Foreign Policy
By Larry Buege
(Investigated by Dept. of Homeland Security Jan. 2, 2012)
Foreign Policy is an excerpt from the novel Cold Turkey.
Somewhere in Uniqueastan
The kerosene lamp setting on a rock ledge provided only minimal illumination, creating grotesque shadows on the far wall of the cave. The cave was not large but did provide modest shelter from the elements. The two men sitting cross-legged on the floor facing each other did not appear concerned about their humble surroundings. Both men wore turbans and robes common to the locale. Between them, a small, but white-hot, fire licked at the carcass of a large rodent, extracting the natural juices, which dripped down on the fire causing small puffs of yellow flame.
“Ain’t that C-4 you’re burning?” asked one of the men in a heavy accent, obviously a Uniqueastanian.
“Yep,” replied the other in perfect English. A large wart perched on the tip of his nose invited comment, but his menacing eyes dissuaded all but the fool hardy.
“Ain’t that a form of plastic explosive?”
“Yep.” The man with the wart cut off a piece of meat from the rodent with a large knife, elevating it to his mouth with the blade. “Care for a piece?” the man asked the Uniqueastanian.
“I’ll pass.” The Uniqueastanian continued to stare at the burning plastic explosive with unconcealed concern. “You sure burning that C-4 is safe?”
“Yep.” The man with the wart ripped a leg off the carcass and placed the entire leg in his mouth. He skinned all meat from the bone with his teeth and tossed the bone to the side of the cave. A large pile of lizard bones and snake heads confirmed that he had resided in the cave for several days. “Do it all the time. Long as there’s no blasting cap, it only burns.” The Uniqueastanian did not appear convinced.
“I understand your country might be interested in a major purchase.” The Uniqueastanian caressed his AK-47 that lay on the ground by his side. He always liked to know where it was during delicate negotiations.
“Depends on what ya got.” The man with the wart had a fully loaded uzi submachine gun resting comfortably in his lap; however, he preferred his knife at such close quarters, should a difference of opinion develop. The rest of the roasted rodent was tossed into the corner. Maggots could have the leftovers. He wiped his greasy mouth on his sleeve and waited for the Uniqueastanian to elaborate.
“How about a twenty-megaton nuclear bomb. Not too big but can still make a mess. Got it from a Soviet army surplus store. Sort of a going out of business sale.”
“Does it come with a missile?”
“Short-range, ballistic missile. Range about sixty miles, but that’ll cost you extra.”
“I think my government would be interested in removing some of these toys from the playground. How much you want?”
“One billion Yankee dollars and ten virgins.”
“One billion Yankee dollars and ten virgins!” Nostrils began to flare, and the American’s eyes became wide as if suddenly infused with drugs. The Uniqueastanian reached for his AK-47 but was too late. A heavy foot came down hard on the weapon, pinning it to the ground. Subtle motions with the large knife discouraged further aggressive behavior, and the Uniqueastanian released his grip on the rifle.
“You people think America has unlimited assets, that all you have to do is ask your exorbitant price and it will automatically flow out of the land of milk and honey. American opulence has boundaries. Our resources are not inexhaustible. We can’t always give in to your greed just because you ask.”
The American looked over his nose, past the warty protuberance, and into the eyes of the, now quivering, Uniqueastanian. “Would you consider one billion Yankee dollars and five virgins?”
“Deal.”
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