“Demon plane,” they meant specifically.
He remembered those words very well.
And then more came back. Everything.
“Yes,” she told him. ‘
“Terrible things happened to you,” he continued in Vietnamese, stumbling a little, as he was at the limit of his vocabulary. But the translator didn’t interrupt. “I am very sorry.”
She stared at him.
He glanced at the translator, who nodded. He’d gotten the words right.
“War is terrible,” continued Greene. “We have to stop it. You can help.”
“Josh?”
“He’s helping,” said Greene, resorting to English. “Will you help us?”
M? looked at him, her eyes wide. She looked like a child on a poster they used as public service announcements against child abuse. The posters had adorable kids, with two-word captions.
It was impossible to protect everyone in the world. As president, he had to protect the most people he could. If he thought too much about individuals, he’d never be able to do his job.
And yet, he did have to protect individuals. Little girls and boys, if he could.
They used to plan the bombing missions over the north meticulously to avoid civilian deaths. It always pained him that critics of the war didn’t realize that. They didn’t appreciate the dangers the pilots subjected themselves to, just to lessen the chances that the inaccurate bombs of the day wouldn’t hurt people like M?.
Bad things did happen. That was the nature of war. That was why you did what he was doing, trying to head bigger conflicts off.
M? began speaking in Vietnamese. She had tears in her eyes.
“She will help,” said the translator.
Greene rose. “We’ll do it without you, honey,” he said. “Your friend Josh should be able to pull it off. We won’t hurt you again.”
Greene looked at the translator. “You don’t have to translate that. Tell her she’s a brave little girl, and she’ll see her friend Josh very soon.”
28
“A day later, as I wandered… as I moved around the jungle, trying to find my way back to the highway leading to Hanoi, I saw… I came to a village. It was deserted. Well, I thought it was deserted. There was a field above the village. It looked freshly plowed. Then… but when I put my foot into the ground I realized it was, that it had been dug up. I saw something on the surface. I pushed the dirt away with my hands.
“It was a body. Buried. It belonged to a woman. Young, maybe a teenager. She’d been shot in the head. And there were more bodies beneath her. I couldn’t take it. I got sick.
“Later, I think it was that day or maybe the next, I found a little girl. Her whole village…”
Josh stopped speaking. He felt light-headed; his tongue felt as if it were stuck to the roof of his mouth.
“That’s good,” said Jablonski. “That’s perfect. You can just stop there and let it go. The video will be playing. It’s perfect.”
The bastard thought it was a performance. People dead, butchered in their sleep, and he looked at it like a goddamn performance. Points for his political bullshit.
“It’s okay, Josh,” said Mara, touching his elbow. “It’s all right.”
They were sitting in an empty section of the hotel restaurant, reserved by Jablonski so they could talk without being bothered. The hotel had provided a buffet breakfast, but Josh hadn’t bothered with any of it, except for the coffee.
He got up, anxious, angry, feeling as if he was part of something he really didn’t want to be part of. He walked to the serving table, took a new cup from the tray, and pushed it under the spigot of the silver pot. The ornate handle squeaked as he pushed it forward. The coffee sputtered, then streamed out, steam escaping with the liquid.
“I know this is hard for you,” said Mara behind him. “You did everything you could. You’re doing everything you can now.”
“That’s not the point,” said Josh.
Jablonski was still at the table, concentrating on his food and pretending not to hear. Josh tilted his head, then walked over near the door, wanting Mara to follow. He pushed out into the hall, frowning at Broome before walking down to a pair of upholstered chairs sitting by themselves in a small alcove. He sat down. Mara remained standing.
“What’s up, Josh?”
“I just — the whole thing. It’s kinda, it’s like a production.”
“Of course it’s a production. This is a huge event. Millions of people’s lives are involved.”
“It’s not an event. It’s not a show. It’s a war.”
“I used the wrong word,” she said quickly. “We have to save people. China is going to run over Vietnam if something isn’t done.”
“I know that. I don’t want M? involved in this.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t.”
Josh looked up at her. The suit looked good on her, but he wondered what she would look like in a dress. She didn’t have a classic female figure. She was too tall for that, with broad shoulders, a little more muscle than the typical woman. But she’d look pretty, he was sure.
“It’s just so… political,” said Josh, flailing for the right words.
“Of course it is. But we have to do this.”
“You’re not…”
She stared at him. Their eyes locked.
“I’ll blow my cover if you want,” she said. “I’ll stand with you.”
He could have kissed her at that moment, jumped to his feet and hugged her, told her he loved her. He could have married her and had an entire future in that instant; he could have died and been content. But instead, he just nodded.
“It’s all right,” said Josh, his voice catching. “I can do it. I just wish the whole damn thing wasn’t so political. But we have to keep M? out of it.”
“I’ll talk to my boss. And Jablonski.”
Josh looked down at his hand. He was surprised he still had the coffee cup, and took a sip.
27
