“You know what I mean,” said Hunter. “Were they trying to snatch our gal, or was this guy really trying to defect?”

“I didn’t get a chance to ask.”

“No screwing around here, Fisher. The President wants to know.”

“I’m not sure,” said Fisher. “If I didn’t think he was real, I wouldn’t have gone in the first place.” He blew a smoke ring toward the car dashboard.

“People’s lives are on the line here,” said Hunter. “And my reputation.”

“Is that another question?”

“I’m asking you again: Was he real?”

“I think so. But maybe you ought to tell me what answer you want so I get it right.”

Hunter hung up.

Chapter 7

HELLO AMANDA

I ASK AGAIN FOR HELP. AT LEAST ONE WEAPON SOLD. I HAVE INFORMATION.

PLEASE.

ANSWER.

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Chapter 8

Howe celebrated his decision by walking against a brisk late-winter wind to Washington ’s Chinatown section and having lunch. He even gamely tried eating with chopsticks, though he soon gave that up in favor of tried-and-true Western utensils. After lunch he headed back across the mall to the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, studying the World War I-era aircraft and just wandering in general through the vast halls of the museum. A new computer simulation booth had been set up, allowing visitors to practice their skill in simulated World War II dogfights. Howe blasted a Focke-Wulf 190 out of the sky with a Hurricane-no mean feat-but had a much harder time against the V-1 buzz bombs, pilotless terror weapons used by Germany at the end of the war. The trick was to fly next to them, then tip them off course with your wing. Howe gave up his spot to a twelve-year-old after several unsuccessful tries; the kid upended the V-1 on the first try.

The visit to aviation’s past made him feel as if he had let go of his own, and he arrived back at his hotel in good spirits, deciding to have one last meal in town at an expensive restaurant before leaving in the morning. He got into the elevator and held it open for a young mother and her child; the doors had nearly closed when a man in a blue pin-striped suit stuck his hand in, leveraging them back. The man leaned over and punched the button for Howe’s floor-seventeen-even though it was lit.

The child in the elevator looked to be about two. Spit dribbled from his mouth. As his mother bent to wipe it, Howe noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. For a moment he fantasized about striking up a conversation and inviting her to dinner.

The elevator stopped before he could think of anything to say. Howe reached to hold the door open for her; his gallantry earned him a smile from the woman, but he remained tongue-tied as the doors closed.

“Pretty,” said the other man.

“Oh, yeah,” said Howe.

“Instant family, though. Not for you.”

Howe turned to him.

“My name is Jake Elder. I’m with the Pentagon,” said the man. “Some people with the chief of staff want to talk to you about an aircraft you’re familiar with, and they sent me to get you.”

“What aircraft?” said Howe.

“Actually, I don’t know,” said Elder. “I think the nature of what they want to talk to you about requires compartmentalization. An Army major by the name of Tyler sent me,” added Elder. “He said you’d know him.”

The door to the elevator opened on Howe’s floor. Neither man moved to get out.

“He also said to make sure you knew this was strictly voluntary,” said Elder.

“All right,” Howe said. “Take me to him.”

Tyler met him in the Pentagon lobby, zipping him through security and filling him in as they walked upstairs to a suite of planning rooms.

“We were talking about Korea and your name came up,” said the major. “I thought I’d take a chance that you were still around.”

“I haven’t been in Korea since I was a lieutenant,” said Howe.

“It wasn’t really about your experience there.”

Tyler explained that he was working with a task force developing plans to target various North Korean advanced-weapons development sites in case of a war, facilities that might be difficult to bomb or worthy of study before being destroyed. The task force included CIA, DIA, and intelligence people.