and that it has been given undue and perhaps crippling importance in recent administrations by Presidents who either lacked the courage or the foreign policy skills or the simple brains and guts—or maybe all of the above—to chart an independent course for America and then invite the UN to go along—rather than go first to the UN and concede to that fractious and fumbling body the right to tell America what it can or cannot do.”

  The President chuckled.

  “Talk about me uttering sentences with stingers in the tail,” he said, not at all disturbed or bothered. “I’ve met my match! I thought you were a great defender of the UN.”

  “I am,” Able said, for the first time pushed a bit on the defensive himself. “As an abstract concept and as an ‘all we’ve got’ proposition. Many people here and abroad nowadays seem to feel that recent Presidents have used the UN as a shield to hide behind to conceal their own mental and emotional shortcomings and their inability to think through, and follow, a consistent, broad-gauge, long-range, American foreign policy. I take it,” he concluded amiably, “that this is not your intention, Mr. President.”

  “Certainly not,” the President said calmly. “Certainly not! I have my own policy, I think, ably aided by a team of top-flight foreign policy advisers including the Secretaries of State and Defense and their staffs, and my national security adviser, Jaime Serrano—”

  “All dear friends,” Able interjected, “and”—with a twinkle—“all excellent off-the-record news sources, which endears them further to me.”

  “They aren’t supposed to be,” the President said with mock sternness. “But I suppose that’s Washington.… No,” he went on more seriously, “I would not readily accept the charge that I am a President who doesn’t have a long-range, consistent policy designed to be in America’s best interests, because I believe that is what we have. You may not agree, Able, other less objective and disinterested critics may not agree, but that is what I think we have. But I am getting pretty far away from your recent questions. What would I propose to do about Sidi? Go to the United Nations with a request for a strongly worded resolution putting him on notice that unless he abstains from any new attack upon his neighbors, specifically Lesser Lolómé, and agrees to accept inspection of his alleged newfound atomic arsenal by the International Atomic Energy Agency, he will face sanctions and a most stringent trade embargo.”

  “And?” Able inquired.

  The President looked a little surprised.

  “Then we shall see. But I would think the resolution, if strongly enough worded, and strongly enough applied, will be quite sufficient to make him draw in his horns and decide to be a decent, responsible, well-behaved member of the international community.”

  “No military action, then,” Able persisted.

  The President smiled.

  “I wouldn’t want to telegraph all our punches, Able, even though you literal-minded members of the media won’t rest until you’ve got us to enunciate and disclose every last possible move we might make on the international chessboard. I’m not threatening military action nor am I ruling it out. Let Sidi guess. Let the media guess.” He looked amiable, but for the first time spoke with a certain sting in his voice. “It will do you good.”

  “It may do us good, Mr. President,” Able said, not at all inhibited, “but the question is, will it do Sidi any good? Suppose he continues to defy you despite a UN resolution—what then? Or suppose you can’t get the UN to go along with as strong a resolution as you would wish—what then? That may be the likeliest thing. So far there doesn’t seem to be any wild scramble of world opinion to come to America’s support in this matter. Suppose the UN just balks. Will you apply pressure to get it to support American policy, or will American policy once again be voluntarily subordinated to UN policy because an American President doesn’t have the tenacity or the temerity to use the means of persuasion he has?”

  “Doesn’t have the guts, you mean,” the President said with a smile. “Spell it right out, Able. Well, I do.”

  “So you will insist that the UN pass a strong resolution supporting your policy toward Sidi, no matter what,” Able said thoughtfully.

  “I don’t think insistence on my part will be necessary,” the President said comfortably. “Anyway, members have a right to their own opinions and it will have to be a decision of the Security Council based on the unanimous agreement of the five permanent members. I shall use every means at my disposal to persuade them to our point of view, yes. That, it seems to me, is the limit of what I can do. I would hope that would be enough.”

  “But you’re not certain.”

  “What is certain, in this crazy, mixed-up world?” the President inquired with great good humor. “I’ll do my damnedest, you can be sure of that.”

  “You haven’t quite answered me, Mr. President,” Able said, “but, then”—he smiled, just on the verge of overly cordial insolence—“I suppose we of the media do always look for too many absolutes. It’s a tough world.… Will China and the SSR veto?”

  “The positions of China and the Second Soviet Republic will have to be stated by them,” the President said. “I would hope they would agree with the American position. Secretary Stanley has already had substantive talks with all of the other permanent members of the Security Council, and with the Secretary-General, and I think they understand our position.” He uttered an amiable laugh. “Isn’t it about time to go to questions from the viewers? Haven’t you grilled me enough?”

  Able laughed too.

  “I think we may have stirred up some interest. Fargo, North Dakota, hello!”

  “Mr. Able,” Fargo said, sounding young, a bit intimidated but earnest, “I want to congratulate you on your show. It’s always wonderful, and today, with the President on, well, like, wow, it’s really great, you know?”

  “What’s your question, Fargo?” Able inquired, firm but fatherly.

