The Ambassador

“Thankyou for seeing me today,” the visitor announced.
“Yes, well I am a busy man, but I was able to fit it in, fortunately for you, Ambassador,” the host responded.
There was a pause as the two in the room gauged the situation.
“You won’t regret our meeting,” said the visitor.
“What is it that you wanted to discuss?” the host asked.
“Obviously, it pertains to the rift between our states.”
The host persisted. “If it is of such importance, why did you ensure such secrecy in coming here? Why meet in such an abysmally abandoned place? Why were you sent here instead of a more senior ambassador?”
“All will become clear,” the visitor stated simply.
The visitor moved from his standing position behind the chair and sat, crossing his legs. He deliberately delayed and presumed a comfortable position. The host waited patiently, restraining himself from speaking.
“As you know,” the visitor started, “our states are not favourably aligned. I have come here to … heal the wounds.”
“Mr Bartholomew, I hope you bring good news, but forgive my scepticism. Do you really believe that a friendly chat can stop two nations of billions of people from destroying each other?” the host said with a smirk.
“I’m not here to perform a miracle, but I can set the cogs in motion, which may lead to peace,” Mr Bartholomew replied to the vice-chancellor.

The ambassador took a breath as he started his discourse.
“Why are our countries at war, Councillor Pervis?” he asked the vice-chancellor.
The vice-chancellor paused, looking wary.
“I heard that you were appointed recently. I thought you might be inexperienced, but I did not realise you were insane. You are the ambassador. Do I need to tell you the history of the conflict?”
“It is a serious question. I did not say that I don’t know the answer. Is it possible to give a simple answer?” replied the ambassador.
“Alright, if you insist on drawing me. Your country violated the directives handed down from the General Legislature, sealed with the digital signet of Chancellor Kantis.”
“How did we violate them?”
“By infringing section 14 of the agreement concerning technological advancement.”
“And how did we do that?”
At this question the vice-chancellor had difficulty in restraining himself.
“What are you, an infant? Why the twenty questions? Do you think you will overturn a stone left unmoved? The debate over the issue has been regurgitated so many times I can almost answer in my sleep.”
“You are right,” the ambassador stated plainly. “Technically, we infringed on your law, but you also know there is much more. You have suspected that we are capable of more. Oh yes, much more. The war between our great nations has taught us many things.”
“Frankly, the exact details of your law are of trivial importance,” he continued. “Our leaders know intimately the official reason for our division, but the common people on both sides care little about a quibble in the law. All they know is that we are fighting, that the opposite side is probably wrong and that they hate them for taking their mothers, and sisters and brothers.”
“History has complicated the matter. For many years your nation has been a big brother for ours, in more than one sense. You cared for your sibling in infancy, protected him from hurt, but now you have become old – still powerful, but increasingly fearful. You know what we could become. I tell you with certainty, we will become what you fear, with or without your confining efforts.” Mr Bartholomew’s voice rose as he uttered the final sentence. Fire was evident in his eyes.
He proceeded softly. “However you needn’t fear. As I said, I have been sent here to offer a bridge between the rift. I have something with me. My nation’s blossoming has produced the fruit of knowledge, and knowledge is power. I can give it to you if you are willing. Are you interested?”
“I resent your arrogance,” Councillor Pervis protested. “But I will consider your offering.”
“No.” Mr Bartholomew stated simply. “If you are serious about peace, then graciously accept it. If you do not have the humility to accept, then you cannot have it.” The ambassador spoke strongly, watching the vice-chancellor to assess his authenticity.
“What do you require?” asked the vice-chancellor.
“Only that you accept the gift as a token of trust in our leaders.”
The vice-chancellor looked puzzled. “That’s all you ask for?”
“That is all. I simply want to earn trust.”
“Very well, what do you have?” resigned the vice-chancellor.
“Plans. Plans for a powerful device, capable of much harm. Receive them. Only be sure to keep them secret. Few in our government know they have been handed over. I reason that you have two options to deal with them. You can either open them, study their contents and continue this war until we are all destroyed and there is no one to fight for, or you can return them. Yes, that’s right. You can return them. Tell our government that plans have leaked to you and that you wish to return them, unspoilt, with clear evidence that they have not been looked upon. If you do this, I am persuaded that the beginning of a new relationship will form between our great nations.”
“How do you know that we won’t use them against you?” responded the vice-chancellor.
“Our scientists have created a counter measure that would effectively render the device void.”
The vice-chancellor closed his eyes and lowered his head, trying to understand the situation and examining, in his mind, the possible scenarios that might occur.
“Is it really so hard to believe that a simple gesture of trust could do a world of good?” asked the ambassador. “An act of faith will help to restore the rift between our parties.”
“Fine,” Councillor Pervis eventually replied. “I will take your gift to the High Council,” he said, not entirely confident.
At that response, the ambassador covered his head with the hood of his cloak, politely offered some parting farewell and disappeared into the night.

“Were you successful?” asked the man’s wife.
The man smiled.
“I can’t believe it. He seriously supposed that you were the recently appointed ambassador? He shouldn’t be so trusting,” she asserted.
“Perhaps he should be more like you,” replied the counterfeit ambassador.
“He could have arrested you. How did you know he would accept your offer?”
“I have studied him in the shadows for many seasons now. Despite his faults, I came to the conclusion that he sincerely wanted peace, and that he had at least some humility, enough to make bargaining possible.”
“I hope your plan works,” said his wife.
“So do I,” he replied. “If my offer promotes trust between our leaders, then it was worth it.”

Following the escapade of the fake ambassador, life continued in its usual fashion … well almost. As his wife was aware, he still had much on his mind. He closely inspected the media, trying to squeeze every detail, express or implied from the bulletins, wondering if his efforts would have effect. Patiently he continued, watching, waiting while the storm of war rested in silence.