"One of his wives has him cornered."

  "That's not legal in our army."  

  "He's mad." 

  "Oh, I bet." 

  "She's mad." 

  The required resources list was ripped in half and had floated to the floor.

  More people entered the room.  

  "No."  The tall man in a starched but silky suit, perfectly tailored, looked down at the short woman. 

  "But, but," she stumbled for the words that would be the lever.  "No.  I will not allow this."  She let her arm drop from reaching out to his.  Heels, stiff clicks on the old wood floor.  She knelt and picked up half of the sheet of paper.  "Is this ripped?" 

  The man moved away from the woman who'd stepped towards him when others had come into the room.  He moved slowly towards the piece of paper.  Translators and silent recorders memorizing everything just stood.  Like a leading man on a stage, all the hype and bigness of the TV'd man had dissipated.  This was a small man of flesh approaching a piece of paper supposed to change the tide of complete destruction.  As if in a fish bowl, eyes intensely focusing, psyche poised to do this. 

  A knock on the door.  A person dressed in casual, soft black clothes realized no one else was saying anything or making a move.  Opened the door.  More leaders and entourage entered the high ceiling'd room.  A man whispered to a translator.  Translator asked in English, "Are they still filming?"  

  "They need to shoot everyone alone in there too." 

  One woman pulled back a thin polyester cardigan and put her hand on the gun holstered there.  A man saw her and wagged his finger.  "Not actually shoot." She tilted her head to contemplate that.  The man held up arms and hands like a cameraman filming.  "They say same?" The woman asked in English.  "Sì señora."