The UN rep nodded just visibly, adjusting the briefcase on his lap. The NATO man introduced himself. Kahlberg — Silky Kahlberg.
“Silky?” Barbara asked.
The Arab gave a snort. Kahlberg however kept smiling, his hand extended. His coloring was almost as Viking-pale as that of the soldier beside him, and the man’s grip suggested he’d spent some time with a gun in his hands himself. His sleek blonde mop (okay, silky) must’ve been one of the privileges of rank: Kahlberg announced that he was a major. “Actually a Lieutenant-Major. Though I doubt y’all know the difference.”
The man lost something off his smile. But he went on to declare, more or less cheerfully, that his job was “PR plain and simple. Public liaison, capisce? Events, communications, Jay here knows what I’m talking about.”
He did? Barbara’s Jaybird had worked in sales, not advertising. Kahlberg went on to explain that, since the quake, he’d also handled Public Affairs for the international relief efforts. “Working two jobs, see what I’m saying? The Organization and the UN, they’ve both got a piece of me.”
“And you’ve got a piece of both payrolls,” Jay said.
Kahlberg gave a shrug. “Jay, sounds to me like you don’t understand. You don’t know what we’re up to, here. In Naples, anymore, it’s not about worlds to conquer.”
“I don’t want worlds to conquer. All I want’s right here in this van. My family.”
“Touché, big shooter. Touché, but Jay — anymore, that’s all we want too. The Organization and the UN, these days we’re all about happy families, families like yours. That’s quality of life, democracy on the march. That’s the Pax Americana.”
“Wait a second.” This was Chris, who liked history. “Pax…?”
“Mn.” The liaison officer tucked his hair behind one ear. “Got a bright kid here, Jay. Bright kid, he’s thinking the Roman thing, Pax Romana. He’s thinking, ‘strength and honor.’” The man was good at Gladiator, too.
“Actually,” Chris said, “the expression they used was a bit different.”
“That’s good, son. That’s a bright boy. But the question is, what do we do about that? I mean, since it’s our Pax, these days. What do we do with it?’”
Chris scratched an eyebrow.
“It’s all on us now.” Kahlberg went on. “Washington is the new Rome. That’s the law of history, right?”
Barbara had to jump in. “Lieutenant, Major, whatever. Listen, the march of history, the triumph of NATO, that’s not why this family came here.”
“Mn, triumph? Ma’am, you don’t understand. In this van, we’re all on the….”
“No, listen.” It’d been too long a day. “I’m saying, Silky, you have no idea about this family. The sacrifices we made.”
“I hear you, ma’am. I hear your pain.”
Much too long a day. “Oh, give me a break.”
“Barbara,” Jay said.
“Jay, this bastard thinks we’re playing some kind of ballgame.”
“Settle down, Mrs. Lulucita.” The officer used the Italian pronunciation. “Way I see it, this isn’t about me. Isn’t about this bastard at all. I can see that, what’s bothering you, it’s got nothing to do with me and everything to do with those old boys who just about took your husband’s head off”
Barbara checked out the window. The shadows were unpredictable behind the tinted glass. And when had it gotten so late? Inside, Paul might’ve been napping in his seat, his head in his chest. Strange shadows played across the riot of his hair.
Kahlberg seemed to be saying the Organization had a heart of gold. “We’re looking towards the next thousand years, you know what I’m saying? If history tells us we’ve got to be Rome, then it’s on us to do Rome one better.”
She couldn’t just sit there stewing. “Lieutenant—”
“Silky, please.”
“Silky, try this. Try looking out the window.”
The van cruised along a wide and efficient city beltway, a road utterly unlike the medieval alleys where Jay had been hit.
“I’m saying,” Barbara went on, “this is Rome too. I’m saying, let’s get real, with the law of history. Naples is Rome too. Five minutes in the Internet Cafe, here, and I could have a ticket back to New York.”
“Brava, signora.”
“Even the earthquake — that didn’t really hurt the people in town, so much. The people Jay’s going to be working with, they’re something else, they’re mostly refugees. The newcomers around here.”
The officer went on nodding.
“And they came here to make money, most of these people.”
“Brava, signora. Complimenti.”
What was that, a pat on the head? She didn’t like hearing him use her title all the time either, not after “Jay” this and “Jay” that.
Chris had been trying for a while to get a word in. “Listen, if you’re going to compare us to Rome, then like, what Pop’s doing is more like, it’s the aqueducts. Pop’s helping to…”
JJ gave a laugh, scornful, and while Chris made some comeback Barbara turned again to the window. What had she been trying to accomplish, anyway? What did she have to prove? The van had climbed high enough that outside the reinforced glass, the color of a bruise, she could see the scabby and kiss-shaped downtown.
“That’s pretty good, son,” the PR man was saying. “Pretty good, actually, Chris. So, you’re such a smart boy, tell me something. You ever read Vico?”
The teenager fingered his glasses, but Jay waved him silent.
“Anybody in this van ever read Giambattista Vico?”
“Silky,” the father said. “The way I heard it, you had something for us. Documents, you said. Hey, that’s what you told the cops.”
“Yeah, the cops,” John Junior said, “hey. When it comes to what happened to Pop, it sounds like you NATO guys’re no more help than the police.”
“Mn, son, you’re barking up the wrong tree. The Organization, it’s got no jurisdiction when it comes to a couple of junkies like the ones that laid out your Pop.”
“Junkies?” John Junior pumped up his height advantage. “The cops only said they were amateurs.”
Jay was frowning, troubled by the recollection. Barb looked to Kahlberg’s partner, but the rep from the UN wore a fixed, cold smile.
“Junkies, amateurs, you can call those old boys whatever you want,” the liaison was saying. “But I’ll tell you what, they’ll be tough to find. People like that, they kind of fall through the cracks.”
“So you are as bad as the cops. You’ve got nothing for us.”
The only person Barbara hadn’t checked recently was Paul. She needed time with the boy soon. Time for his “eruption of need,” and for her “core assurances,” as they put it back at the Samaritan Center, at the Holy Name. But now the Lieutenant Major was spouting a jargon of his own, talking about “Earthquake I.D.”
“The Organization arranged one for each family member.” The man had also selected from another of his voices. “One for each, in keeping with the purpose of the document, and we worked hand in hand with the appropriate authorities, both local and international, in the kind of cooperation that has long distinguished our relationship.”
The UN rep was thumbing the combination locks of his briefcase.
“In this way,” Kalhlberg went on, “we ensured that this paper carries the full weight of law. For American citizens it possesses the value and function of a passport.”
Chris remained the one who got the most out of this. Nodding, the boy shoved his glasses up his nose.