Shock of War

UN building, New York City

Mara Duncan stared at Josh MacArthur on the video, watching as he answered the questions from the correspondents a few rooms away. There was no sound; the video was streaming from a security unit, wired to cover the conference room in case of emergencies. But the lack of sound was perfect: it made it easier for Mara to watch him for some answer to the riddle of why she had fallen for the guy.

Because she was definitely attracted to him. Which didn’t make a lot of sense.

Mara swiveled in the chair. The small office was one of several backups scattered throughout the complex. Her UN security escort had ducked out to get them some lunch.

Josh was intellectual, a scientist. She was not. Not that she was dumb, by any means. Going by her grades in college, certainly, she was anything but a dope. But she preferred outdoor things like hiking and waterskiing and even parachute jumping to reading. And when she did read, it was more along the lines of a mystery or something, not a scientific treatise.

What she admired — what she loved — was the way he treated the little girl, Ma. He’d been so tenderly attentive and fiercely protective at the same time.

He had a good smile as well. Boyish. And shoulders — she liked his shoulders, though he wasn’t a bodybuilder type.

Mara thought of the army officer she’d met in Vietnam — Zeus. Now there was a physical type she went for: high school quarterback, super jock, and not a dumb one, either.

Making love to him would be… interesting.

Athletic.

But it’s Josh I want, Mara thought, glancing back at the video screen. Her sat phone buzzed. It was Peter Lucas.

Mara cringed as she answered.

“Boss?”

“Mara, excellent work up there. Those Chinese assassins — dead?”

“I don’t know.”

“Secret Service says they are. They’re singing your praises. There’ll be a commendation. Good work. Hell of a job.”

So I guess I don’t have to do any more penance for Malaysia, Mara thought.

“I watched the show. CNN, Fox, everybody’s got it. Your boy is good. Very, very good. You coached him?”

“Some special troubleshooter came down,” said Mara. “Jablonski. The president’s guy. He’s a political handler or something.”

“Well, Josh was great. Very, very convincing.”

“How’s M??”

“The little girl is fine, as far as I know.”

“Can you send somebody to check on her?”

“Don’t go maternal on me, Mara. The girl isn’t my department.”

“I’m not being maternal. She has no family. I’m just looking out for her.”

“You did that in Vietnam, Mara. That part of your job is done.”

“But — ”

“Look, they kept her from having to go in front of the UN, right? She’s in good hands.”

Unless…

“Peter, is my cover blown?” Mara asked.

“No,” he said, a little more slowly than she would have liked. “No. I don’t think so. Listen to me. This would be a good career move.”

“Staying in the field would be better.”

“Well, think about it. You don’t have to make a decision yet.”

“It’s already made up.”

“Take your time.”

“I’m ready to go back now, Peter. I should be in Saigon. Did you find out who ripped off the money that was supposed to be at the drop?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“I’d like to cut his balls off.”

“Mara.” Lucas’s voice had an exasperated tone that Mara recognized as a warning: the next thing out of his mouth would be a long speech about how much she owed him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Take a few days off. Three or four.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Take one day off at least.” He hung up.

Mara sighed and turned her attention back to the screen. Josh was getting up. The interviews were finally over.

* * *

Josh followed wearily as Jablonski and the two bodyguards from the federal marshal’s office squeezed him down the back hallway and hurried him into a stairwell.

“Where are we going now?” Josh asked as they started down.

“We’re going to get you some rest,” answered Jablonski. “At least a few hours. We’re setting up something with Sky News, and a BBC interview. But you should be able to do those by phone. The important things are the morning shows, and we want you better rested for that.”

“Where’s Mara?” asked Josh.

“She’ll be along.”

“I wanted to talk to her.”

Jablonski started to make a face. The BlackBerry in his suit jacket rang; he reached in and took it out, glanced at the face for the caller ID, then held it to his ear.

“This is William. Fred, how are you? Glad you could get back to me.. Jablonski stopped and glanced at Josh. “We might be able to give the congressman a personal briefing. A short one.”

Josh tensed. The earlier “personal briefing” had almost gotten him killed this morning.

“He doesn’t have a lot of time,” Jablonski said. He winked at Josh. “The congressman is? Well, maybe if they were seen walking together…? Hold on.”

Jablonski muted the phone.

“I wonder if you could do a favor,” he told Josh. “There’s a congressman from Long Island who’s going to be in a pretty hard reelection campaign. He’s a reliable vote. If we could help him…”

“Like how?”

“Have your picture taken talking to him.”

“How will that help?”

“One hand washes the other,” said Jablonski, slurping in the end of the sentence. “Don’t worry. It does.”

Josh hated all this political bull. But as Jablonski had explained the other night, Congress was opposed to helping the Vietnamese. It wasn’t going to be easy to change that.

“If we can get out of here when it’s done, then okay,” said Josh.

Jablonski put the phone back to his ear.

“We’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Jablonski sent a text, then put the phone away.

“Okay, Josh, it’s all arranged,” said Jablonski. “Let’s go.”

“Where’s Mara?”

“I’ll tell her to meet us. Come on, let’s go.”

* * *