Edge of War

“The senator does have a busy schedule today,” said the aide. “He also needs to meet with some aides to the president after the presentation. If there is a room available.”

“Will my office do?” asked the director. “Let’s take a look.”

The director began leading them to the hall beneath the open walkway. The aide looked up and saw Jing Yo. He didn’t say anything, simply stared until Jing Yo stepped back from the rail, out of view.

If the senator had used the main entrance, so would the scientist. All he would have to do was wait.

29

Queens, New York City

The Grand Central Parkway looked more like a parking lot than a highway. Traffic on the RFK-Triborough Bridge was at a standstill, with two accidents eastbound, one just before the tollbooths and the other on the Queens side near the exit to the local roads.

“Are we going to make it?” Jablonski asked the driver, leaning forward.

“It’ll be close.”

“I’d better call. The only thing worse than being late is not telling Grasso we’re going to be late.”

Josh leaned against the door as Jablonski fished in his pocket for his phone. The aide had unfortunately decided to sit between him and Mara.

“Kevin, this is Will. How are you? Listen, we’re stuck on the damn Grand Central, in the middle of the Triborough. Where are you?… Oh, you’re at the museum already. How’d you get through the traffic?… Too late for us. Look, our driver isn’t sure we’re going to make it, so I thought I’d better give you a heads-up… Uh-huh. It’s very important to the president that the senator speak to Josh. He wants the senator to hear about this firsthand, from the source. The horse’s mouth, so to speak… That would fine. Fine. We’ll see you in the parking lot. Excellent.”

Jablonski killed the phone.

“We’re going to ride with the senator,” said Jablonski. “We’ll meet them at the parking lot. You and I will go with them to the UN.”

“What about Mara?” asked Josh.

“She’ll follow. The marshals will stick with us, right, guys?”

“I’d kind of like her there.”

“I’ll be with you at the UN, Josh. You don’t need me to talk to the senator.”

“All right,” Josh said, pushing closer to the door of the car.

* * *

Jing Yo glanced at his watch. It was exactly 11:08. Where was the scientist? The view to the front door was perfect. Jing Yo went down on his knee, next to the canvas tool bag. He put his right hand on the P90, slipping his finger around the trigger.

He was ready. His mind was at peace. Every muscle was relaxed, his breathing slow and full. There was only one true Way, one true existence.

Laughter filled the atrium below. The children were coming out of the auditorium.

One true Way.

A car drove up outside. Jing Yo saw its tires in the glass. If he’d taken the grenade launcher from the truck, it would be over now.

No bother. It was only a matter of moments.

No one got out of the car. It was the senator’s limo.

A second car pulled up behind it.

Security? Had he been seen?

Adult voices filled the hall below. Jing Yo looked down. The senator was walking out, threading his way through the children.

Jing Yo would shoot the scientist and then the senator. He would try not to kill the children, but if they were there, there was nothing he could do.

One Way.

The senator veered to his left, toward the front of the building. He wasn’t going to the office. Something was wrong.

Jing Yo looked toward the door. A person got out of the car behind the senator’s.

The scientist — no, someone else.

“This way, Senator,” said the aide, ushering him out of the door.

It was a trick, thought Jing Yo, jumping to his feet. I’ve missed my chance.

* * *

Josh got into the back on the driver’s side; Jablonski slid in from the other end. After seeing so many movies and television shows featuring big politicos and businesspeople being ferried around in outrageously equipped limousines, the senator’s car was a real disappointment. There was no television in the backseat, let alone a computer or a bar; it was little different than the backseat of the marshal car, a plain vanilla Chevy Caprice. Papers and files were piled on the shelf behind the seat, so high that Josh doubted the driver could see out the back window.

“The Triborough’s a mess,” Jablonski told the driver.

“So I hear. We’ll go over the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge. The Queensboro. It’s closer to where we’re going anyway.”

Josh felt his heart pounding. He looked at his hands. Sweat was pouring from the pores.

“Nervous?” asked Jablonski.

“I guess.”

“You’ll do fine. Just tell what happened. Your own words. Like at breakfast.”

The door on the other side of Jablonski opened. Senator Grasso climbed in, the car rocking with his weight. His aide got in the front seat.

“Billy, how goes the speechwriting?” said the senator as the car pulled from the curb.

“Just fine, Senator.”

“Do you actually write any speeches?”

“I’ve written a few.”

“Was Peaceful Vigilance yours?” Grasso was referring to a speech the president had made two weeks before, suggesting that America’s troops would stay at a high state of alert.

“I contributed a few lines.”

“Now I know you wrote it. Any time you’re being modest like that.” Grasso leaned over. “And you must be Dr. MacArthur, right?”

“I’m Josh MacArthur.”

MacArthur extended his hand. Grasso grabbed it and shook it vigorously.

“Any relation to the famous MacArthur?”

“A great-great-great-uncle.”

“That’s a lot of greats.” Grasso winked at Jablonski. “Good to meet you, son. Are you from New York?”

“Iowa, actually.”

“Looking for votes?” Jablonski asked.

“Always, Billy. Without you working for me, I have to get all the votes I can find. Why don’t you come over to us anyway? Working for that old fart can’t be that much fun.”

“He is the president.”

“All that means is you get to ride in a better airplane. Kevin?” Grasso turned to the front seat, where his aide was working his Black-Berry. “How are we fixed for time?”

“We have to go right to the UN,” said the aide. “There are demonstrations outside. A lot of them. Police should meet us on the other side of the bridge.”

“See?” Grasso turned to Jablonski. “Your guy wants us to vote for a war. You know how unpopular we’d be?