  “I’m in the army, Mr. President,” Fargo said. “My folks and I want to know, are you going to send me and my buddies to the Gulf to fight old Sidi?”

  “Like, wow, man!” the President said with a chuckle. “You speak right out, don’t you? You really tell it like it is.”

  “I hope so, sir,” Fargo said earnestly.

  “You will go far in this man’s army,” the President predicted. “But not”—his face and voice became solemn—“not as far as Greater Lolómé. You may tell your folks and your buddies from me, Fargo, that I have no intention of sending you or any other American boy or girl to fight old Sidi. That is the farthest thing from my mind. Here and now, I rule out the most obvious military option. There will be no ‘third Gulf War.’”

  “Thank you, sir,” Fargo said fervently. “You’ve, like, cleared the air for me and my folks and my buddies. We, like, thank you, Mr. President.”

  “Thank you, Fargo,” Able said. His tone became slightly ironic. “I’m sure, Mr. President, that for Fargo and most Americans you have, like, eased a lot of fears. You don’t think you have also very substantially eased old Sidi’s?”

  “Not if Sidi knows what is good for him,” the President said crisply. “I wouldn’t want anyone to be under any misapprehensions about that.”

  “But, Mr. President,” Able said gently, “how does that jibe with what you just told me a few moments ago?” And he touched a button and produced an instant rerun of the President saying firmly, “I’m not threatening military action nor am I ruling it out.”

  The President, not at all nonplussed, favored him with a broad smile as the rerun ended and they were back, as Able put it sardonically to himself, from virtual past reality to virtual present reality.

  “Ah,” the President said in a fondly chiding tone. “There he goes again, that demon newshawk! You will note that I specifically did not say ‘ground troops,’ nor did I specify in any way what action might be possible for us. I have, I admit, just ruled out for young Fargo and his parents, and for all other loyal, patriotic American mothers and fathers and their sons or daughters who may be in service, the possibility of ground troops in action in Greater Lolómé. But look at all the options! There is air power. There is naval power. There are smart bombs and Patriot missiles. And there are other options too sophisticated and at present too secret for me to divulge. Rest assured, the options are open. Rest assured, also, that it is not intended or even contemplated that any ground troops such as young Fargo and his buddies, both male and female, will be sent to fight in another desert war.”

  “But there may be young airmen, both male and female [Able could not resist echoing his tone] who may conceivably be at risk if Sidi remains obdurate. To say nothing of young sailors and marines, male and female, who may be equally in harm’s way. You would advise them to stand by and be ready for action, Mr. President?”

  “Able!” the President said, producing what the media had termed in his predecessor’s time the Earnest-Honest Look, straight into the camera. “Able, Able! How you put words in my mouth! I must repeat, I am not threatening military action nor am I ruling it out. It is simply an option. The final decision on what may happen rests with President Sidi. And don’t you—or President Sidi—or anyone—but particularly President Sidi—forget that. Okay?”

  “San Francisco,” Able said impassively. A female voice, intense, dedicated, full of Good Thoughts, Love of Humanity, and Endless Devotion to Great Causes, zeroed in from Dreamworld on the Pacific.

  “Mr. President!” she said, grim concern for all of poor, suffering humanity in every syllable. “How can you justify an attack on such a small, weak power as Greater Lolómé, which under the enlightened leadership of President Sidi, even though one of the most poverty-stricken nations on earth, with an annual estimated income of only $180 for every man, woman, and child, still has an estimated seventy-five hospitals and clinics in good condition and has achieved one of the highest levels of literacy in the entire area and which, just this past year, was reported to have sixteen libraries containing an estimated 1,230,000 books, serving an eager reading public on one of the most generous schedules of any libraries anywhere, staying open from eight AM to ten PM with an estimated readership of 500,000 adults and 750,000 children of all ages from grammar school to college or college equivalent?”

  “Wow!” the President said with a chuckle. “Lady, your statistics are simply staggering—and, of course, I am sure,” he added, expression instantly sober and respectful, “completely accurate. Your assumption that an attack on small, weak Greater Lolómé is either contemplated or imminent, however, is completely mistaken.”

  “But, Mr. President—” she began.

  “Sarajevo, Bosnia,” Able said. “Hello!”

  “Mr. President,” Sarajevo said, “why should we believe you, any more than we had cause to believe your predecessor, when you say America will take firm action against President Sidi? Isn’t this one more American bluff destined to become nothing?”

  “All I can say,” the President replied calmly, “is that I am not my predecessor. All I can say is, wait and see. Look at it again a month from now and tell me if it is a bluff.”

  “Don’t you think, Mr. President,” Sarajevo persisted, “that America’s reputation for consistency, and America’s good faith and integrity, are involved here as much as they were in my own poor country?”

  “American consistency, good faith, and integrity are involved in everything I do,” the President said, still calmly but with a slight trace of controlled and calculated asperity that came across as completely spontaneous and sincere. “I will not abandon them. I am not concerned with what others have done. My responsibility is now and what I do. I assure my friends in Europe, you need not worry.”