“I’m hoping he refuses,” Wexler said. “I’m not certain he will, though.”
“You actually think he’d recall Admiral Magruder?”
She nodded. “There are too many secrets being kept around here, Jack. T’ing knows something and the president knows something that they’re not telling me. I’m not sure how the president thinks I can do my job without knowing, but he does. We’ve got to find out what’s going on. And do it on our own… at least until they decide to be on the up and up with us. I’m counting on you to pull this one off.”
Jack thought about it for a moment, about the explosive combination of Tombstone Magruder and General Arkady, the equally uneasy relationship between T’ing and Sarah Wexler. The dinner Jack wrote off with a cynical check mark. T’ing was after something big, and if he thought a few dinners might make Wexler more receptive, then Jack was certain that T’ing would be the most entertaining dinner partner around. No matter how Sarah perceived the overtures, Jack would never believe them. The Chinese had allies, not friends.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” he said slowly, wondering as he did whether his mouth was writing a check that his butt couldn’t cash. “Might be nothing,” he added, trying to prepare her for that possibility.
“No.” There was not a trace of doubt in Sarah Wexler’s voice. “T’ing’s up to something. The president doesn’t know exactly what it is, or he would have told me. Not that he tells me everything”—an understatement, Jack thought—“but he would about this.”
Maybe, Jack thought. And maybe not. He’s got his own problems these days.
“Besides,” Wexler continued, “If it’s important enough to T’ing to try to make friends with me with all these nice little dinners, then it’s important enough for us to go digging for.” Jack was gratified to see a hard smile creep across her face. “My new best friend, the one with so much advice for our country. Just giving us the benefit of his centuries of experience, you understand.”
So she’s not fooled. Jack experienced a mild rush of relief then looked at his boss with new respect in his eyes. “But that was your line, the one about a more experienced culture.”
Wexler’s smile broadened. “Yeah. And he bought it hook, line and sinker.”
Jack stared at her for a moment in amazement, and then started laughing. If T’ing thought he was winning this war, he was in for a rude awakening.
A rude awakening. Now what does that… oh. Yes, that would do. Jack felt a slow smile spread across his face.
Wexler noticed it immediately. She leaned forward. “Tell me.”
“It’s not much,” Jack said slowly, “but it might be enough to tip the balance with T’ing. And it’s a long shot. But here’s how it’d work.” He outlined the idea, filling in the details as he went. After the first few moments, Wexler started nodding. It would have been unkind, Jack thought, to call her smile slightly evil.
“Oh, yes,” she said finally. “Yes, that would do quite nicely. I’ll set it up later today.”
For a moment, Jack almost pitied the ambassador from China. He had no idea what he’d started.
The Macedonian commander decreed that it was too dangerous to return to base. Oddly enough, he commented sardonically, they’d managed to prepare for that contingency. “We’re a small force,” he said. “We can’t afford to risk them all in one location.”
The secondary camp was proving to be farther away than Xerxes had let on. They’d tramped through open hills and forest for most of the day, stopping only for two skimpy meals.
Pamela led the way, with Xerxes bringing up the rear as they headed back toward the camp. Murphy had started off berating her, accusing her of everything from treason to aggravated cruelty and had finally settled into a frigid silence broken only occasionally by quiet groans of pain. Though he curtly denied being injured in the ejection, it was clear from the way that he moved that that was at least partially untrue. He brusquely rejected her attempts to at least ascertain the extent of his injuries, and had settled into what Pamela privately characterized as traditional male bullheadedness.
So let him sulk. It’s not like I could do anything about it. Xerxes wasn’t going to let him go — he’d have shot him first. I’m a reporter, dammit, not a player in all this.
Or was she? Hadn’t she intervened, pleading with Xerxes not to shoot down the American aircraft? For all the good it had done. And what had it gotten her?
Nothing. The only thing it had done was shatter her credibility with the Macedonians. So much for getting this particular story out.
She glanced back over her shoulder and saw two faces that mirrored each other. Cold, grim determination in the eyes belied the granite expressions carved into the two faces. One dark, Mediterranean, with the classic features and curly black hair of this region; the other corn-fed blond hair and blue eyes that would have looked more natural wearing the open, easy-going expression of a farm boy. But not now — boiling oil wouldn’t have tortured out a single expression of emotion from either face.
“Turn left at the fork,” Xerxes ordered.
She obliged, following the narrow trail that broke off the main path. After years of reporting on conflicts all over the world, she’d come to recognize the normal signs that one was at the outskirts of a military camp. Guards, maybe scouts, well-concealed yet inclined to shoot first and ask questions later. The smell of cooking, wood smoke or gasoline camp stove, the necessary sanitary arrangements, and the odor of men under pressure living in close quarters without regular baths. She glanced around the woods, pristine and quiet. If the base camp were located anywhere near here, they’d done an excellent job of disguising it.
“Are we almost there?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
Silence from behind her, then Xerxes said, “We’re not there yet. We’re stopping here for the night.”
“Why?” A longer silence this time, as though he were debating exactly how much to tell her.
That tears it, then. Whatever little trust we had is gone. I should have known it would come to this — these people are all alike. They can’t understand what it is to be impartial, to have a responsibility to the rest of the world. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t tie me up for the night, much less tell me what’s going on.
“It’s too far to the camp tonight,” Xerxes said finally. “We’ll make it in the morning.”
“If it’s still there, you mean.” Pamela shocked herself with the small note of vindictive glee in her voice.
“It’s still there.”
“How do you know? I mean, if it’s not nearby, then you can’t possibly know whether or not it survived the bombing runs, can you?” she asked, her voice louder now and strident. Behind her, she heard what she thought was a grunt of approval from Murphy.
“I saw where the aircraft went,” Xerxes said.
“Where this strike went, you mean. How do you know there weren’t others?” This is insane. Stop taunting him, you idiot! What about the story?
“I will know shortly,” Xerxes said, a sad note of triumph in his voice. She heard a noise and turned in time to catch Murphy as he stumbled and fell forward against her, his hands still tied behind him. She caught him and controlled his descent to the ground. The Macedonian was holding his weapon by the barrel, pulling back from jabbing Murphy in the back with it. “Because he’s going to tell me. One way or the other.”
FOURTEEN