Anwar-Sadat looked up. "Yes, yes. What is it?"
"Urgent call from the ambassador from Iraq, line three."
Anwar-Sadat frowned like a rock falling into shadow. "I have no time for this. I am trying to reconvene the Security Council. Tomorrow is our fiftieth anniversary, and we have no diplomats for the official reception."
"But the ambassador is calling to surrender."
Anwar-Sadat blinked. "Surrender what, may I ask?"
"I do not know. He merely said the word 'surrender.' He is quite agitated, I might add."
"Perhaps," mused Anwar-Sadat, "he means Iraq is now willing to come into compliance with all UN resolutions. I will take his call, thank you."
When he made his connection, the secretary general said "Yes, hello?" in a deliberately neutral voice. If his guess was correct, this would be a great victory for his office.
The thick voice of the Iraqi ambassador said, "We surrender. Immediately. Call off your troops."
"What is it?"
"Do not trifle with me. We know your game. We surrender. We will not fight. We will not be drawn into another crisis just so you may strangle our nation further. We are disinterested in fighting. Thus, we will never be defeated. Now, please accept our surrender at once."
"Are you drunk?"
"I am a Muslim. I do not drink. And my country will not fight. Basra is yours if you wish it. We ask only safe passage for our Republican Guards. They will lay down their arms and abandon their armor. But we will not fight. Do I make myself clear? We will not fight."
The voice of the Iraqi ambassador was tearful, almost pleading. The secretary general, knowing the tenor of the Iraqi leadership these days, could almost envision a cocked pistol at the head of the poor Iraqi ambassador, the hammer ready to fall if he failed to negotiate a successful surrender.
"Very well. I accept your surrender," Anwar-Sadat said. "Is there anything else?"
"Yes. Terms. We must have terms."
"Of course. How careless of me. What is a surrender without terms? What were you thinking of?"
"Withdraw your forces to the DMZ."
"Our forces are in the DMZ."
"They are within thirty minutes of Basra. And closing."
"I will have to get back to you on this matter," said the secretary general of the UN coolly, then hung up.
He placed a call to UNIKOM HQ, and received no reply. There were no replies from any of the support units in Kuwait.
"This is quite strange," he muttered. Hitting his intercom, he said, "My car, please."
"Yes, Mr. Secretary."
"No more. I am General Anwar-Sadat now. Address me properly."
"Yes, my General."
In his war room, General Anwar-Sadat received the telex reports. There was only silence from UNIKOM. Utter silence.
"Get me the Kuwaiti ambassador, then."
The call was placed, and the pale blue receiver was laid in his dusky hand.
"Mr. Ambassador, I am receiving reports that my UNIKOM forces have strayed into Iraqi territory."
"I cannot confirm this. I am sorry."
"You sound stressed, my friend. What is wrong?" asked Anwar-Sadar.
"I cannot talk now. I am needed in the war effort."
"War. What war?"
"The drive to crush the hated beast in Baghdad before he can unleash Al Quaaquaa upon the royal family."
And then the line went dead.
Woodenly, his eyes dull, Secretary General Anwar-Sadat replaced the receiver and said, "It is true. Kuwait has attacked Iraq. It is impossible, unbelievable and not a little insane, but it is nonetheless true."
"And UNIKOM?" wondered the aide.
"We must find out." Anwar-Sadat snapped his fingers impatiently, "Quickly, turn on CNN."
"Immediately, my General."
CNN was in the middle of a special bulletin.
"Repeating, United Nations peacekeeping forces are reported operating on Iraqi soil, and at this hour there is no official explanation. But Baghdad has issued an unconditional unilateral surrender and a call for all forces to pull back to their preinvasion deployments."
Anwar Anwar-Sadat turned to his aide. "I gave no order to attack Iraq. Did I?"
The aide consulted a leather date book and shook his head vehemently. "It must be that abject appeaser, Sir Timothy," he said.
Anwar Anwar-Sadat pounded his fist on the chair armrest. "I will have him cashiered for this outrage. We are peacekeepers, not war makers. He is ruining my grand one-world plan!"
Chapter Twenty-seven
The Air Italia flight had hardly leveled out over the Italian countryside when a dark-skinned man in the back came forward and slapped a stewardess out of his way. At the front of the cabin he turned, held up a bottle of some clear liquid and announced, "This is a hijacking."
Chiun looked up from a letter he was reading. "Look, Remo. We are being hijacked."
"Damn," said Remo.