Standing shoulder to shoulder along the whole length of the crack had been members of the Zelrijk-Aalberg security forces: American mercenaries armed with assault rifles. Behind them the bar had been crammed solid with lawyers, friends of El, and media. They had all looked on, in what was described as a festive atmosphere, as Sinjin Kerr, the lord chancellor of Zelrijk-Aalberg, had reminded the Belgian cops that they had no authority on this side of the crack and that, if need be, force would be employed to preserve the integrity of the border.

The Belgians had backed down. Both they and the Dutch authorities had made it clear that if El stepped over the crack he would be subject to arrest.

Since that day, El had not left his cricket-oval-sized country. Another man might have monetized it to death, building skyscrapers on it and lining its fractal border with shops selling firecrackers, cannabis, and swag, but El had made very few changes. It was still the same homely assortment of half-timbered structures and vegetable gardens. He’d cut back on the security force, so now the border was patrolled by a rotating squad of half a dozen middle-aged guys who kept their weapons, if they even had any, discreetly concealed. Behind the wattle-and-daub walls, every room of every structure was occupied by his staff. There were rumors of tunnels. But nowadays his staff consisted mostly of the medical professionals who looked after him, and the lawyers and accountants who kept his affairs sorted. The legal situation was stalemated. The statute of limitations had long since expired on most of the criminal charges that could be leveled against him relating to Moab. He’d sent signals that he would spend every penny he had defending himself in court. And everyone understood that by the time he could be tried, convicted, and sentenced, he’d be dead, or so mentally disabled that any sentence would be commuted on humanitarian grounds. He stayed home and he used telepresence robots to “travel” around the world, and he disabled their faces so that no one could “see” him. He’d become a sort of Man in the Iron Mask.