"What ideas do you have for remedying the situation?" the Commander asked.

"We are faced with an alliance of two very unlikely friends and their hangers-on. One must find a way to destroy the alliance. In historical terms, when an alliance is broken, the former allies are even more suspicious of each other than they were before the alliance was formed. How to do that?" Bock shrugged. "I don't know. That will require time The opportunities are there. Should be there," he corrected himself. There is much potential for discord. There are many people who feel as we do, many still in Germany who feel as I do."

"But you say it must begin between America and Russia?" Qati asked, interested as always by his friend's meanderings.

"That is where it must lead. If there were a way to make it start there, so much the better, but that would seem unlikely."

"Perhaps not as unlikely as you imagine, Gunther," Qati thought to himself, scarcely aware that he'd spoken aloud.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. We will discuss this later. I am tired, my friend."

"Forgive me for troubling you, Ismael."

"We will avenge Petra, my friend. They will pay for their crimes!" Qati promised him.

"Thank you." Bock left. Two minutes later, he was back in his room. The radio was still on, now playing traditional music. It came back to him then, the weight of the moment. He did not manage tears, however. All Bock felt was rage. Petra's death was a wrenching personal tragedy, but his whole world of ideas had been betrayed. The death of his wife was just one more symptom of a deeper and more virulent disease. The whole world would pay for Petra's murder, if he could manage it. All in the name of revolutionary justice, of course.

Sleep came hard for Qati. Surprisingly, part of the problem was guilt. He too had his memories of Petra Hassler and her supple body - she hadn't been married to Gunther then - and the thought of her dead, found at the end of a German rope How had she died? Suicide, the news report had said? Qati believed it. They were brittle, these Europeans. Clever, but brittle. They knew the passion of the struggle, but they did not know of endurance. Their advantage lay in their broader view. That came from their more cosmopolitan environment and their generally superior education. Whereas Qati and his people tended to be overly focused on their immediate problem, their European comrades could see the broader issues more clearly. The moment of perceptive clarity came as something of a surprise. Qati and his people had always regarded the Europeans as comrades but not as equals, as dilettantes in the business of revolution. That was a mistake. They had always faced a more rigorous revolutionary task because they lacked the ready-made sea of discontent from which Qati and his colleagues drew their recruits. That they had been less successful in their goals was due to objective circumstances, not a reflection on their intelligence or dedication.