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returning with the now superfluous chair when Zongchen had left.
    â€œHe wants me to join the investigation.”
    â€œReally? How would that work?”
    â€œI doubt very well,” said Zen, picking at his octopus.
    T wo 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.
    â€œPlease 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.
    â€œHow is the weather in Italy, Jeff?” the President asked.
    â€œWeather’s fine. How’s Washington?”
    â€œStormy 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.
    â€œLet me get to the point,” said Todd. “I know you’ve been briefed on the accident in Libya today.”
    â€œSomewhat.”
    â€œThe UN General Assembly is going to call for an investigation. They’re going to name a former Chinese air force general to head it.”
    â€œZongchen,” answered Zen. “Yes, I know him quite well.”
    â€œGood.” The president paused. “I’d like you to be on the committee.”
    â€œWon’t that be a little awkward?”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œFor one thing, it involved airplanes that are under my wife’s department.”
    â€œActually, 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?
    â€œI think most people would see my involvement as a conflict of interest,” he said finally. “I mean, Whiplash—”
    â€œFirst 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.”
    â€œStill, some people might expect a cover-up,” said Zen. “People inside the government would know—”
    â€œThis isn’t a cover-up. On the contrary—we’ll have full disclosure. I’m going to give a press conference in a few hours. I want a thorough investigation. I want someone I can trust to do the right thing on the committee.”
    â€œThe right thing?”
    â€œMake sure that the committee is telling the truth,” said the President, her voice even blunter than usual. “You know this is going to be a propaganda bonanza, Jeff. At least if you’re there, I can trust some of the findings.”
    â€œOr be criticized for trying to hide them,” said Zen.
    â€œNo. People have a high opinion of you. Other leaders. And the general public. As well as myself.”
    â€œI’m sure there’s someone better.”
    â€œI’m not.”
    â€œLet me think it over,” said Zen, fully intending on putting her off.
    His voice must have made that obvious.
    â€œJeff, I know we’ve had a few personal difficulties in the past. I consider you my loyal opposition—and I mean that in a good sense.