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."Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies.""Can you handle the old man and his army?""I don't know.It depends on how good this Hamidi army is," Remo said."It's considered the best in this part of the world," she said, and Remo said,"That's not saying much."155The Star in the Center of the Flower of the East Military Base was located three miles outside the capital city of Nehmad.Four uniformed Arabian soldiers stood in a guard shack located inside the main gate.Oscar did not bother to slow down, and none of the guards signaled to the Rolls Royce."Hold it," Remo said to the driver, and the Rolls stopped.If he was going to lead this army into battle, he'd better find out just what kind of army it was.Remo walked into the guard shack and saw that the four guards were playing dominoes.None of them looked toward him, so he called out, "Is anybody here alive?"One of the soldiers glanced over."Who are you?""Why didn't you ask me that when I just rolled by in my Rolls Royce?""I thought you were an officer.""In a Rolls Royce?""All our officers drive Rolls Royces.""With chauffeurs?""All with chauffeurs.I am told that is why Allah made sergeants.Who are you?""George Armstrong Custer.""You will have to sign our visitor list," the soldier said, making a triumphant move from the little stack of dominoes standing on edge before him.Remo saw the visitors' book on a stand inside the door.He picked up the pen.It didn't work.He looked around for another pen, but there wasn't any.He looked inside the book.The last visitor had signed in three years earlier, almost to the day.It was going to be great leading this army into war, Remo thought.Unquestioned, unchallenged, unchecked, the Rolls Royce continued down the main road of the camp toward a cluster of large buildings, built around an Italianate central fountain.Off to the right, Remo saw row after row of parked jet fighters.To the left, he saw tanks, hundreds of tanks, parked in so many neat columns that the area 156looked like the parking lot of a suburban shopping mall.If this was typical, Remo thought, it was no wonder the Israelis always won the wars.One Israeli commando—check that, one reasonably bright Israeli high school student—could march in here at high noon with a pair of pliers and a wire cutter and disable the entire Hamidi army and air force.There were two dozen Rolls Royces parked in front of the largest of the buildings.Two uniformed Hamidi guards carrying rifles stood at the top of the Page 76ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlstairs, in front of the closed door.Remo told Reva Bleem to wait for him, then walked up the steps.He brushed by the two soldiers, opened the door, and went inside.Neither of them had tried to stop him.The inside of the command building looked like the lobby of a first-class London hotel.There were potted palms around the inside, clustered at the ends of long brocaded couches and overstuffed chairs.Persian rugs covered every square inch of floor.A large fan rotated overhead, quietly and uselessly, because the area was chilled down into the low s by central air conditioning.At the head of the wide steps was a pair of double doors.Printed on them in gold was "The Office of the Commanding General." The gold was sprinkled with chips of multicolored stones.Spotlights, with revolving filters over them, played on the door, and the cut stones glinted back light, like an overhead disco globe.In equally large letters under the office name was the name of the commanding general: Jonathan Went-worth Bull.Remo found the commanding general in an inner office, past six bosomy American secretaries whose Civil Service specialty seemed to be: Doing Nails GS-14.The general was wearing designer jeans and hand-tooled brown boots with white stitching on them.He wore a large dark brown Stetson with feathers stuck into the band, and his white shirt was embroidered with red dragons.157He sat with his back to Remo, his feet up on the windowsill.A younger man sat in a chair next to the general's desk.On his lap was a high pile of papers in blue and white folders.He was reading from one when Remo entered."The next order of business, General, is the RD-Twenty-two A."Without turning, the general asked, "What's the RD-Twenty-two A?""You know, General.It's the satellite system to bomb enemy attack planes.""For crying out loud, Winslow, I know that.And you know that.Sometimes I think you're never going to be a soldier.Not a real soldier.Do you think these people are going to spend twenty billion dollars on something called an RD-Twenty-two A?""I don't understand, General.""It's a satellite killer system.That's what you have to call it.They'll go for twenty billion for a satellite killer system.They won't go for twenty dollars for RD-Twenty-two A.These people don't trust letters and numbers.You have to give things names." General Jonathan Wentworth Bull chuckled."I remember once.it was one of my biggest battles.I was trying to sell them one of those things.you know, with the long thing sticking out, hice a mosquito's nose.what do you call it?""A proboscis, sir?""Not the mosquito's thing.This other thing.Gray metal.""A cannon, sir?""Yeah, that's right.A cannon.It used that stuff.""Gunpowder?""Right.Gunpowder
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