Fallout (5 page)

“What’s that?”

“Just make it up. Figure out how you’d like it to be, then go out and make it so.”

“Thud, it’s Stick,” Luke said excitedly into the phone.

“Hey,” Thud replied. “What’s up?”

“Doing anything?”

“The usual.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“What for?”

“I’ve got an idea I’ve got to run by you.”

Thud hesitated for only a moment. He would do anything Luke asked. He knew it was reciprocal. He and Luke had formed a fast friendship when they’d met in the training command learning to fly jets. “Want me to come out to Rancho del Luko?”

Luke and Katherine lived in a house that he called a ranch five miles south of the air station. He could have lived in Navy officer housing just off the base, as Thud and most of the other TOPGUN instructors did, but he wanted more room. Ten acres, minimum, as he’d told the real estate agent when they started looking. Katherine had been too speechless to say anything. Compared to living in Palo Alto, it was like living on the moon, only affordable. Luke wanted space, and horses.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. And bring Michelle. I don’t want to leave Katherine by herself right now.”

“Why?”

“Morning sickness.”

“No shit! Is that what you want to talk about?”

“No, it’s something else.”

“This must be really good. I’ll be right there.”

The maître d’ handed the two men the large, stiff menus, which they took with the entitlement and ease that came from innumerable political dinners in Washington. One of them was constantly buying lunches or dinners, the other happily receiving them. Receiving them was a violation of the federal rules against accepting gratuities, but Thomas Merewether didn’t care anymore. He used to be scrupulous about it, but he was tired of eating at the Department of Defense cafeteria and McDonald’s. He loved good food but couldn’t afford much of it on his salary. He saw no harm in accepting a lunch now and then.

The other man was equally in love with the political lunch. The idea that he could have the attention of an Undersecretary of Defense for the cost of one lousy lunch was astonishing to him. In other countries where he had served, it would cost thousands of dollars in bribes and trips and mistresses just to get
access
to a highly placed government official, not to mention actual results. But in America, where there were so many rules against everything, getting an official across the line even slightly gave him tremendous power. Everyone knew when they’d crossed the line, and just by crossing the line it was as if they’d already sold you their souls.

Yushaf had known the Undersecretary for several months, since assuming his current position as chargé d’affaires at the Pakistani embassy. He had replaced a man who’d been too timid to make the necessary approaches to U.S. government officials. His predecessor had seen the rules as a hindrance. Yushaf saw them as levers he could use to manipulate people. But time was growing short. Certain forces in Pakistan were now demanding instant results. And demanding them in a way that made it clear that a failure to produce would be catastrophic. Exactly how was left unclear.

“Thank you for your willingness to spend some short amount of time with me, Mr. Undersecretary.”

“My pleasure,” Merewether replied. “Our countries have much in common.”

“Indeed. The United States has been so gracious in providing the weapons and defense systems necessary to protect Pakistan. There was a time, though—too long—when our countries distrusted each other. But when President Clinton honored us with a state visit and insisted on renewed ties, especially between our military—”

The waiter interrupted them. He wasn’t about to let them spend ten minutes on pleasantries.

Yushaf ordered a Perrier, and Merewether ordered a vodka on the rocks. They sat back with their menus, and Yushaf spoke. “But I got ahead of myself. How have you been, Thomas?”

Merewether planned to say the usual political thing, to say everything was fine, but recent developments had caused him not to care much anymore. He now derived a good deal of the pleasure he experienced in life by being completely direct and completely truthful, at least when that served his purposes. “Difficult. My wife—my
ex
-wife—has been pounding on me for more support.” He reached for the pack of cigarettes he always kept in his shirt pocket, forgetting that he’d decided again to quit that morning. “I’ve already given her everything I own. She has the house, I have the mortgage. I’m living in a shitty little apartment in Arlington.” His eyes crinkled into an ironic smile. “We used to be a two-income family with one house. Now we’re a one-income family with two houses. Well, one apartment, actually, like I said . . .” He shook his head. “Who cares . . .”

