James BeauSeigneur - In His Image James

Sahiwai, Pakistan

Decker tried to maintain an encouraging smile as he walked among several small groups of people who were sitting on logs or squatting on the ground eating their rations. It was just after six o'clock and the day's second meal – one could hardly call it dinner – was being served. It had been nearly two hours since Secretary-General Hansen's helicopter had left, four hours late, with the rest of the U.N. contingent. Decker and Christopher remained to await the second team of ambassadors who were coming to the camp to survey the conditions. Christopher had gone to his tent to take a nap shortly after Hansen left.

"Christopher, wake up; it's time for supper," Decker called as he approached the team's small stand of greenish-gray tents. "Come on, Christopher, rise and shine," he said a little louder, but there was no answer. "Christopher, are you in there?" Decker stuck his head between the two tent flaps and past the mosquito netting. Inside, Christopher sat unmoving on the floor of the tent. Sweat dripped from his face and body and a pained stare filled every feature of his face.

"Are you all right?" Decker asked, though it was obvious that he was not.

"Something is wrong," Christopher said, finally.

"Are you sick?" Decker asked, but as soon as he said it, he realized that Christopher had never been sick; he probably wasn't capable of it.

"Something is terribly wrong." Christopher answered.

Decker ducked inside the tent and closed the flaps behind him. "What is it?" he asked.

"Death and life," Christopher replied slowly. Each word seemed as if it tore an agonizing track from his lungs to his lips.

"Whose life and death?" Decker asked in the more traditional order in which those words are used.

"The death of one who sought to avoid death's grip; the life of another who sought to accept death's release."

"Who has died?" Decker asked, wanting to cover one item at a time and seeing the second reference as both less pressing and more obscure.

"Jon Hansen," he replied.

Decker never got around to asking about the second reference.

When Leaders Fall

Wednesday, July 10, 2019 – New York

It was three days later before search parties spotted the Secretary-General's helicopter, forty-five miles off course and crumpled like tissue paper among a stand of trees southwest of Gujranwalfi, Pakistan. There were no survivors. It was the second time a Secretary-General of the United Nations had been lost in an aircraft crash, the first being Secretary-General Dag Hammarskjold in 1961, whose plane crashed in Northern Rhodesia (Zambia), killing all on board. The earlier crash, though tragic, hardly carried the impact on the world and its peoples as did the deaths of Jon Hansen and three members of the Security Council. In 1961 the position of Secretary-General, like the United Nations itself, had little if any influence on the lives of most people in the world. Now, it seemed, the world revolved around the United Nations, and its Secretary-General was at the center of it all.

Not since the assassination of the American President John Kennedy or the death of Princess Diana of England had there been such an international outpouring of emotion. At the United Nations, the General Assembly adjourned for two weeks to honor the man who had led them for nearly fifteen years through some of the most remarkable times in recorded history.

The members of Jon Hansen's staff struggled to get through each moment while attempting to carry out their duties. Few attempted to hide their tears as they spoke of him. It was not unusual to see small groups huddled closely together, weeping openly as they reminisced.

As much as anyone else, Decker Hawthorne grieved the loss of his boss and friend, but for Decker there was no time to commiserate with his colleagues. At this moment the world waited for him. As Director of Public Affairs, he had to put aside his own mourning in order to coordinate the funeral and numerous memorial events. His staff was inundated by calls from the press and from mourners wanting to share their grief. Thousands called requesting photographs of Hansen, and hundreds of dignitaries wanted to be included in the many memorial ceremonies. Of the latter group, each believed that Decker should take their call personally; and in many cases he did. Staying busy was probably the best thing for Decker at the time and he knew it.

But the lust for power never ceases, and it was during this period of mourning that Decker saw the first indications of the odious dealings that were afoot to replace Hansen. The once-united members of the Security Council each called upon Decker, requesting special favors with regard to the funeral or the ceremonies surrounding it. Canadian Ambassador Howell wanted to be the final speaker to eulogize Hansen at the funeral; the ambassador from Chad wanted to be seated near the center of the dais from which the speeches would be made; and the ambassador from Venezuela wanted to escort Hansen's widow. The request that angered Decker most was made by French Ambassador Albert Moore, who, though he had never said a kind word about Hansen while he was alive, now wanted to be a pall bearer for the Secretary-General. Worse, he also insisted that he be given the right lead position among the bearers. Though he wouldn't say why, Decker understood the reason: in that position, Moore hoped to be able to be most frequently seen by the television cameras.

As one of his more pleasant duties, Decker sent a limo to pick up Christopher at Kennedy Airport, but could not spare anyone to greet him. Christopher, like hundreds of other diplomats and hundreds of thousands of mourners, had come to New York for the funeral, filling the already crowded streets to capacity. In the sixteen years since the Disaster and the devastation of the Russian Federation, the population of the world had grown very quickly. Overall, world population was still more than a billion less than before the Disaster and the war, but one would not have guessed it to look at New York on this occasion.

As Decker emerged from his office after a long meeting, he called one of the senior secretaries to be sure that the limo had left to get Christopher.

"No sir," the secretary answered, quickly adding, "Alice Bernley called during your meeting and said she and former Assistant Secretary-General Milner would meet Director-General Goodman."

At Kennedy airport, Robert Milner and Alice Bernley waited patiently for Christopher's flight. When Christopher arrived he seemed genuinely pleased to see his mentor waiting for him at the gate and the two embraced in a warm, extended hug. "How are you, Mr. Secretary?" he asked.

"Just great, Christopher," he answered.

"And Ms. Bernley. It's so nice to see you again."

"How have you been? It's been nearly a year since I saw you last in Rome," Bernley said.

"Yes, it's been a very busy year. But what are you two doing here? I didn't expect a greeting party."

"Well," answered Bernley, "when we heard you were coming in, it just didn't seem right that you should have no one to greet you but a driver."

Christopher smiled. "I'm so glad to see you both. Thank you for making the effort."

"Besides," added Milner, now getting to an additional reason for the airport reception, "there are some things we need to discuss before your arrival at the U.N."

Christopher looked curious.

"We'll discuss it in the car, where we can talk more freely."

Once in the car, Alice Bernley reached for the switch that closed the tinted glass barrier between them and the driver. When the seal was made and their privacy ensured, Milner wasted no time getting to the matter at hand. "Christopher, it is the double curse of wars and politics that when a great leader falls, those who mourn most his loss must, at that very moment, also be most vigilant to defend against the encroachment of those who have lost the least and who see in our adversity an opportunity for their own gain. So it is, even at this moment of loss."