A European Getaway (A Story of the Uwanda-Mugabia War)

This is the third of four posts that set up the next leg of the adventure between Uwanda and Mugabia, African imagi-nations at war.
__________________________________

Looking out the window of the airliner, the youngest of the four men was amazed at the size of the airport, and asked, " Who is this Charles D. Gaulle?  He must be a very powerful man."  The oldest of the four men replied, "He is dead.  And, we would likely have no business with him, were he among the living."

The tone of the older men indicated to Mundie that he should probably be quiet.  Still, he was in awe of the wealth and utter magnificence of France.  As the plane was landing, he could not believe what he saw sprawling out beneath him.  So modern. So endless. So incredible.

The four African visitors were men of the Pettu tribe, and identified as such, despite being thought of by the rest of the world as Mugabian.   They were greeted at the airport by a tall man with sunglasses. He ushered them into a Peugeot limousine, and they were whisked away to a fine hotel in heart of the city, south of the airport.  Once there, the men briefly enjoyed the comfort of their rooms, and were then treated to a fine meal and drink.

Mundie was convinced that this must be the greatest nation on Earth, but his uncle did not seem so impressed.  His uncle also made sure that the four men did not lose focus of the reason for their visit; to serve the interests of the ULF.  Cutting the evening short, the uncle graciously reminded their host, that the visitors had work to do before the meeting of the next day.

Mundie's role was simple; watch and learn.  Do not speak, unless spoken to.  Only say what must be said.  His Uncle was elderly now, but both intelligent and wise.  He was not as spry as he once had been, and sometimes required assistance with tasks that were simple for a younger man.  Mundie was there to help his Uncle as required.   He watched as the three older men discussed the potential future of their homeland with these men of France.

Among the strangers at the table, were businessmen, at least one politician, one man who appeared to be an arms dealer, and the quiet man at the far end of the table, who never spoke, and like Mundie, watched everything.  Mundie understood that this man was dangerous, and could not help but look into the eyes of the quiet man, but regretted it, each time that he did.  The man nodded to Mundie once.  Mundie quickly looked away.

The men discussed many things; business, politics, war, and peace.  They looked at maps, and considered borders and territory, the past, present, and future.  And by the time evening arrived, they were all ready for a relaxing evening in Paris.

Two more days of meetings followed, and then the trip home.  By this time, Mundie was simply intoxicated by France.  He was sorry to leave.  Sorry to think of what he had to go home to, and what had yet to be done.  The thought was pushed from his mind, by the bustling of people around him,  and he swirled for a few more precious moments in the sea of prosperity.

Later, as Mundie sat quietly in his seat on the plane ride home, Paris seemed as much a dream, as the future of the Pettu Republic.