"They have everything, so they are most afraid of losing it."
Victor turned off the water, took a tissue, and slowly wiped his hands. Through the mirror, he looked at Lunacharsky behind him and smiled meaningfully:
"Remember, all those American Imperialists and their aggressive factions, at the end of the day—"
He paused, crumpled the tissue into a precise ball and tossed it into the trash can, delivering that famous judgment:
"Are all paper tigers."
He patted Lunacharsky on the shoulder: "They have a lot of internal problems right now, the economy is teetering, anti-war sentiment is high among the populace, and Wall Street tycoons are more concerned about their stock accounts than the deserts of Texas. Little Bush, that playboy, doesn't have the guts or the resources to engage us in a full-scale war. How long can he squander the political legacy and connections his Old Dad left him?"
