Collateral Damage

“Flight is still on tomorrow for ten,” said Jason. “You’ll get there just in time for the opening speeches.”

“Can’t arrange to miss that bit, huh?”

“I thought—”

“Just teasing. Come on, let’s go grab some di

“Did you call your wife?”

Zen answered by pulling out his cell phone. Brea

“Well, speak of the devil,” she said, coming on the line.

“I’m the devil now? You must have been talking to the President.”

“She doesn’t think you’re the devil. Just not a dependable vote.”

“I wouldn’t want to be dependable.

Zen followed Jason toward the rented van. It didn’t have a lift; he had to crawl and climb into the front seat. It was undignified, but much preferable to being lifted, in his opinion at least.

“Da

“I did, but Air Force security shooed me away,” said Zen. “I tried to pull rank, but they said they were under orders from the Pentagon.”

“I didn’t issue any orders.”

“I wasn’t insulted,” said Zen. “I imagine you’re pretty busy, huh?”

“Up to my ears.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. We have some people heading out to see what happened. Ray Rubeo is going, too.”

“Ray himself?”

“He’s really concerned.”

Zen’s relationship with the scientist was a complicated one. While he admired his intelligence and his work, he found Ray an extremely difficult man to get to know, and an even harder one to like. He certainly wasn’t the type to hang out at the bar after work and have a few beers with.

“Congressman Swall is already calling for an inquiry,” continued Brea

“Well that’s pretty damn easy to answer.”

“Except that the general perception is that we’re not involved in this war at all. So it’ll be a firestorm one way or another.”

Brea

“Teri says hi,” she added, changing the subject. Her voice lifted a little. “You want to talk to her?”

“I thought you were at work.”

“I am. We’re having a video call. You want to talk to her?”

“Sure.”

Brea

“Why aren’t you in school?”

“Superintendent conference.”

“What is that?”

“Day off,” said Brea

“Cousin Julie is babysitting,” Teri told him. “I’m doing my homework.”

She was having a little difficulty with triangles. They talked about them for a bit, then Brea

“I’m afraid I have to get going here,” she said. “Are you still heading for Rome?”

“In the morning. Why don’t you meet me there?”

“Oh yeah, right.”

“Come on. You’re not doing anything.”

“Jeff.”

Zen smiled. If he had a nickel for every time he had heard his name with that particular inflection, he would be a rich man.

“All right. See you next weekend, then,” he told his wife.

“Love you.”

“Anche Io.”

“Huh?”

“Italian for me, too. At least that’s what they tell me.”

An hour later Zen was midway through a dish of grilled baby octopus when he was approached by Du Zongchen, the Chinese UN advisor, who happened to be staying in the same hotel.

“Pull up a chair,” said Zen. He gestured to his aide. “Jason, flag down a waiter and get General Zongchen a seat, would you?”

“Oh, no, no, thank you, Senator. Thank you very much.”

“Have a seat,” said Zen.

“I can only stay for a minute. I am on my way to an appointment. Very formal.”

Zen nodded at Jason, who pushed over his chair for Zongchen then went to get another.

“All of this business with the airplanes, I know you have heard of it,” he said to Zen. “What are your opinions?”

“No opinions.” Zen shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair. “I don’t have all the facts.”

“Very wise.” Zongchen nodded. “I wonder, Senator—would you participate in an investigation?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Members of the General Assembly want me to investigate this matter personally. There will be a resolution tomorrow.”

“I see.”

“It will require an international presence. You were the first I thought of.”

“I don’t know.” Zen wasn’t sure how much Zongchen knew about what had happened—the news reports did not yet identify the aircraft as an American UAV, but there were certain to be rumors.

“You would bring integrity to the process,” said Zongchen. “And expertise.”

“What if my government or its allies are involved?” Zen asked. “That might be embarrassing.”

“I would have to assume that if the event occurred, then one or more allied planes is involved.” Zongchen nodded. “And I have heard many rumors that an American plane was the one there.”

“I am fairly certain it was,” admitted Zen. He saw no reason to lie to Zongchen, or even hold back basic information that would soon be common knowledge.

Zongchen bowed his head slightly, clearly appreciating his candor.

“To have a respected American aviator who is an expert, this would help the investigation a great deal,” said the Chinese general. “We would be most enlightened. And things would be done in a cooperative ma

That was the Chinese way—investigations were cooperative, not antagonistic. But the world Zen operated in was much more the latter.

“Do not answer now. Think about it, please.” Zongchen rose. “It would add a great deal of integrity to the process.”

“What was that about?” asked Jason, returning with the now superfluous chair when Zongchen had left.

“He wants me to join the investigation.”

“Really? How would that work?”

“I doubt very well,” said Zen, picking at his octopus.

Two hours later Zen was getting ready to spend the rest of the evening in bed watching whatever Sicilian television had to offer when his cell phone rang. He picked it up and saw that the exchange was a familiar one.

He slid his thumb across the screen and said hello to the President’s operator.

“Please stand by for the President, Senator Stockard.”

Zen considered a joke about his inability to stand, but decided the poor secretary had enough to do without fending off his humor. President Christine Todd came on the line a few moments later.

“How is the weather in Italy, Jeff?” the President asked.

“Weather’s fine. How’s Washington?”

“Stormy as ever.”

While they were members of the same political party, Zen and the President had never gotten along particularly well. Their relationship had always been a bit of a puzzle, not just to them but to those around them; philosophically, they weren’t all that different, and certainly on the gravest national issues they thought very similarly. But their styles clashed—Zen was laid back and easygoing; the President was all calculation.

At least in his view.

“Let me get to the point,” said Todd. “I know you’ve been briefed on the accident in Libya today.”

“Somewhat.”

“The UN General Assembly is going to call for an investigation. They’re going to name a former Chinese air force general to head it.”

“Zongchen,” answered Zen. “Yes, I know him quite well.”

“Good.” The president paused. “I’d like you to be on the committee.”

“Won’t that be a little awkward?”

“How so?”

“For one thing, it involved airplanes that are under my wife’s department.”

“Actually, no,” said the President. “They were assigned to the Air Force. In fact, your wife is not at all involved in the chain of command there.”

Zen leaned his head back in his chair. What exactly was she up to?

“I think most people would see my involvement as a conflict of interest,” he said finally. “I mean, Whiplash—”

“First of all, I’d prefer that Whiplash not be mentioned if at all possible. And secondly, I want a full investigation by someone I trust to give me all of the facts. If we did this, and it does look like we’re the ones responsible, there’s no sense denying it. Therefore, I want someone who knows what he’s talking about giving me advice on how to fix it.”