Edge of War

way on a chair, a newspaper on his lap.

“Hey,” said the man.

“You talking to me?” Josh asked.

“Saying hello,” said the man. He wore a plaid flannel shirt under a zip-up sweatshirt, along with a pair of black corduroys and Nikes.

“Who are you?”

“Michael Broome.” He reached into his pocket and took out an ID. He flipped it open and closed quickly. “I’m with the marshals.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You’ve been sleeping late,” Broome said. “Right out when I got here. It’s after one. You know that?”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m just hanging to make sure everything is copacetic. Okay? Figured I’d let you have your privacy.”

“I guess.” Josh closed the door behind him.

“Where you going?” asked the marshal.

“Get some food.”

“Great,” said Broome.

Josh looked down the hall, trying to get his bearings. The elevator was to his left. He started for it. Broome followed.

“You coming with me?” Josh asked.

“That’s the general idea.”

Josh shifted back and forth, waiting for the elevator. Broome stood only a few inches away, too close for Josh to feel comfortable. The marshal smelled of whatever he’d had for lunch — some sort of Mexican food, Josh guessed.

An elevator chime announced that the car was arriving. The gondola was empty. Josh stepped in, Broome right at his side.

“Give me a foot, okay,” Josh said as the door closed, stepping away.

“Claustrophobic?”

“Something like that.”

“My cousin’s got that bad. You lock him in a closet, he’ll sign over all his bank accounts just to get out.”

Josh figured Mara would still be sleeping, but he was surprised to see her sitting in the lobby, arms folded, watching a plasma television mounted in the wall beside the main desk.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” she said, rising as he walked over. “Where are you going?”

“Get something to eat. Wanna come?”

“I’d rather you stayed in the hotel.”

She looked at Broome. He shrugged.

“I don’t think it’s a big deal,” said the marshal.

“Come with us,” said Josh.

“I have to meet this guy Jablonski.” She made a face. “We’ll catch up. What restaurant are you going to?”

“Haven’t a clue.”

“There’s a Mexican place around the corner,” said Broome. “Decent takeout.”

“I want something light,” said Josh.

“You can get a quesadilla.”

“Not Mexican light.”

“Call me and tell me where you are,” she said. “Broome has the number. Right?”

“Memorized.”

* * *

What amazed Mara was the distance between the reality she had seen in Vietnam and what the commentators on television claimed.

It wasn’t just that they didn’t know all the facts, or that they misinterpreted them. That was to be expected. It was that they were so sure they were right, so passionate about their misinformation.

Vietnam had been the aggressor in a pointless border dispute and was now getting its rightful comeuppance. China’s actions so far had been modest and restrained.

It was almost as if the people talking had been paid by China to give its side of the conflict. Or drugged and reprogrammed.

And these were people who should know better: a retired Army general who’d served in Southeast Asia, a retired ambassador to the Philippines, a former CIA analyst.

As she thought about it, Mara realized that the titles didn’t confer any real authority or knowledge about the subject area, let alone the present conditions, though the television show implied they did. Still, given their experience, the speakers should have known to be more circumspect in their views.

Why was China getting such a free pass in the media? Since when had it come to be viewed as a benign, or at least semibenign, foreign power?

Maybe because it was America’s largest debt holder. Maybe because nearly everything Americans bought had been made or assembled there.

Mara thought it had to be more than that. CNN switched to an audience-participation program, with a congressman taking questions. He was there to talk not about the world situation, but about a proposal to cut taxes to bring the country out of the recession. One after another, the people talked about the terrible economy. They seemed depressed, beaten down, and more than anything else, scared.

One woman rose and said that her husband had been out of work for eighteen months. She was working full-time at a department store in the local mall, but because of inflation they didn’t have enough money to pay all their bills. Their house was in foreclosure.

“When will he get a job?” asked the woman.

The crowd applauded. The congressman, of course, had no answer.

“But the problem is, we needed the solution five years ago,” said a voice behind Mara. “Now it is almost too late. We need to restructure the economy. Make things. That is not a thing to turn around in a few months. Not with a war threatening. Or already begun.”

Mara stood up. The man who’d made the comments was standing right next to the couch. Fortyish, vaguely professorial, he wore a rumpled green plaid sports coat, mismatched to his blue pants. His hair was thin and hopelessly tangled. He wore thick framed glasses in a hipsterlike style, though this brush at fashion was clearly an accident.

“You’re Jablonski?” said Mara.

“Yes.” He blinked at her from behind the glasses. “Mara?”

“Yes.”

“I just called up to your room. You didn’t answer.”

“Because I’m sitting here.”

William looked around. “Where’s the scientist?”

“He’s getting something to eat. Why don’t you and I talk first?”

“Good, very good.”

Jablonski suggested the bar. Mara, having sat in the hotel lobby for a while, wanted to stretch her legs. She suggested they find a bar somewhere else. This wasn’t hard; there were six or seven to choose from within sight of the lobby.

Jablonski seemed to know them all.

“O’Ryan’s has Guinness. The Tap House is mostly German on tap,” he told her, pointing from the edge of the red carpet as the electronic eye opened and closed the door behind them. “Choose your poison.”

“I’m not drinking.”

“Then we’ll go German. I haven’t had a Weissbier in a while.”

The bar also served lunch, and was fairly crowded. Jablonski found a quiet spot at the far end of the bar. He didn’t seem to know the people who worked there, but he had a certain ease that implied that they should know