The voice repeated its harsh question: "Where are all your mustaches?"
As one, the right hands of the Revolting Command Council of the Republic of Irait flew to their naked, exposed upper lips.
"Which traitor among you is responsible for the disaster that has befallen our proud nation?" demanded the stern voice of Maddas Hinsein, Scimitar of the Arabs.
He stood in the doorway, flanked by blue-bereted Renaissance Guards. This evidence of their loyalty established without fear of contradiction, he waved them from the room. The door closed.
Fear roosted in each man's eyes. Paralysis gripped their very bones, as if their marrows had congealed.
In that moment's hesitation, Maddas roared, "I demand an answer!"
Deaf to the last dull crump coming through the window behind them, oblivious of the nerve-gas cloud that was lifting over the western skyline, the Revolting Command Council pointed at the current president of Irait, Razzik Azziz, who they realized was destined to go down in Iraiti history as the shortest-lived ruler since pre-Islamic days.
President Razzik Azziz realized this too. He pointed at the others.
"Precious Leader," Azziz said, sick-voiced. "They insisted I take your place. I told them, 'But no Arab could do that. It is preposterous.' They all refused the honor. Irait was in desperate straits. What could I do?"
Since the order to relax had not been given, the accusing fingers remained leveled. Arms trembled from nervous strain.
Maddas Hinsein, resplendent in a jet-black military uniform festooned with so much gold braid and green tinsel that he resembled a Christmas tree in mourning, put his hands on his thick hips.
"The hostages have been set free," he growled. "By whose orders?"
The fingers continued pointing.
Maddas nodded. "Our beloved capital has been gassed. By whom?"
The fingers stabbed the air anew. President Azziz switched hands.
Maddas nodded. "You have shaved your mustaches. Who allowed this?"
The fingers strained emphatically. Stiff features began melting like wax effigies.
Then President Razzik Azziz made the mistake that had cost more Iraiti officers their lives than enemy fire over the course of a decade of war with neighboring Irug. He attempted to reason with Maddas Hinsein.
"But, Precious Leader," he stuttered, "we thought you were dead. We shaved only to express our profound loss."
For a moment the fleshy brown face of Maddas Hinsein wavered in its scowl. His gruff features softened. A sudden moistness leapt into his calflike eyes.
"My brothers," he said, laying a hand over his massive chest. "You thought to honor me so? I am touched."
"We are glad you approve, Precious Leader," said President Razzik Azziz, lowering his aching arm.
It was then that Maddas Hinsein pulled his pearl-handled revolver and shot the man once in the belly.
Razzik Azziz was carried backward by a dumdum bullet that exerted over twelve thousand foot-pounds of velocity. It actually lifted him off his feet just before he slammed into the wall at his back.
He made a big red smear on the paint as he slowly slipped down to a sitting position, an uncomprehending expression on his freshly shaved face. As if radar-guided, dozen digits followed him down.
"The rest I could forgive," said Maddas Hinsein, stuffing his weapon back into his holster. "But only a fool would believe that the Scimitar of the Arabs was dead. Maddas Hinsein will die when he is ready, not before."
"We believed you were still alive," chorused the surviving Revolting Command Council members, their fingers still accusing the shuddering corpse that had been Razzik Azziz. "But he made us shave at gunpoint."
"Next time this happens, you will take the bullet in your brains before you lift a razor to your faces," ordered the Scimitar of the Arabs.
"As you command, O Precious Leader," they promised.
Maddas nodded. "Take your seats. We have work to do."
"But, the gas," sputtered the defense minister.
Maddas looked up sharply. "Is the window not closed?"
"Yes, Precious Leader."
"Then we have time."
And so, woodenly, they took their seats around the rectangular table, which had a huge hole cut in the center. Maddas Hinsein had decreed it be built that way so no assassin could lurk under his meeting table and strike him dead. Also, so there was no place to hide from his wrath.
The council members sat. After giving his seat at the head of the table a quick once-over for poisoned tacks, Maddas took his place. He smiled broadly. "Now," he said. "Where were we?"
Chapter 16
An orbiting KH-12 satellite first detected the impact craters mushrooming along the western section of Abominadad, and the resulting eruption of gas.
High-resolution images were down-linked to a top-secret CIA ground station in Nurrungar Valley, Australia, from there microwaved to the Washington, D.C. and the National Photo Intelligence Center for processing, and passed on to CIA analysts in Langley, Virgina.
A preliminary analysis revealed that the impact craters were caused by Scud missiles, launched from mobile erector launchers. This puzzled CIA analysts. The only Scuds deployed in what the Pentagon had dubbed the Iraiti-Kuran Theater of Operations were in Irait and Syria. A Syrian strike on Irait seemed improbable.
Then the spectroscopic analysis of the clouds came in.
"Sarin?" said the chief analyst in a puzzled voice. "Only the Iraitis have Sarin." Then the significance of his discovery reached him.
Down in the Tank-the nukeproof basement strategy room of the Pentagon-the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff accepted the telexed CIA report, read it grimly, and turned to the remaining officers in the room.
"Bad news. We have confirmation that the Iraitis have definitely refitted their Scuds to deliver war gas."
"How do we know this?" asked the chief of naval operations, who had visions of unleashing a few Trident and Polaris missiles on Abominadad in a massive preemptive strike destined to go down in naval history and incidentally put him in the running for the 1992 presidential elections.
The chairman's clipped answer dashed his hopes like seawater washing over a cutter's bow.
"They just hit their own capital," he said. "Took out their entire defensive missile batteries and one of the largest roller coasters known to man."
This impressed everyone. No one had ever heard of a successful air strike on a roller coaster.
"Civil war?" asked the Army Chief of Staff.