A Righteous Gentile - Softcover

Ferrera, Augusto

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1440199191 ISBN 13: 9781440199196

Verlag: iUniverse, 2009

Inhaltsangabe

It is the early 1970s when Peter Kramer, a special envoy to the president of the United States, successfully concludes an Arab-Israeli peace treaty. A few weeks before the official signing, Kramer's secret past is discovered and threatens to wreck not only the treaty, but also the precarious balance of world peace. It seems Kramer is not who he appears to be. This startling revelation sets into motion a course of events with roots planted during the Holocaust that now have crept into the highest echelons of international politics and finance-and the events seem to be unstoppable unless some of the players are eliminated. Baruch Ben-David, the prime minister of Israel, owes his life to Kramer and is willing to prove his gratitude many times over. Meanwhile, Simon Jensen, the egocentric president of the United States, appears mentally unstable; and Paul Cline, a political assassin, faces his most difficult challenge. At the center of this deadly paradox stands Peter Kramer himself as he walks a thin moral tightrope between being a traitor to his people or a traitor to himself.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Augusto Ferrera was born and raised in California. He and his wife, Greta, a practicing internist, live in Long Beach, California, and have two grown children. He is currently at work on his next novel titled Under the Tyburn Tree.

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A Righteous Gentile

By Augusto Ferrera

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 Augusto Ferrera
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-9919-6

Chapter One

Washington DC Time: The early 1970's

Peter Kramer thought of the jaw bone of Martin Bormann for the thousandth time since its discovery.

He stood alone on the terrace of the British Embassy sipping champagne, oblivious to the popular song being played by a string quartet and the din of hundreds of voices in dozens of languages. That jaw bone was occupying his waking moments, and sometimes his sleeping ones, more and more of late, especially because of the constant, almost nagging reminders from Erika. Erika, the worrier, Erika, the paranoid, Erika, his beloved.

He lifted the glass to his lips and again visualized a German laborer in blue trousers and jacket, heavy shoes and a blue peaked cap, tediously digging in that field of rubble in Berlin once known as the Invalidenstrasse, striking a human bone with his spade. The West Germans said the teeth matched Bormann's reconstructed dental records, and that damage to the collarbone was consistent with an injury Bormann had sustained years before his supposed death. But was it the jaw bone Bormann? Kramer's instincts told him that it was not.

A raspy voice with a trace of an accent broke his spell. "Are you that bored with all this, Peter, or are you scheming your next strategy for the Cairo meeting?"

Kramer turned and saw the cheery face of Aleksandr Korsakov, the Soviet ambassador. He smiled at the Russian, a smile that came from an open, honest face that most people liked immediately. "Hello, Aleksandr Sergeyevich. No, no strategy planning. My part in the treaty is over. I'd like to get back to my work at the university which, by the way, is what I was thinking about. All those theses I've got to grade. I can't put it off any longer."

Korsakov grinned wryly. "From the ridiculous back to the sublime, eh, Peter? I would be willing to bet you a case of the best Russian vodka against one bottle of Scotch whiskey that your days as a university professor are a thing of the past, at least with Jensen in the White House. They won't let you go, my friend. There is no one else who can make the peace accord a reality, and that includes Jackson Hetherington and Simon Bolivar Jensen. That is what the diplomatic community says, and I happen to agree."

"Well, the diplomatic community is wrong, as usual. This president is committed to peace. Hetherington and his people are superbly qualified." Kramer took a cigarette offered by Korsakov and reached for his lighter.

The Russian blew smoke. "Thank you. Just between you and me, Peter, I hate Russian tobacco, but for appearances I have to smoke it at the embassy. Moscow expects me to set a good example!" He inhaled the Winston deeply and smiled in satisfaction. Korsakov had spent more years in the United States than in his own country, first as a journalist, then as a diplomat. He turned serious. "No, Peter, you will get the call once more. You will see, my friend."

"Yes, well, we'll see," Kramer said, looking back out toward the wooded gardens. "Besides, why should you care? I should think the Kremlin would love to see me fall on my face. I don't think your people are eager for an Arab-Israeli peace. Are you?"

