arrangement, so he could push the regular seat back and use hand controls to drive himself if he wanted.
Too much beer drinking at a baseball game for that, though.
“Hear much from your father-in-law?” asked Danny.
Zen felt himself flinch. “No one hears much from Dog these days,” he said. “Not even Bree.”
Danny nodded.
“So don’t tell me that you’re rooting for the Yankees tonight,” said Zen, anxious to keep things cheery.
“I
“Buffalo is not in New York. It’s Canada, isn’t it?”
Danny did, in fact, root for the Yankees, though very discreetly. Zen was anything but discreet as the Nationals took a 6–0 lead into the sixth inning. But then the Nationals’ pitching crumbled and the Yankees mounted a comeback, tying it at 6–6 in the eighth. The visitors went on top by a run in the ninth, the home team scored one, and the game went into extra innings.
It wasn’t until the top of the tenth that Zen told Danny that he knew he’d been offered the new Whiplash job.
“I figured there was an ulterior motive here,” said Danny.
“Actually, my ulterior motive was to get to a baseball game,” said Zen. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be listening to some State Department dweeb telling me about how China’s going to blow up next week. You were my excuse to the staff to blow it off.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So what about it?”
“What about what?”
“You taking it?”
“I don’t think so.”
Zen pushed his chair up closer to the open window of the booth. The Yankees’ best hitter had just struck out.
“Hey, it’s no reflection on Bree at all,” said Danny.
“I didn’t think it was,” said Zen. “This guy’s going to whiff, too.”
He didn’t — he sent a long drive to the warning track in center field. The Nationals fielder needed every inch of his six-nine frame to catch it, jumping high at the wall to bring it down.
“If you take it, we’ll see a lot more of you,” said Zen when the crowd had quieted down. “I hope. Got a couple of dates lined up for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. GoodDate.com.”
The Nationals manager had seen enough. He came running from the dugout waving his right hand, asking for a new pitcher.
“How come Breanna didn’t ask me herself?” said Danny.
“She doesn’t want to talk you into it,” said Zen. “She’s afraid you’ll take it just as a favor.”
“So she sent you?”
“Actually, no. She doesn’t know you’re at the game with me. She’d probably be pretty mad if she found out. So don’t tell her, right?”
“I won’t.”
Zen hadn’t learned of Danny’s candidacy from Breanna. He found out originally from Magnus, who’d consulted him not just because he’d served with Danny, but because Zen was a member of the Senate intelligence committee. The new Whiplash concept had been championed by the committee, and Magnus was a smart enough backroom politician to keep his allies well-informed about what was going on. He also suspected that Freah would need some convincing to take the job.
Danny stared down at the ball field. He was sure plenty of other people could do the job.
“I can probably come up with a whole list of people for her if she wants,” he told Zen.
“Well, why don’t you then? Give her a call. Tell you’re thinking about it and you want to talk to her.”
“So she can talk me into it, right?”
“She won’t.”
“You didn’t have to take me to a baseball game to get me to call her, Zen.”
“Hey, I told you — the job’s just an excuse to get out of the reception.” He pointed toward the field. “Watch now. This guy’s going to strike out, too.”
The batter didn’t strike out — in fact he hit a home run, and when the Nationals were set down in order in the bottom of the tenth, the Yankees won the game.
Zen was a reasonably decent sport about it when he dropped Danny off at his hotel. Breanna was a reasonably decent sport the next day when Danny called her at her office.
“I understand General Magnus spoke to you yesterday,” she said when she came on the line. “So, have you made up your mind?”
Danny hesitated. He had, but he knew it wasn’t the decision she wanted to hear.
“You don’t have to take the job, Danny,” she told him. “It’s all right.”
“I want to—”
“Great!”
“No, no, I mean — I don’t know, Bree. I just…”
“It’s a tough job, I know.” She tried to hide her disappointment. “We can’t really ask you to keep making the same kind of sacrifices you made when you were younger.”
“It’s not my age—”
“I don’t mean it that way.”
“I do want to be involved. It’s just…”
“You don’t want the job. It’s OK,” she told him. “Don’t worry.”
“Can we have lunch?” Danny asked. “Or coffee or something?”
They arranged to meet on the mall that afternoon, not far from the Lincoln Memorial. The day turned chilly, threatening rain. Danny, dressed in a civilian T-shirt and jeans, found himself rubbing his arms for warmth as he crossed from the reflecting pool. Breanna, coming from a meeting on Capitol Hill, had already called to say she was running behind, and he took advantage of the delay to walk around.
He stared up at Lincoln, seated not on a throne but on a simple chair.
Lincoln was a man who knew the costs of war, who suffered them personally. How many mornings had he risen feeling he had gone as far as he could, yet continued, conscious not just of the burden, but of the necessity of his mission?
He should take it, he thought. It was his duty.
And he wanted to. But still, he was afraid — not that he couldn’t do it, but that he wouldn’t measure up to who he’d been.
Fear was a terrible reason not to do anything. Fear only held you back.
He
Danny felt his pulse rate kick up as soon as he saw Breanna walking from the direction of the Vietnam Memorial. Two bodyguards trailed behind at a respectful distance as she strode toward the monument where they said they’d meet.
She spotted him and waved.
“Hey there,” he said as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek in greeting. “You allowed to kiss the hired help?”
“It depends on whether they kiss back,” she countered. “How are you, Danny?”
“I’m good. Yourself?”
“Busy, unfortunately.” Breanna took a step back, comparing him in her mind’s eye to the younger version she’d known a decade and a half before. He looked a few pounds heavier, though not overweight by any means. His face seemed more relaxed, the space beneath his eyes smooth. She remembered his eyes were always puffy from lack of sleep. He’d always looked a few years younger than he was, and that remained true. A casual acquaintance might guess he was in his late twenties or early thirties.
