Edge of War

khaki pants, a blue-striped shirt, and a rep tie. “Glad to meetcha.”

Josh shook his hand. It was a solid, though moist, grip.

“Turner Cole. I’m the assistant to the deputy national security adviser on Asia.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“My pleasure.”

“Mara Duncan,” said Mara.

“Mara, thanks for coming. This is the little girl, right? Josh? You saved her?”

“She found me. Her people were killed.”

Cole pressed his lips together tightly. The gesture seemed a little too pat to Josh.

“This way, all right?” said Cole.

Cole led them down a short hallway to a rounded hallway. Two Secret Servicemen were standing outside.

This is it, thought Josh. Finally.

* * *

As soon as Greene heard the knock at the door, he raised his hand to quiet Frost. The CIA director stopped speaking midsentence.

“Come,” said Greene. He leaned back in his chair, watching as Turner Cole led in Lucas, Mara, Josh, and M?. In an instant, Greene sized them up, analyzing how they would come across on television.

Regular people. Kids.

God, they were kids — Josh looked like he was still in high school. But then everybody seemed to look that way to him these days.

The little girl was adorable. She reminded him of his grandkids.

“Mr. President, this is CIA officer Mara Duncan, and scientist Josh MacArthur,” said Cole. “And Ms. M?.”

“Mara Duncan, Josh MacArthur,” said Greene, rising and stepping out from behind the desk. “Damn, I’m glad to meet you.”

He grabbed Josh’s hand and pumped it, then stepped over and gave Mara a hug and kiss on the cheek. She was a big girl — nearly as tall he was.

“And who are you?” Greene asked, sliding down on his haunches to look at the little girl.

She turned and buried her face in Josh’s leg. The scientist put his hand on her protectively.

“She doesn’t understand English, Mr. President,” said Mara.

“Have you sent someone to talk to her? A psychologist?”

“We haven’t had the chance.”

“I want someone.” Greene stood. “Turner. A psychologist and a translator. Actually, see if you can find a child psychologist who can speak Vietnamese.”

“We did find one, Mr. President. She’ll be here in the morning.”

“Excellent. Excellent. Well, sit,” he added, turning to Lucas. “Good work, Peter. Again. Good work.”

Greene sat on the edge of his desk. “Josh, I’ve seen the footage,” he said. “Terrible stuff. Tell me in your own words what happened.”

“Well, um, I’d gone to Vietnam to, uh, study the effects of climate change, as I guess you know. I was with a UN team and we were studying the flora and fauna — ”

“You might just want to skip to the essential parts,” said Frost.

Greene gave Frost a wink. Josh recounted the night when he had woken and left camp to relieve himself, just escaping the massacre. Then he spoke of the village where he’d gone, the hand he’d found in the dirt. His voice grew stronger as he continued.

Greene liked that. They could use that.

“Do you have the location of that site?” Frost asked.

“I’m not really sure,” said Josh. “I ended up a lot closer to the border than I thought I was.”

“All right,” said the president. “Now how did you find our little princess here?”

* * *

Josh felt his nose starting to act up, tickling as if a sneeze was about to follow. He tried to ward it off, but it was difficult while he was talking.

Something about the way that the president’s people were treating M? bothered him. They were too — was “unctuous” the right word?

They wanted her as proof of the massacre. But something about it, something about the way they treated her — she was important only for their political agenda.

Not that he didn’t agree with the agenda. China must be stopped. But still: he felt as if he had to protect M?, and bringing her here, contrary to his expectations, seemed to be doing the opposite.

The CIA director turned a notebook computer around and showed him a map of northern Vietnam, trying to pin down where exactly the massacre had taken place. Josh located the camp where they had been when the Chinese first attacked, but the map showed the stream where he had been chased on the wrong side — or at least what he thought was the wrong side.

“Should be up here,” he said. And as he pointed, he sneezed, barely covering his nose and mouth with his forearm.

“God bless,” said the president. “Peter, I think you can work on the exact location and narrow it down later. In fact — ”

The president paused, a thought forming in his mind. Josh and the others looked at him expectantly. Then Josh sneezed again.

“Hope that’s not catching,” said the president. He smiled at Josh, letting him know it was a joke.

Or at least Josh thought it was.

“I, uh — no. Allergies,” said Josh, sneezing again. “Excuse me, sir.” He got up and moved toward the door, trying to discreetly blow his nose.

“It may be more useful to us to be vague,” said the president. “For now. To make it seem as if we don’t know exactly where it is.”

Frost and the president began discussing the political implications. Josh, though consumed by his sudden sneezing fit, was shocked, not only that they were planning how best to use the information, but that they would consider holding back some of it. Facts were facts — data points, whether convenient or not, had to be shared and dealt with. That was the only way one reached truth.

Scientific truth, at least.

The president turned to him abruptly. “Josh, here’s what I’d like you to do. I’m going to address a special session of the United Nations on Friday.” Greene pushed off from the desk and walked past Josh toward a large globe that stood near the fireplace. He put his hand on it, moving it gently, gazing at it distractedly. “I’d like you to be my guest. And to repeat what you’ve told me.”

“Everything?” said Josh.

“Well, shorten it a hit,” said the president.

“The interesting parts,” said Frost drily. “And we can do without the sneezing.”

The president laughed. So did Frost, after a moment.

“It’s all right, Josh. The director has a very droll sense of humor.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you, little girl” — Greene leaned toward M?; his voice was soft and gentle — ”would you tell your story to the world?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” blurted Josh.

Everyone looked at him.

“Why not?” asked Frost.

“Because — she’s just… a little kid.”

“Well, I agree with you there, Josh.” The president straightened. “But — well, let’s take the matter under advisement.” He turned to Cole. “The psychologist will be here in the morning?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll get his input.”

“Hers.”