The waiter placed their drinks in front of them. “Are you ready to order?”

“I’ll have the roast beef,” Merewether said, handing his menu to the waiter.

“I’ll have the tomato salad and the swordfish,” Yushaf said. He returned his attention to Merewether. “It is your
life
, and I’m interested in your difficulties.” He took out a pack of cigarettes and handed it to Merewether with a gold lighter.

“So how’s it going with you? How’s your job?” Merewether asked.

Yushaf smiled falsely. “Actually, I am a little disappointed.”

Merewether looked up at him. “Why?”

“I thought we had an understanding.”

“About what?”

“We’re trying to make our military as good as it can be. As skilled as yours. I do not believe that the United States appreciates the threat that India poses to my country. We must have the best equipment, the best training, and be prepared to defend ourselves to have any hope of overcoming the Indian attack which could come any day. They have seven times our population and twenty times our land.”

“Shit, Yushaf, India isn’t going to
do
anything.”

Yushaf’s face clouded. “What about their ceaseless pursuit of nuclear weapons? Don’t get into an arms race, we were told. But you know what is worse than an arms race between two enemies? An arms race when only
one
country is building. India was building and building. And we could do nothing. Then, when they went public and tested, we had to do the same. And the U.S. came down on us and blamed us for being aggressive.” Yushaf smiled. “The Manhattan Project is fine for you when you
suspect
Germany may be trying to build nuclear weapons. But it is different in your eyes when India, a country ten times the size of Germany, threatens
us
with known nuclear weapons. We are somehow supposed to sit there and take it. But I’m sorry . . .”

“No, that’s okay. We deserve it. We’re pretty two-faced when it comes to nuclear policy.”

“But what I was saying is that I thought we had an understanding, you and I.” He paused and waited for Merewether to look at him. “You said you would help me get some of our pilots through your training. Your TOPGUN.”

Merewether tried not to roll his eyes. He’d heard this pitch before. He’d thrown Yushaf a bone and said he would try to get some Pakistani pilots into the next class that took foreigners. And he
had
asked. He’d been told it was impossible. “It is very difficult—”

“Of course it is difficult. That is why I asked you. You are in the right place to make it happen.”

“I’m not the Secretary of Defense—”

“Yes, but you
are
the Undersecretary of Defense. It is up to you if you wish to make it happen.”

Merewether stubbed out his cigarette on the bread plate. “It is
not
up to me—”

The waiter placed large white plates in front of them on the crisp linen tablecloth. They were silent until the waiter left the table. Merewether picked up one of the heavy silver forks and played with the spinach salad. He hated spinach.

Yushaf ate his tomatoes in the beautifully presented tomato salad with vinaigrette dressing. He was making great progress with Merewether. He could feel it. He cut one of the tomatoes and began speaking. “Another TOPGUN class has commenced since we last spoke.”

“How do you know that?” Merewether asked, annoyed.

“You serve a meal, but you don’t invite my country to the table.”

“Your country makes things difficult sometimes. You’re not always trusted.”

“We have had training from your military on many occasions. We have American-made weapons and airplanes, at least as many as you will allow us. We wish to follow in your footsteps in training and maintaining our forces. Yet we do not get the support of your military that other countries with the same commitment have. You do not allow us to defend ourselves.”

“Don’t get dramatic on me.”

“Why were our pilots not invited to this class?”

“There are too many American pilots waiting to get through. They don’t take foreign students at all.”

“Because we are a Muslim country, no doubt.”

“Oh, please. Don’t play that Islam crap with me—”

“Perhaps if we were a small Jewish state you would let us attend.”

“Where do you get that bullshit?”

“Israelis have graduated from TOPGUN. Do you deny it?”

“A long time ago.”

“No, it wasn’t. Are you saying it is impossible? It can never happen?”

“Never say never.”

Yushaf pressed. “When do you think I should start planning to have our pilots come to America?”

“Don’t
push
it,” Merewether said angrily.

“I am sorry,” Yushaf said, leaning back and putting down his fork. “I don’t mean to push.”

