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Today the assembly room was filled to capacity. So many human forms made the normally spacious, finely appointed room feel cramped. The walls, veneered in a fine dark indonesian teak wood, seemed to be bearing down in an attempt to smother the assembled convocation.
He was a giant of a man, which made the room feel
even smaller. Seven feet tall precisely, and so heavy that he needed
custom designed chairs when he sat to support his enormous weight.
He had a deep tan the color of cinnamon, and straight black hair trimmed
in a short, inobtrusive style. A black moustache rested beneath a
precipitously steep nose, as if it had just fallen over the edge and come
to rest above the upper lip. Though he often wore military
fatigues in the style of another well-known Carribean
leader, today's events required the donning of a navy blue colored business
suit.
Within this room was contained the leaders of humanity; the men who shaped the course of human events. Outside, the glass and steel structure with its rows of flags representing the participants in this political drama represented hope and continued peace. Inside its meeting rooms, Generallisimo Juan Hernandez, leader of the Central American nation of Santa Domingo, knew the truth of the situation was worlds apart from what the common people expected.
His gaze continued to sweep the conference room,
filled with so many variations on the human form. All colors and
manners of people were represented in this room. Normally he would
not attend these conferences; that was what ambassadors were for.
But today was to be the announcement of the extension of the Panamerican
Trade Agreement for another five years.
The event would shape the flexible, fragile economies
of his and many other small and poor countries in Central and South America.
It was planned that the Prime Minister of Canada, Jean Crétien,
would make the announcement. But at the moment, Ayala Sedpojk, the
ambassador from Bangladesh, was trying to convince the assembly to
force Pakistan to pay war reparations to his country for a war now more
than six years past. The scores of bored
countenances about the room spoke of how long
this particular harangue was. Hopefully Sedpojk's speech writers,
a curse be upon their miserable heads, hadn't composed much more of this
bombastic blathering.
Later that afternoon, seated in the plush red
velvet back seat of his bulletproof Cadillac limousine on his way back
to the Santa Domingan Embassy, he ran over he days speeches in his head.
The speeches that mattered, anyway. The US and Canada wanted the
rest of the Western hemisphere to assist them in their efforts to stop
the trafficking of durgs into their countries. The pompous, sanctimonious
fools! Their trade agreements, upon which many small countries depended
for the backing of their currency, allowed their super corporations to
remove all of their natural resources for only minimal recompense, leaving
his and other
countries with little but agriculture to exist
on. But when the farmers, who learned that jungle groves of marijuana
and hilltop fields of coca would bring in foreign currency tried to earn
their living, the US and Canada wanted to crush them.
Maybe that was the plan of the USA, to starve out insignificant Central America and then occupy the now unclaimed land.
Well, he was a politician. Formerly a soldier, he had fought in many battles. Now he fought his battles with rhetoric instead of bullets. When it served his political purposes, he would appear to acquiesce to the arrogant demands of the US and Canada. In reality, though, he had no such intentions. If anything, his countries drug trafficking gave him a control over US and Canadian affairs, in the criminal-political venue. It was another battle; could he erode the infrastructure of US culture with his drugs before the US economic policies stifled his country's economy? It was another battle joined; another war begun.
He watched out the window as the buildings of the hated nation passed by.
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