And we did win. Even our naivete worked to our advantage-at least no one can accuse Rizome of having ever supported
FACT, no matter how badly the havens pestered us."
"In other words our success was mostly luck," Mrs. Wu said crisply. "I agree-we've been fortunate. With the excep- tion of those Rizome associates who paid the price for our adventuring." She didn't have to glance at Laura to make her point.
"True enough," de Valera said. "But our motives were good and we fought the good fight. "
Mrs. Wu smiled. "I'm as proud of that as anyone. But I can hope we'll do better in the present political situation.
Now that the truth is out-and we can make what we laugh- ingly call informed decisions." She sat down, touching her watchphone. "Let's roll the tape."
The lights dimmed and the display screen at the head of the table flashed into life. "This is Dianne Arbright of 3N News, reporting from Tangiers. The , exclusive interview you are about to see was made under conditions of great personal danger to our 3N news team. In the wilderness of Algeria's
Air Mountains, isolated, without backup, we were little short of hostages in the hands of the now notorious Inadin Cultural
Revolution.... "
"What a glory hog," Garcia-Meza rumbled.
"Yeah," McIntyre said from the comfortable gemeineschaft darkness. "I wish I knew her hairdresser."
Footage followed, with Arbright's narrative. White jeeps jouncing cautiously through rugged mountain scenery. The news. team in dashing safari outfits, hats, scarves, hiking boots.
A sudden crowd of Tuaregs on dune buggies, emerging from nowhere. The jeep surrounded. Leveled guns. Real alarm on the faces of the news team, jerky cinema verite.
Cameras blocked by calloused hands.
Back to Arbright, somewhere in Tangiers. "We were searched for tracking devices, then blindfolded.' They ignored our protests, bound us hand and foot, and loaded all four of us into their vehicles, like sheep. We were hauled for hours through some of the roughest and most desolate territory in
Africa. The next footage you will see was taken in the depths of an ICR 'liberated zone.' In this heavily guarded, supersecret mountain fortress,- we were finally brought face to face with the so-called strategic genius of the ICR-ex-Special
Forces Colonel Jonathan Gresham."
More footage. They caught their breath. A cave, crude walls blasted out of living rock, dangling lightbulbs high overhead. Arbright sitting cross-legged on the carpet, her back to the camera.
Before her sat Gresham, turbanned, veiled, and cloaked, his massive head and shoulders framed in a spreading wicker peacock chair. Behind him at left and right stood two Tuareg lieutenants, with slung automatic rifles, black bandoliers, ceremonial Tuareg swords with jeweled hilts and tasseled scabbards, combat knives, grenades, pistols.
"You may proceed," Gresham announced.
Mrs. Wu froze the tape. "Laura, you're our situation expert. Is it him?"
"It's him," Laura said. "He's been to a laundry, but that's
Jonathan Gresham, all right."
"Do they always look like that?" de Valera asked.
Laura laughed. "They wouldn't last five minutes like that, out on operations. Those silly swords, all that hardware- they've got everything but flyswatters. Gresham's trying to put the voodoo on her."
"I've never seen a more terrifying figure," said Mrs. Wu, sincerely. "Why is he hiding his face? His photo. must be on file somewhere anyway."
"He's wearing the tagelmoust," Laura said. "That veil and turban-it's traditional for male Tuaregs. A kind of male chador."
"That's a switch," McIntyre said. Deliberate lightness.
She was scared, too.
"Thank you, Colonel Gresham." Arbright was shaken but she was going to tough it out. A professional. "Let me begin by asking, Why did you agree to this interview?"
"You mean why you-or why at all?"
"Let's begin with why at all."
"I know what's happened in your world," Gresham said.
"We blew Vienna's shell game, and the Net wants to know why. What's in it for us? Who are we, what do we want?
When the Net wants to know, it sends its army journalists.
So I'm willing to meet with exactly one-you. I depend on you to warn the rest off.' "I'm not sure I follow you, Colonel. I can't speak for my media colleagues, but I'm certainly not a soldier."
"The Malian regime gave us a war of extermination. We understand that. We also understand the far more insidious threat that you pose, with your armies of cameramen. We don't want your world. We don't respect your values and we don't care to be touched. We are not a tourist attraction-we are a revolution, not a zoo. We will not be tamed or assimi- lated. By your very nature, by your very presence, you would force assimilation on us. That will not be allowed."
"Colonel, you've been a journalist yourself, as well as a soldier, and, ah, cultural theorist. You must be aware that popular interest in you and your activities is very intense."
"Yes, I am. That's why I fully expect to litter this desert with the bones of your colleagues in years to come. But I'm a soldier-not a terrorist. When our enemies-your colleagues are killed in our liberated zones, they'll die knowing the reason. Assuming, that is, that I can trust you to do your job."
"I won't censor you, Colonel. I'm not Vienna, either."
"Yes-I know that. I know you pushed the coverage of the
Grenada terror attack well past Vienna's limits, at some risk to your career. That's why I chose you-you have some spine."
The second cameraman had now wandered into range and got a reaction shot. Arbright smiled at Gresham. Dimples.
Laura knew what she was feeling. She was fairly tight with
Arbright these days. Had done an interview with her, a good one. She even knew the name of Arbright's hairdresser.
"Colonel, did you know that your book on the Lawrence
Doctrine is now a best-seller?"
"It was pirated," Gresham said. "And expurgated."
"Could you explain a bit of the doctrine for our viewers?"
"I suppose it's preferable to having them read it," Gresham said reluctantly. Feigned reluctance, Laura thought. "Over a century ago, Lawrence ... he was British, First World War
... discovered how a tribal society could defend itself from industrial imperialism.... The Arab Revolt stopped the Turkish cultural advance, literally in its tracks. They did this with guerrilla assaults on the railroads and telegraphs, the Turkish industrial control system. For success, however, the Arabs were forced to use industrial artifacts-namely, guncotton, dynamite, and canned food. For us it is solar power, plastique, and single-cell protein."
He paused. "The Arabs made the mistake of trusting the
British, who were simply the Turks by another name. The
First World War was a proto-Net civil war, and the Arabs were thrust aside. 'Til oil came-then they were assimilated.
Brave efforts like the Iranian revolt of 1979 were too little too late ... they were already fighting for television."
"Colonel-you speak as if you don't expect anyone to sympathize."
"I don't. You live by your system. Vienna, Mali, Azania- it's all imperial hardware, just different brand names."
"The British political analyst Irwin Craighead has described you as `the first credible right-wing intellectual since T. E.
Lawrence.' "
Gresham touched his veil. "I'm a postindustrial tribal anarchist.
Is that considered `right-wing' these days? You'll have to ask Craighead."
"I'm sure Sir Irwin would be delighted to discuss definitions."
"I'm not going to Britain-and if he tries to invade our zones, he'll be ambushed like anyone else."
Mrs. Wu froze the tape. "This litany of death threats is very annoying."
"Arbright's got him rattled," de Valera gloated. "Typical right-winger-full of bullshit!"