“Why is this so important to you?”

Yushaf backed off. “It’s just that I had heard about the class starting . . .”

“I’ll see what I can do. It won’t be easy.”

“If you are able to help my country, I would certainly do my best to help you as well.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

Yushaf looked innocent. “Meaning nothing. Meaning perhaps whenever you Americans want us to return the favor and train your pilots in Pakistan, we would be happy to accommodate that.”

Merewether smiled sarcastically. “I’m sure that would be just what they need.”

Yushaf glanced around. “I must get back to the office.” He stood and turned his back to the door so he was squarely facing Merewether and no one else could see his face. “Thank you for taking the time to share a meal with me. Please don’t forget my request. It can benefit both of us.”

“Right, whatever. See ya.” Merewether picked up the pack of cigarettes and the lighter. He lit another cigarette and placed the lighter down on the table. It was heavy. He picked it up and examined it. He looked at its bottom. It had an imprint: 18k. Merewether forced himself not to look around the restaurant as he slipped the lighter into his suit coat pocket.

Luke walked out onto the porch of their small house as the sun set in front of him over the western mountains. The collar of his gray fleece was turned up against the chill. He couldn’t see Thud yet. Luke still had the newspaper tucked under his arm, anxious to show it to Thud. He unfolded it and sat in one of the wooden chairs on the porch. He read the article again. He stared at the picture that accompanied it. He found himself sweating at the possibility that someone else had already thought of the idea. He felt as if he had to move on his plan within minutes or someone else would surely think of it and jump in front of him, someone better placed, with better contacts, and piles of money.

Katherine came out onto the porch and sat in the chair next to Luke’s. She leaned her head against the wooden backrest and put her feet up on Luke’s leg. “Is Thud coming?”

“Should be here any minute.”

“Think he’ll want to get out?”

“It’s hard to walk away from TOPGUN.”

She nodded and sighed. “The cool air feels good. I’ve been so hot lately.”

“It sure does.” He rubbed his hand on her leg. “How you feeling?”

“Okay.” She looked at him. “What do you think he’ll say?”

“I don’t know. It’ll probably sound desperate to him.”

“It is kind of . . . I don’t know . . .” she said, pulling her legs up under her. “Audacious.”

“Here comes Thud,” he said as he saw a battered Explorer turn into the long driveway.

Thud pulled up in front of the house and turned off his engine as the dust cloud settled around him. He stepped out and closed the door. Michelle got out on the other side. “Hey,” Thud said, seeing them on the porch.

They stood up and waited to greet him. “Hey.”

“How you feeling?” Thud asked Katherine.

“She was just worshiping the porcelain god again,” Luke said.

Katherine ignored him. “I’m okay. Getting better, I hope.”

“Michelle had it really bad with Quentin Junior, but she was okay with Alicia.” Thud walked up the steps. “I have a theory. It’s the sex of the kid.”

“I’ll have to see.”

“I don’t agree, by the way.” Michelle smiled.

Katherine hugged Michelle as she climbed the steps to the porch. “I’m so glad you came.”

“I had to. Luke made it sound important.”

“It is.”

“You’re not selling Amway or some shit, are you?” Thud asked, frowning.

“How did you know?” Luke said as they sat. “I was going to work up to it, but you broke the code right away.”

“Can I get you all anything?” Katherine asked.

“Let me get it,” Luke offered.

“No, I’ve got it. Anybody?”

“Coffee?” Thud inquired.

“Sounds great,” Michelle said.

“Sure,” Luke agreed.

“Coffee it is.” Katherine nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

“So what’s up?” Thud asked as he put his feet on the porch railing.

“Look at the sunset,” Luke said, gazing toward the distant mountains in the west.

Thud turned to his side and looked. “Why do you have to live out here in the boonies?”

“I grew up in the boonies, dude,” Luke replied. “I like to be able to see the sky. To see a hundred miles in every direction. I don’t do well when I wake up and walk outside and look at your ugly face next door every morning picking up a newspaper on the driveway in your pink bathrobe.”