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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