Fallout Read online

  Now he had to tell her that all their plans were being turned upside down.

  “You’re home,” Katherine said from behind him, surprising him.

  “Hey,” he said. He turned to see her. She looked terrible. Her face was drawn and pale, and her long blond hair was more disheveled than usual. She was dressed in a business suit, but she looked as if she’d been camping. “How you doing?”

  She stood next to him and put her head down on her arm on the counter. “Sick.”

  “Flu?”

  “No,” she said.

  He frowned.

  “You sitting down?” she replied.

  He looked at the stool on which he was obviously sitting. “Looks like it.”

  “Morning sickness.”

  He stood and stared at her, openmouthed. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” she said, trying to smile. “I did the test after you left this morning. I got dressed and tried to get to the airport and just lay on the bed. I couldn’t make it.”

  Luke put his arm around her. “That’s unbelievable!” he said, groping for exactly the right words but coming up short. He hugged her.

  “Nothing will be the same now,” she replied. She looked at his face closely for the first time and saw something there. “What’s wrong?”

  “I got the board results today.” He sat again.

  “What did they say?” she said, sitting on the stool next to his.

  “Gun’s going to put a letter in my jacket.”

  She knew exactly what that meant. His commanding officer would put a letter, in his personnel file, that would say he’d been found wanting in the evaluation conducted of him relating to an accident. She also knew that no one had a great career in naval aviation after such a letter. It was as effective as a court-martial.

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t exercise enough ‘judgment’ or ‘leadership.’ The accident wasn’t my fault, but if I had exercised sufficient leadership, I could have avoided it. Believe that?”

  “But what could you have done?”

  “They say by trying to bank to the right instead of pushing the nose over I caused my left wing to go up and hit Mink’s. I should have just pushed over and headed down. I could have avoided the whole thing. But more important, we shouldn’t have been doing a photo op on the way back from the graduation hop.”

  She shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, Luke. That’s just wrong.”

  “I’ve got to get out.”

  “That’s completely unfair. Can’t you appeal it?”

  “Probably some way, but nobody’s going to overturn a CO. It’s just his thing.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She pushed her hair away from her pale face. “So now what? Airlines?”

  Luke rolled his eyes and shook his head as he stood and put his empty beer bottle on the counter next to the sink. “I’d rather cut myself with glass than fly around in a cylinder the size of a submarine. That’s not even flying.” He thought about it again, as he had several times during the day since hearing the result of the board, knowing it was what he would end up doing. “If I get out now, I’ll never fly fast jets again.”

  “You could fly in the reserves.”

  “Not with a letter in my jacket. They’d treat me like a leper—if they let me in at all.”

  “We could move to the Bay Area and live off my income. You could be a kept man,” she said, trying to smile.

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m sure you could find a job in Silicon Valley. You’re an EE. If you could stagger in the door of a few high-tech firms, you’d have fifty job offers in a day for three times what you’re making right now. Just post your résumé on the Internet at a couple of the bulletin boards and sit back and decide which job you want.”

  “You think I’d get my own cubicle?”

  “If you’re really lucky.” She got a glass of water out of the dispenser in the refrigerator door. “So what do you want to do? We always thought you’d stay in until you were old and gray. It was the only way I’d get you out of my hair occasionally. Now you’ll be home all the time. What will I do with you?”

  “I want to fly fast jets. Fighters. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

  “You just said there’s no way.”

  “Exactly.”

  She looked at him, not sure how to encourage him. She shrugged as she drank her water. “So that’s it? Your life’s over? You’ll be like Joe DiMaggio telling everybody about how great you used to be for the rest of your life? Maybe you could get a job with Mr. Coffee.”

  “Thanks for your support.”

  “Oh, I’m just kidding. Trying to lighten you up a little. Don’t worry, you’ll find something.”

  “There isn’t anything, Katherine. That’s the problem. I know all the jobs that are out there.”

  She looked at the sadness in his eyes. She’d never seen that before. “Do what they do in Silicon Valley.”

  “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 r
ules 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.

  5

  Luke w
alked 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.”