“Pardon my skepticism,” said Zen. “But given the events of yesterday, and much of what has been happening over the past week, how do we know that we can trust you?”
The minister began protesting, saying that he was a man of integrity and had not been involved with the leadership in the past. To Zen it seemed a clear case of someone protesting too much.
“We do want to trust you, but trust is something that is earned,” Zen told him. “You should declare a cease-fire—”
“If we stop, the rebels will continue,” said the new minister. “You have seen them. They are animals.”
Not exactly the sort of opinion that was going to pave the way for peace.
“Perhaps your government could begin with a very small gesture,” said Zongchen. “Perhaps you could begin with apologizing for the attack on the committee yesterday. That costs you nothing, yet is rich in symbolism.”
Bouri didn’t answer.
“You have already apologized to me,” said Zongchen.
“Yes, but you are asking for something different. The president would have to apologize.”
“Since the government has already fired the defense minister, it’s going to be clear that mistakes were made,” said Zen. “A public statement won’t cost you anything.”
“And it will earn you a great deal,” added Zongchen.
“It will cost much,” said the Libyan. “But I will see what I can do. In the meantime, let us establish a proper procedure for these conversations. The talks between your committee and I. They will be strictest confidence, yes?”
“Of course,” said Zongchen.
“We’ll have to talk to others in order for our work to mean anything,” added Zen. “We have to talk to the UN leaders, our government, and eventually the rebels.”
“Carefully,” said Bouri.
“Quietly, you mean?” asked Zen.
“Yes, both. Carefully and quietly.”
Zongchen agreed that would be wise. The two men spoke for a few moments more, deciding how they would contact each other, and establishing a routine of “regular” calls twice per day.
After Bouri hung up, Zongchen turned to Zen. “This is an interesting development. Perhaps our being attacked has had a positive result.”
“Maybe,” said Zen.
“You don’t think this is genuine?”
Zen wheeled himself back a few feet. His substitute wheelchair was powered, something he didn’t like. But it would do for now.
“I suppose our best option is to treat it as if it is genuine,” he told Zongchen. “The question will be more the rest of government — does he speak for it? Hard to tell.”
“Hmmm.” The general was silent for a few moments, thinking. “It is very late, and we have not eaten. Let us go and find something. Deep thought is better on a full stomach.”
He spoke to his aide in quick Chinese, then led Zen out into the hall.
“It is interesting,” said Zongchen as they waited for the elevator. “Two former men of war negotiating a peace.”
“Interesting, yes.”
“But peace was also our aim,” added the general, “even if not our profession.”
8
Turk fell asleep in Ginella’s bed after they made love, but only for an hour. He slipped off the side onto the floor, trying to be quiet and not entirely sure what he was doing here. He hadn’t forgotten what had happened; he just didn’t believe it. Sleeping with another officer was one thing; sleeping with a colonel who was at least temporarily his boss…
Ginella lay with her head turned toward the wall, dozing peacefully. She had put on a T-shirt, but it was pulled halfway up her back, revealing her curved buttocks.
It was a nice curve. She was good in bed — a little more assertive than he was used to, but definitely a woman who knew how to please and be pleased.
But not quite his type. Older than he was.
And his boss.
What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t been, was the answer. He grabbed his clothes and got dressed, then slipped out without waking her.
The bright lights of the hotel hallway stung his eyes. Turk walked quickly to the elevator, but as he pressed the button he realized someone might come out and see him waiting, or worse, be in the car when the doors opened. He didn’t want to deal with any questions that might raise, so he used the stairs.
Outside, he realized it was too late to get a car. He had to go back to the desk and ask them to call a taxi.
By the time Turk got back to his own hotel, it was nearly three. He collapsed on the bed, even more tired than he had been the night before.
The next thing he knew, his phone was ringing. He had left it on the desk opposite the bed, and by the time he got there, the call had gone to voice mail.
It was Chahel Ratha.
“Didn’t you get the text? We need you here by 0800. It’s five minutes past.”
Turk made it to the Sabre hangar a few minutes before nine.
“Need some O2?” asked one of the guards at the hangar. Pure oxygen was a common cure for a hangover among flight crews.
Turk shook his head and went inside. He found Ratha and one of the lead engineers fussing over a pot of coffee at the side bench.
“Sorry I’m late,” he told them.
Ratha shook his head. “It’s just static tests anyway.”
Turk rushed to get into his gear. The Tigershark had been mostly placed back together. His job was to run the controls in a flight simulation mode while the technical people ran a bunch of tests on the interfaces with the Sabres. It was very routine, but it got his mind off the night before.
Some two hours of tests later, the engineers decided they had enough data and helped Turk from the cockpit.
“Figure it out?” he asked.
Ratha just shook his head. He didn’t look particularly pleased.
“Just the man I’m looking for,” said Danny Freah, coming into the hangar. “How are you, Turk?”
“I’m good, Colonel. Yourself?”
“Fine. Step into my office here a second.” Freah motioned him to the side. Turk followed, bracing himself for questions about Ginella.
Deny, deny, deny, whispered a little voice.
Why? He’d done nothing wrong. It was Ginella who would get in trouble, if anyone was going to get in trouble.
Right.
“I heard you did really well yesterday with the A–10s,” said Danny.
“Um, yeah.”
“You really made an impression on Colonel Ginella,” said Danny. “She was singing your praises this morning.”
Turk felt himself flush.
“It was good of you to step up,” said Danny.
“Thanks, I—”
“Colonel Ginella says you rate higher than most if not her whole squadron. She wants as much of you as she can get.”
Turk struggled to find his tongue.
“Hard getting used to the Warthog after flying the Tigershark?” asked Danny.
“Just about night and day,” said Turk.
Danny nodded. “You look like you had a rough night. You all right?”
“Oh, just a little… pilot stuff.”
“All done here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. Don’t get in any trouble, you hear?” Danny chucked his shoulder, then walked away.
The engineers told Turk he wouldn’t be needed now for several days. He got changed and caught the bus over to the cafeteria to get some lunch. But once inside the serving area, he decided he wasn’t particularly hungry, a decision reinforced by hearing laughter in the seating area that sounded very much like some members of Shooter Squadron. He grabbed two large bottles of water and went back out the way he came.