The Peaceful Affair: Chapter 1
We (the undivided divinity operating within us) have dreamt the world. We have dreamt it as firm, mysterious, visible, ubiquitous in space and durable in time; but in its architecture we have allowed tenuous and eternal crevices of unreason which tell us it is false.
— Jorge Luis Borges, Avatars of the Tortoise
Germany has declared war on Russia. Swimming in the afternoon.
— Franz Kafka, Entry in diary (August 2, 1914)
On a morning so beautiful as to make one’s ears pop, a small giant and a tall dwarf meandered straight toward The Circular Ruins, graciously permitting the city airport to wane behind them languidly. The early shuttle from New York having landed late as usual, the two had had to rush through the concourse. Now, comfortably ensconced within the cool interior of a moving taxi, they resumed their discussion of the intended meeting.
“He sounded very upset on the phone,” remarked the small giant pensively.
“I’m betting murder,” mused the tall dwarf, unsuccessfully attempting to stifle a yawn. Who the hell came up with the idea of holding flights at six o’clock in the morning? floated the recurring thought yet again.
“No, come on,” started the small giant, “we’d have heard of someone’s being done away with over there. I vote adultery.”
“But he wouldn’t care one bit about that,” retorted the tall dwarf. “After all, everyone practically expects him to philander. Why, if he isn’t under some lady’s dress, it probably means he’s on his way to the loony bin.”
The small giant mumbled, “Not murder, not adultery, let’s see now …” A brief, reflective pause ensued. “Theft. Must be.”
“You may be right this time. What do you think was stolen, then?”
“Probably not something personal. He isn’t that rich, you know.”
The two of them frequently engaged in such verbal table tennis. Oftentimes, they’d even arrive at some interesting conclusions. Except when the small white ball flied out.
“Big item or small?”
“Hard to steal something big from him. I’d say small.”
“Material? Ethereal?”
“Definitely ethereal. Remember, he’s not rich.”
“Hmm … Computer files, maybe?”
“Could be. Or perhaps some important documents.”
“Incriminating documents?”
“I’d say no, at least not personally. I mean, aside from his penchant for the smarter gender — which nobody really cares about these days — he’s quite a straight shooter.”
“Public documents, then?”
“Sounds good to me.”
They relaxed into silence and peered through the closed windows at the passing scenery of Washington DC.
“There it is,” said the small giant after a few moments, pointing to a circular assemblage of shiny plastic megaliths — a superb modern copy of Stonehenge. One of the giant stones boasted a rock-solid door, above which hung a dilapidated sign reading The Circular Ruins.
The place may once have known better days, or perhaps it had always been in such ramshackle condition. The two colleagues could feel that tingling sensation, which invariably coursed through their bodies each time they were about to launch themselves into a new adventure.
They entered the circular bar.
Despite the early morning hour, a few regular-looking loners were strewn about nursing drinks, wearing forlorn looks on their faces. The one exception was the man seated at the poorly lit table in the rear; his face showed character and strength, and he had risen as soon as the two newcomers had stepped in.
“I’m glad you made it,” he welcomed them with a weary smile.
“No problem,” said the small giant, flashing the You’re-In-Safe-Hands-Now smile, which always put clients at ease. Clients at ease had turned out to be quite conducive to business.
All three of them took seats. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering coffee in advance. After all, you know how hard it is to pass the secret-service cordon and get to the barman.”
“Thanks,” replied the two in concert (Dvorak’s Piano Quintet №2 in A major, Op. 81).
This was the point at which they usually asked the client for some form of identification. Not quite the best way to start a relationship, but a practice that had saved them from deleterious consequences more than once, as in the case of the missing rhinoceros and in the affair of the lone sunflower. Of course, such a demand was quite superfluous this time, given the man’s omnipresence in the sundry media. It really would not do to ask the President of the United States for an ID.
No, it would not do at all.
“We’d like to get straight to the point, Mr. President,” said the small giant amicably. “If you don’t mind, that is.”
“Fine by me,” said the man tiredly. “And, please, do call me John.” President Doe was known for being very fond of his given name.
“Okay, John,” said the tall dwarf in a serious tone, “please tell us what the problem is.”
The president took a sip of the hot beverage, stared intently at the two, and asked, “I assume you’ve heard of the War Treaties?”
Now that was a rhetorical question if there ever was one. Every five-and-a-half–year-old knew of the slew of treaties possessed by each country, detailing the compensatory settlement upon defeat in war. The president himself retained a tinge of French about his speech, witness to a childhood spent in French Georgia, where they still referred to the sixties as les années soixantes.
Without waiting for an answer the president continued. “Late last night I was going over the treaties, which are kept in an armed attaché case carried at all times by a Marine officer. A nice sort, by the way, if somewhat possessed of limited conversational skills, due, I’ve no doubt, to a misspent youth in German Idaho.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, yesterday, after the captain had left, I’d taken to studying a few of the treaties, especially those concerning Canada and Britain.”
The small giant and the tall dwarf both nodded understandingly: The current troubles with those two countries had been all over the headlines these past few days. “So I’m sitting there in the Triangular Office, all by myself, going over this stuff. The attaché case was on my desk, open, and the two treaties in question were lying side by side next to it.” The president took a prolonged sip of coffee.
