Sanchez smiled. "General, I know nothing. I'm just the bridge builder."
He paused. "Once the bridge is built, how you use it is your business. But there can't be anyone left on the bridge. Whoever stays will be crushed by people from both sides."
Hassan looked into his eyes, stared for a long while.
"Lieutenant Colonel, you wait."
He turned, walked toward the jeep, got in, shut the door, and started the engine. The vehicle turned around and headed east, kicking up dust.
The bespectacled diplomat stood there, watching the jeep go further away, an expression of complexity on his face.
Sanchez walked over.
"Sir, what's your name?"
The man looked at him. "Hussein. Hussein Mahmoud. From Damascus."
Sanchez extended his hand. "Sanchez. From Mexico."
Hussein hesitated for a moment, then shook his hand.
"Mr. Hussein, do you know Jonathan Ben-Joseph?"
Hussein's expression changed. "Lieutenant Colonel, I—"
