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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