Korsakov moved closer and looked around. "Peter, I tell you this from the heart." He placed his hand on his breast. "For my part, I want you to succeed. Frankly, I like it here in America. I like your cigarettes, your liquor, your thick steaks, your women! I'd be a hypocrite if I said I did not like my job. But that job depends on a cold war, not a hot one. However, if you do not make peace in the Middle East, that madman in Libya will do something to make the United States step in. If that happens, maybe we will have to step in too, and then we will have a hot war that will end my splendid job here, and in the rest of the world as well."

"You reduce it all to such simple terms," Kramer said. "Is this your own view of things, or does the Kremlin see it that way too?"

"I do not blame you for being cynical, Peter. The fact is, there are cliques of hotheads and nuclear theorists in the Kremlin - such as you have in your own Pentagon - who want to hit the button before Jensen does, no matter what the consequences. But we also have men of reason, thank God, who know that the world can go on as it has for the past few decades despite all the inflammatory rhetoric and name-calling and saber-rattling. The cold war, my friend, it must go on. It is healthy. Like in a lightning storm, if you can hear the thunder, you are okay. In the cold war, if you hear the sabers rattling, you are okay. It is the silence that is deadly. That is why you must make peace in the Middle East." He smiled at Kramer as he inhaled his American cigarette smoke, pleased with his own assessment.

Kramer drained his glass silently. If only he could be sure of that jaw, he thought. Erika was right. The stakes were too high to take further chances with the ghosts of the past. Korsakov was right, too, in everything he said -and those stakes were the highest of all.

"Ah, Peter, there you are!" Jackson Hetherington joined them, looking the complete diplomat in his white tie and tails, a small line of miniature medals adorning his silk lapel.

"Watch out for these Russians," the secretary of state said, glancing at Korsakov. "They get more clever with age, especially this one. He and I go back to Yalta, don't we Aleksandr Sergeyevich?"

"Ah, the bad old days, Jack. Did you know I was on Stalin's shit list? I managed to hide under Molotov's skirt, and that saved me from the purge. I am a survivor, as I was telling Peter."

"Thank God for Molotov," Hetherington said.

"Please, Jack, we Communists do not acknowledge the existence of God."

"But Alex," Kramer said, smiling, "a minute ago you said, `Thank God we have men of reason in the Kremlin,' didn't you?"

"Yes, but that was unofficially!"

Korsakov walked away as the two Americans laughed, exhaling smoke from yet another Winston.

Hetherington turned to Kramer. "Peter, the reason I'm late is due to good news. I just heard from Leslie Pyle in Damascus. The Syrians have agreed to your five points. Leslie tells me they're ready to finalize this. Naturally, I passed on the news to the president. He wants a meeting with you and me right away, so let's bid our adieus quickly and get over to the White House." The secretary beamed with enthusiasm. The Syrian delegation had been an obstacle all along, beginning with President Haddad.

Kramer sighed inwardly. He wondered how he could have been so nave as to think that it was over for him. "That's wonderful news, Mr. Secretary."

Chapter Two

Twenty minutes later Secretary of State Hetherington and Special Ambassador Peter Kramer were being escorted through the Treaty Room in the executive wing of the White House. An aide opened the sliding doors to the president's study, the Oval Office. The signature blue carpet and its huge presidential seal dominated the room. Seated behind his massive desk, with the national and presidential standards behind him, was Simon Bolivar Jensen, lean, virile, and handsome. With athletic smoothness he rose and indicated the upholstered chairs around a coffee table.

"Thanks for coming, fellas," Jensen said. "I hate to pull you away from your party, but now that the Syrians are playing ball, it's urgent that we maintain game control. We've got to get over there now."

"I couldn't agree with you...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: iUniverse
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2009
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1440199191
• ISBN 13: 9781440199196
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 496
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: preigu GmbH & Co. KG; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; Niedersachsen; 49078; Deutschland