01 February 2011
 
The Genie and the Bottle



I was having a late lunch with a professional colleague of long standing. We were having an animated conversation about several issues. He is what we used to call an Old China Hand; he frets a lot about what is happening with the rise of the most populous nation on earth.
 
I think we both like the Chinese people, and admire their industry and intelligence. We certainly agree that their government has its issues. He is a little more intense about it, since he has been out there, watching the process up close.
 
Events in China have perforce taken a back seat to the swirl of events in the Middle East. You are as aware of what happened in Tunisia, and what is happening now on the streets of Cairo.
 
I had a glass of Chardonnay and he settled on a dark amber glass of lager. We were seated in a pub located at the seven o’clock position of the Circle of Dupont, and our thoughts were not far away from A. Q. Khan, and the genie that he let out of the bottle with his atomic secrets
.
 We batted the crisis de jour around as Spooks are wont to do. We are worst-case trained, so the end state that could result from all this was troubling.
 
“The smart money says that the transition in Egypt is being stage-managed by the military, which intends to keep the status quo while providing the trappings of change,” said my pal.
 
“Yeah, we are clucking about reform and that sort of thing, but are looking nervously looking at the Suez Canal, and commitments in the Gulf. Pirates off Somalia and the Revolutionary Guard at the gates to the Straits of Hormuz. We need to worry about the sea lines of communication. This is revolution in the middle of Albert Thayer Mahan’s theory of sea power and the state. Who would have thought the needs of the Navy would be in the middle of this mess.”
 
“The prospect of the Muslim Brotherhood coopting the righteous fury of the people cannot be discounted,” my pal mused. “Think about that for a minute, and who would be lining the banks of the Canal. All of those merchant ships and the big haze gray ships within RPG range of anyone who can tote one. Sitting ducks.”
 
“Think of the other dominoes.”
 
“This is not Vietnam, you know,” he said, taking a sip of lager.
 
“Well, how about Jordan? King Abdullah dismissed his Prime Minister and the cabinet over the protests.”
 
“Sunni King and a Shia people. Same deal at Bahrain. It is inherently unstable. The Royal Family always walks the tightrope in the Hashemite Kingdom.”
 
“It could get better, you know.” I said. “Nothing is cast in stone. My attorney knows an Iranian expat who is convinced that there will be change of leadership in Iran. He says Ahmadinejad is term-limited and will be out in a year or two, and there is resistance to the Ayatollahs in the ruling classes. Supreme Leader Khameini has stashed $32 billion in six or eight foreign countries to which he can escape. Iran has an educated population and he thinks the people do not want to be bombed back into the Stone Age.”
 
“Yeah,” I said. “That is the other thing. The nukes.”
 
“Did you see that article in the Post this morning?” he asked.
 
“No, I quit reading that rag years ago. The network forwards me the stories that mean anything. I do miss the comics, though. Which story are you talking about?”
 
“Karen Young’s story about the Pakistani nuclear stockpile. The word is that they have more than a hundred warheads, up from only sixty or so three years ago.”
 
“What do you think the Indians are going to think about that? Delhi is only 679 clicks down the Grand Trunk Road, and the Paks have deployed their newest missile, the Shaheen II, that has a range of 1,500 miles. They have nuclear-capable land- and air-launched cruise missiles, too.”
 
“That will inevitably inflame the Indians, and that brings in the Chinese and the Russians, too, who are both in the range arc. Who would have thought that we would all be going back to nuclear grade school? This is unbelievable.”  
 
“This is not the world I was hoping to see as I approach my dotage. Perhaps cooler heads will prevail. The transition will be managed in Egypt in a stabile and just manner. The Israelis will be able to take a measured response. And our President will not countenance nuclear saber rattling on our part.”
 
I grimaced and looked at the silver bracelet I have worn since the trip to Delhi in 2002, shortly after the Paks detonated their first nuclear test. We had been dispatched to engage the Indian government and get everyone to cool off. I waved my hand to show the Sanskrit inscription.

"Here is my nuclear souvenir. I have worn this ever since the trip to remind me."
 
“What does it say?” he asked.
 
“I am a devotee of Shiva,” I said. “I think he is the Hindu God of Destruction.”
 
“And other things,” said my pal. “I think the Transformer in the Trinity- the Trimurti- is another translation. He has all sorts of manifestations. He is the Lord of the Dance, too, you know. Let’s hope everyone stays cool.”
 
I waved at the bartender to signal for reinforcements. “Sure,” I said, as he waved back. “What could go wrong?”

Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra
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