Edge of War

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“You know, I think I can put the entire conflict in the proper perspective when I speak at the UN Friday,” said Greene.

“You’re still pushing for sanctions?”

“I think they’re inadequate, but we have to start somewhere.”

“You don’t have a single vote in the Senate in favor of them.”

Actually, Greene figured he had about three. But why quibble?

“Why don’t you come to the UN with me and listen for yourself?” said Greene. “Have lunch with me. Prime Minister Gray will be there. He’s always good for a few laughs.”

The invitation was supposed to flatter Grasso, who would be able to hobnob with world leaders as if he were one of them. But it seemed to fall flat.

“I have a very busy schedule,” said the senator. “I don’t think I can make it.”

“I think you’ll like what you hear.”

“I doubt it.”

“You have to be in New York anyway,” said Greene. “You’re going to the Governor Smith Dinner, right?”

“Yes.”

“So am I.”

Grasso didn’t respond. Greene guessed that his invitation to New York’s biggest political bash of the year — a charity dinner where all the top politicians and top wannabes attended — was a surprise and a challenge to Grasso.

He certainly hoped it was. It had taken quite a bit of arm-twisting to get it.

“Come with me to the UN,” Greene urged again. “It will be worth your while, I guarantee.”

“Do I get a copy of your speech beforehand?”

“You don’t have to endorse it.”

“I’d like to read it.”

“It’s not written yet, or I’d have a copy sent right over.”

“You’d better get your staff working. You only have a few days.”

“I’m writing it myself. So — can I count on you?”

“I’ll see if I can fit it on my schedule.” Grasso hung up.

Greene dropped the phone on the hook, wondering if it would not be a good idea to spray it with Lysol.

5

En route to Vandenberg Air Force Base, California

The Air Force crewman was almost comically respectful, hovering over Josh and Mara like a doting uncle caring for a pair of visiting newborns. When Josh got up to go to the restroom, the sergeant nearly leapt from his seat near the rear of the plane. “Is the baby okay?” he asked.

“She’s fine. She’s sleeping,” said Josh.

M? had been checked out by a corpsman on the destroyer and by a doctor in Thailand, where they’d landed to meet the Air Force transport. Everyone said she was in great health.

Physically. Given her age and what she had been through, her mental state remained unknown.

“So, can I get you something?” asked the sergeant.

“Just gotta use the head,” said Josh.

“Sir, by all means. Anything you need.”

When Josh came out, the crewman asked if he wanted some more coffee.

“Coffee’s going through me, thanks.”

“We have beers, sir.”

“That’s all right. Beer would put me to sleep.”

“The book okay?”

“I’m good.”

“Say the word. Anything you want.”

The sergeant had scrounged up some reading material from the base in the Philippines where the plane had refueled. The choices were an odd mix but included a classic by Patricia Highsmith, Strangers on a Train. It was an odd and twisted book: two men, thrown together, end up committing a murder for each other — one willingly, almost gleefully; the other as an act of strange desperation.

Thrown together by chance, to discover what they were made of? Or to discover the darkness every man is capable of?

Which was the author’s point?

Josh went back to his seat. Mara was sitting behind him. The small jet, a military version of a Learjet 85, with an extended range, was less opulent than a civilian corporate jet but still had such amenities as plush, fully reclining seats and video screens that rose from the cabin sides. The sergeant had snagged a half dozen movies, but they were all thrillers, and Josh was in no mood to see anything that might remind him of the real thrills he had just escaped.

“We’ll be down in a couple of hours,” said Mara. “You’ll be able to stretch your legs.”

“Then what?”

“Direct flight to Washington. Meet the president.”

Josh nodded.

“You up for it?” she asked.

“I guess. You think M? is?”

“She’s a tough kid,” said Mara. “She’ll make it.”

He peered over the seat to where the girl was curled up, sleeping. She was a tough kid. No doubt about that.

“Kerfer’s going to be okay,” Mara said. “I got a text from Bangkok. They heard from the fleet.”

“Good.”

“We couldn’t do anything about Squeaky and Little Joe.”

“I know.”

“The Vietnamese recovered their bodies. They’ll get home.”

“Do you do this stuff all the time?” he asked.

“Which stuff? Rescue scientists and eyewitnesses to massacres? No.”

“Don’t make fun of it.”

She reached her hand out and touched his leg. “I’ve seen death, if that’s what you mean.”

Josh nodded.

“The people who died, the people you shot — they were trying to kill you, Josh,” Mara said. “And her. Her whole family was wiped out. Her village. Everything.”

“I know.”

“That’s why war sucks. That’s why you have to tell the world what happened.”

Josh slumped in his seat. What about the soldiers in the train, he thought. What about them? Should we have killed them?

But he was too tired to ask the question. Way too tired.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Suddenly he felt Mara next to him, over him, her face next to his.

His heart leapt.

She reached to his side as he opened his eyes. He thought she was going to kiss him. He longed for it.

“You have to buckle your seat belt,” she said gently, slipping it together. “Before the sergeant does it for you.”