Edge of War

hack, working for the government?

“Something wrong, Josh?” asked Jablonski.

He had to do it. It was his duty. The dead people needed someone to talk for them.

“Nothing.”

“There’ll be some video,” said Jablonski. “Some of the material you brought back. You can explain — the fewer words really the better. The hardest thing will be the questions, because they’re impossible to predict. I’d like to go over some of them tomorrow, okay? There’ll be media questions, and then later, speaking with some of the dignitaries. All right?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What about M??” asked Mara.

“The little girl?” asked Jablonski. “She’s going to come up with the president. There’ll be a translator. She won’t be on too long.”

“You think it’s a good idea?” asked Josh.

“Which?”

“For her to talk?”

“Her story is pretty overwhelming, from what you’ve said.”

Josh looked at Mara, but she didn’t say anything. She was clearly relieved about not having to go before the UN.

Jablonski repeated some things that he had said earlier about how to make his presentation. Josh didn’t pay much attention. He mostly watched Mara.

“I know you guys are still tired, so I’ll see you all tomorrow,” said Jablonski, finally getting up. “For breakfast?”

“What time?” asked Mara.

“I get up at five.”

“That’s too early,” said Josh.

“Eight?”

“What are we going to do that we need that much time?” asked Josh.

“We want to go over this so you’re prepared for the questions,” said Jablonski. “It’s pretty important, Josh.”

“I already know what I’m going to say.” Josh looked at Mara. “I’m just going to tell the truth.”

“That’s all we ask,” said Jablonski. “Believe me, it’s better that you’re sick of me than unprepared.”

“Eight’s good,” said Mara.

Josh stayed in his seat as Jablonski got up and Mara showed him to the door.

“What’s up?” she asked, coming back inside the room.

“Do you think we’re lying?” he said.

“I don’t think you should lie at all.” She seemed surprised. “He’s just trying to make sure you get all the details.”

“He keeps suggesting how I phrase things.”

“Well, don’t lie.”

“I’m not going to.” He folded his arms. “What about the soldiers we killed?”

“Where?”

“The ones in the train car.”

Her brow knitted. “What about them?”

“I shouldn’t mention them, right?”

“That wouldn’t be useful.”

“Why not?”

“Because it confuses things.”

“Leaving them out is not a lie?”

“Josh, right now, the world is on the brink of war. People don’t understand what’s going on. You can help. More people will be massacred,” Mara added.

“They’ll get killed no matter what I do or say.”

Mara didn’t answer. Josh looked at her, wanting to say something else — wanting not to talk, but to go over and take her into his arms.

Why didn’t he?

“You’re worried about M??” Mara said.

“Yeah, (hat too.”

“I think she’ll be fine. They’ll get really good people for her.”

“Yeah.”

“Listen, I’m a little beat right now. We can talk better in the morning.”

I should go over there right now, right next to her, and kiss her, thought Josh.

But he didn’t. Even as he got up, even as he left the room, he asked himself why not.

* * *

He kept asking the question, over and over, when he got back to his room. He stared at the ceiling while a Knicks-Lakers game played on the television.

What was the worst thing that could have happened? After everything he’d been through, he was afraid of her telling him no.

Why?

Just am.

I shouldn’t be.

But I am. Just am.

18

New York City

Jing Yo’s new hotel wasn’t nearly as nice as the first. There weren’t any doormen, let alone armed guards; the clerk had to be summoned from the back office by ringing a tarnished bell on the battered desk at the side of the entry vestibule. The bedsheets, though clean, shaded toward gray rather than white.

Jing Yo wasn’t here for the amenities. Once more, he acted as if he were under surveillance, though now it was more likely that he was being watched by Mr. Wong than by the CIA.

It was all the same in a way. He slept well, certainly better than he had at any time since parachuting into Hanoi, and with the exception of the time with Hyuen Bo, probably the best he had slept over the past six months.

Rest restored his equilibrium. Equilibrium made him confident that he would succeed. And confidence filled him with energy.

Jing Yo rose at four, did his exercises, and meditated. Then he went out for breakfast.

There were bums on the street, homeless people sleeping against the buildings. Many of them — he stopped counting at a dozen. America was a far richer country than China, but in China, these people would be with their families, or at least kept from sight.

They were an inferior, mongrel race.

Jing Yo ordered tea and an egg at a small coffeeshop two blocks from the hotel. The waitress asked if he’d seen the paper. He said no, not realizing that it was an invitation to read one — she handed him the Post-News.

The first few pages were given over to accounts of crimes — murders and robberies. Then there were four pages of stories on movie stars and actresses. The lead was a two-page spread on a singer who’d been