The Arms Controllers

Abstract

It was summer, but overcast. The pure air of the Jura mountains in Switzerland was turning sticky. In the forest, all was quiet. It was beginning to rain. On the forest trail there was a log, and sitting on the log were two well dressed men, one elderly, one middle-aged. Shielding themselves from the drizzle, they bent over the papers on their knees. They were both in a state of considerable excitement. Pencils flew across the papers as they deleted sentences and added clauses. They talked together rapidly, in very different accents. Finally they got up, satisfied. They had reached an agreement.