"Your help was crucial to its success, Andrey." Fowler replied graciously. It was a lie, but a politic one which both men understood. In fact it was not a lie, but neither man knew that.

"One less trouble spot for us to worry about. How blind we were!"

"That is true, my friend, but it is behind us. How are your people dealing with Germany?"

"The army is not happy, as you might imagine -"

"Neither is mine." Fowler interrupted gently with his pronouncement. "Soldiers are like dogs. Useful, of course, but they must know who the master is. Like dogs, they can be forgetful, and must be reminded from time to time."

Narmonov nodded thoughtfully as the translation came across. It was amazing how arrogant this man was. Just what his intelligence briefings had told him, the Soviet president noted. And patronizing, too. Well, the American had the luxury of a firm political system, Andrey Il'ych told himself. It allowed Fowler to be so sure of himself while he, Narmonov, had to struggle every day with a system not yet set in stone. Or even wood, the Russian thought bleakly. What a luxury indeed to be able to look on soldiers as dogs to be cowed. Didn't he know that dogs had teeth? So strange the Americans were. Throughout Communist rule in the Soviet Union, they had fretted about the political muscle of the Red Army - when in fact it had had none at all after Stalin's elimination of Tukhachevskiy. But now they discounted all such stories while the dissolution of the iron hand of Marxism-Leninism was allowing soldiers to think in ways that would have ended in execution only a few years earlier. Well, this was no time to disabuse the American of his illusions, was it?

"Tell me, Robert, this treaty idea - where exactly did it come from?" Narmonov asked. He knew the truth and wanted to see Fowler's abilities as a liar.

"Many places, as with all such ideas," the President replied lightly. "The moving force was Charles Alden - poor bastard. When the Israelis had that terrible incident, he activated his plan immediately and - well, it worked, didn't it?"

The Russian nodded again, and made his mental notes. Fowler lied with skill, evading the substance of the question to give a truthful but evasive answer. Khrushchev was right, as he'd already known. Politicians all the world over are not terribly different. It was something to remember about Fowler. He didn't like sharing credit, and was not above lying in the face of a peer, even over something so small as this. Narmonov was vaguely disappointed. Not that he'd expected anything else, but Fowler could have shown grace and humanity. He'd stood to lose nothing by it, after all. Instead he was as petty as any local Party apparatchik. "Tell me, Robert", Narmonov asked behind a poker face that would have stood him well in Las Vegas, "what sort of man are you?"