“This place isn’t too informal for you, is it?”
“No, it’s fine,” said Corrine. She glanced around at the soft-hued walls and granite tabletops.
“In D.C., I never know whether someone might be a foodie or not,” said Franklin. “Where I grew up, food was just food; this would pass for fancy.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Idaho,” said Franklin.
“And you like Tex-Mex?”
“I love the spices.”
They traded innocuous small talk for a few more minutes, both sipping from their drinks. Franklin’s nervousness, not far from the surface, added to his charm. It made him seem more real.
He told Corrine that he’d come from a small town in Idaho, was an only child, still had a house there he never went to. His parents owned a ranch. Small by local standards, it sounded immense to Corrine.
Along the way he mentioned that he’d been divorced, no kids. Didn’t work out.
He quickly moved on to other topics.
When he spoke about hunting and hiking his voice hit a different pitch; he was more relaxed, not shy and anxious anymore. Corrine liked that.
Their dinners came. Corrine had ordered a fish dish in a lime sauce; it was a
“See I told you not to order that,” Franklin said as she inspected it.
“Did you?” She was annoyed by his tone, but hid it.
“This steak is great. Want a taste?”
“No, thanks.”
“So, Korea,” said Franklin.
“I really don’t have much of an opinion on Korea.”
“Well, it’s a very important place these days. As Senator Tewilliger was saying, it’ll be the fulcrum of Asia for the next decade.”
“Isn’t that an overstatement?”
Corrine nibbled at her fish as Franklin held forth on why it wasn’t. The tone he’d used when suggesting she’d ordered the wrong entree was back. He was earnest, but he was strident as well.
Not for me, she thought to herself, with the sort of sharp finality a judge’s gavel might signal dismissing a case.
“Do you think the treaty will pass?” he asked finally.
“I really couldn’t say. I don’t watch Congress really.”
“Not even on this?”
“Well, if the president asks me to do something, then I do.”
“I got the impression the other day that you were really involved.”
“Not really.”
“You disagree with me, but you don’t want to say that,” said Franklin. “About the treaty… You think it’s a good idea.”
“I don’t have a position on the treaty one way or another.”
“I don’t know that I do, either.”
The waiter arrived to ask if they wanted anything for dessert.
“Try the flan,” suggested Franklin.
“I think I’ll have some of the cheesecake.”
“Flan’s better.”
“Just cheesecake, thanks,” said Corrine, handing the menu back to the waiter.
7
“You appear in good health, Mr. Ch’o,” said the doctor. “Your blood pressure is a little high.”
Ch’o wanted to tell him that he was in perfect health, but his tongue wouldn’t move.
The doctor packed up his stethoscope and blood-pressure cup.
“I can give you a pill for anxiety,” said the doctor. “It might make you feel more at ease. I think you’re just — It was probably quite an ordeal coming here. You’re still not over it.”
Ch’o couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He simply couldn’t talk. He remained motionless on the bed.
“Do you want the pill? It’s very safe.”
With the greatest effort, Ch’o shook his head.
“No?” said the doctor.
No, thought Ch’o, shaking his head again. No devil poison. You’ll have to kill me yourself.
The doctor found Rankin and the CIA people standing like bookends, arms folded and backs against the bulkhead a short distance from the cabin.
“It looks a lot like post-traumatic stress, something along those lines,” said the doctor. “What happened to him?”
“I’m not sure,” said Rankin. “He wanted to be rescued from North Korea.”
“This happens,” said Jimenez. “Let me try talking to him.”
“No,” said Rankin, putting out his hand to bar the way.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I don’t want to spook him worse than he’s spooked now.”
“He can’t get much worse.”
“Pushing him around’s not going to help us.”
“I’m only going to ask him some questions. Relax.”
“We have to go slow. I’ve seen people like this. It doesn’t do any good to push them.”
“You’ve been in combat, Colonel?” said Jimenez.
“Yeah, I’ve been in combat,” Rankin told him. “And I’m not a colonel.”
Jimenez scowled but said nothing.
“I agree with you,” the doctor told Rankin. “I’d go very, very easy on him. I offered him a pill for anxiety, but he shook his head.”
“Give it to me and I’ll give it to him,” said Jimenez.
“Absolutely not,” said the doctor.
“We can go easy on him,” said Rankin. “There’s no rush.”
“How do you know there’s no rush?” said Jimenez. “If we don’t talk to him, we don’t know anything.”
8
Corrine was just turning her car out of the parking lot when her cell phone rang.
“Sergeant Rankin wants to talk to you on a secure line,” Corrigan told her. “He says it’s pretty urgent. I can hook up a sat phone call.”
Corrine had the phone in her pocketbook. She’d have to find a spot to pull over, a place where she could think.