“What happened then, John?” prodded the tall dwarf.
“Huh?” the president lifted his head. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. Anyway,” he picked up with that characteristic bold swing of head to which most people ascribed his winning the presidency, “I guess I must have dozed off for about half an hour. I don’t quite know what had woken me up, but when I did, the … The case was gone! Along with the treaties — all of them!” No wonder the president was upset. The War Treaties were a country’s most carefully guarded secret. And the most coveted.
The two detectives were incredulous.
“Someone stole the — ” started the small giant, “War Treaties?” — completed the tall dwarf.
“Yes,” said President Doe. “As soon as it happened I called my close staff in, and eventually we decided the best course of action would be to engage Mr. Myx. He has an outstanding reputation for being both efficacious and discreet. I need not elaborate on what might happen if the treaties stay in the wild too long.”
“Nuclear peace,” whispered the small giant in awe, provoking a prolonged silence among the three. Undoubtedly, the same thought had entered their minds simultaneously: the Belgian-Dutch affair.
“And if word of this leaks out,” continued the president after a mute while, “it might amount to the same thing. Will Mr. Myx take me on as a client?”
“Given the gravity of the situation and Noro’s well-known patriotism, I’m sure he’ll accept,” answered the small giant reassuringly.
“But we guarantee nothing,” completed the tall dwarf. “You see, we have to bring the matter up before him. And we’ll need more information.”
“Ask me anything!” cried the president, causing one or two forlorn faces to abandon their nursed drinks momentarily.
“At what time did you enter the Triangular Office?” asked the small giant.
“I let Jefferson — the Marine officer — off around eleven o’clock, just in front of the office. The captain handed me the attaché case, whereupon I entered the room, sat down, opened it, and took out the Canadian and British treaties.”
“How did you open the case?” asked the tall dwarf.
“It has a special optoelectronic lock, geared to my thumbprint.”
“Were you alone in the office at all times?”
“Yes.”
“Was there anything that struck you as being out of the ordinary?”
“I’ve been thinking of that question all night long. The answer is no — everything seemed entirely normal.”
It was the small giant’s turn to question the man. “Do you often doze off like that?”
“When I’m alone, late at night — yes.”
“So someone who knows you well could just wait for you to drift off, as is your wont, and then blithely take off with the case.”
“I guess so,” said the president gloomily.
“Do you remember when you woke up?”
“Actually, that I know precisely. As I opened my eyes I happened to register the time displayed on the large grandfather clock Lincoln had been gifted by the Swiss. It was twelve twenty-eight.”
“So we know the case was stolen between eleven o’clock and twelve twenty-eight,” summed up the tall dwarf, “provided, of course, the clock showed the correct time.”
“Oh, it runs perfectly,” interjected the president immediately. “I called up my secretary as soon as I noticed the absence of the case, and in the background I could hear the opening theme of Ball in the Family. It airs at twelve-thirty.”
“Who knows that the treaties have been stolen?” continued the small giant.
“Hmm, my close staff.” Doe paused for a moment to count with his fingers. “Let’s see, that includes Eve Apples, my personal secretary; Dorothy Gates, the National Security Advisor; Jennifer Love, my press assistant; and Xena Hammerhead, my lawyer. Oh, and of course, Jefferson, the Marine officer in charge of guarding the treaties.”
The tall dwarf was writing all this down on her tablet. “What’s Jefferson’s first name?”
“Napoleon,” replied the president.
“You said you’d called them all in once you’d discovered the theft,” noted the small giant. “Who was the first to arrive?”
“Love.”
“When did she get in?”
“About fifteen minutes after I called her.”
“That’s rather quick, isn’t it?”
“Well, she lives close by.”
“How well do you trust them?” asked the tall dwarf.
“They’ve all been with me for almost fifteen years — ever since my days as Mayor of Atlanta; all except for Love, who joined my team around five years ago. I’d vouch for each and every one of them — they’re all one hundred percent kosher. Including Love.”
“That’s what they all say,” mumbled the tall dwarf, “until you feel the knife in your back. Et tu Brute.”
“No, no,” vociferated the president indignantly. “I’m telling you, this bunch is straight. I’m positive.”
Two negatives can also make a positive, thought the tall dwarf, but decided to drop it. No use upsetting the president needlessly — the need would most certainly come later.
“Was the door open all the time you were in there?” asked the small giant.
“No, as a matter of fact it was locked. Plus, there’s a guard posted outside.”
“And there’s only one entrance to the Triangular Office?”
“Yes. Only one.”
“Only one way in, and it was locked,” remarked the tall dwarf. “Was there any trace of someone’s having entered the room while you were dozing?”
“No,” answered the president. “I looked around carefully after I woke up, but everything was in place. Except the case.”
“So,” recapitulated the small giant, “you were in the office alone, the door was shut tight, nothing seems to have been touched, and yet the treaties have vanished into thin air. Quite a mystery.”
“Yes,” said the tall dwarf, “exactly the kind Noro likes.”
With that, the two bade the president farewell and silently took their leave, leaving the Commander-in-Chief in an anguished yet somewhat hopeful state.
