SOAR: A Black Ops Novel

She’d sat on the flight to Frankfurt in a stupor. She had hardly spoken to Ritzik. Well, there was a reason for that: he was remote, withdrawn, distant. Zoning, she’d felt, in his own thoughts. She was uneasy with him, too, and had trouble making small talk. It didn’t help that he had been very specific that he wasn’t going to talk about his job, her job, the past few hours’ events, or their impending business in public. So, in the first few minutes of the flight she tried broaching one or two safe subjects, like the weather, and Washington’s perpetual gridlock, and the problems of traveling in the post-9/11 security milieu. But after a few seconds of inane monologue she lapsed into embarrassed silence in much the way she did on the infrequent but always uncomfortable blind dates well-meaning friends arranged for her.

In any case it hadn’t mattered: within half an hour after they’d departed Dulles, Ritzik was asleep. And he didn’t wake up until they were on the ground in Frankfurt. He’d pulled the same damn routine on their flight to Almaty, while she’d sat wide-awake, unable to get any rest.

It was, she thought, bizarre how crises brought disparate personalities together. No one in her household spoke Chinese. She’d grown up in Westwood, a fashionable, upperclass Los Angeles neighborhood that adjoined the UCLA campus. She’d gone to Catholic schools. Her father, Henry, was a third-generation American, a senior partner at Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher, & Flom, a huge downtown law firm, where he represented multinational corporations. Her mother, Sybil, was a Shaker Heights aristocrat with a Harvard Ph.D. who taught art history at Marymount College. Not a single one of Wei-Liu’s friends or classmates had entered the military. For young men and women of her upperclass background, it wasn’t seen as a viable option.

Ritzik was from a different planet — West Point. She had no idea how to read the man. He was bright — that was obvious — and attractive, in a compact sort of way. But who he was and what he did were totally foreign to her. Because, when you came right down to it, he killed people for a living. Equally astonishing, he spoke about his vocation without apology or euphemisms. Ritzik didn’t talk about “neutralizing,” or “getting rid of the bad guys,” or any other politically correct term. Back in the national security adviser’s office he’d said point-blank he was going to kill the terrorists — kill every one of them — in order to give her the opportunity to do her job and render the MADM safe.

Later, on the plane, watching him sleep, she realized that what had shocked her most was that she’d found his bluntness reassuring.

* * *

“We will wait for the others on the military side of the field.” Talgat Umarov’s thick accent interrupted Wei-Liu’s thoughts. The Kazakh said, “I have shashlik and fresh cucumber for you and good hot sweet tea that will drain the pain of your long trip away.”

“Frankly,” Ritzik said, “before you feed us, Talgat, I figure Miss Wei-Liu would like to freshen up a bit. I know I’d like to get out of these clothes.” He fingered his blue suit and wrinkled shirt as if they were contaminated. “I’ve been in them for two days now and I’m beginning to get pretty ripe.”

The Kazakh’s face fell as he turned to Wei-Liu. “I am apologetic for my behavior, Miss Wei-Liu. You have been traveling long and hard. I am pleased to offer you my meager hospitality.”

“I am sure it is anything but meager, Colonel,” Wei-Liu said.

“This Miss Wei-Liu is a seasoned diplomat, I see.” The Kazakh roared with laughter. “So she must work for your State Department.” When he did not receive a direct answer, he punched Ritzik’s upper arm hard enough to make it numb. “No matter. We have uniforms that will suit you — and even hot water, too. You will look good as a Kazakh officer, my brother. Maybe it will fit so well, you will decide to stay, God willing.”

“Are you asking me to defect, Talgat?”

“There is always that hope, God willing.” The Kazakh laughed. “My brother-in-law has a cousin who has an unmarried sister-in-law who is a beautiful gem of a woman. I have seen her and can vouch for it. She would bear you many sons, Michael. You would make a good life here.”

Ritzik’s face flushed. “I am grateful for the offer,” he said. “But I am married to my job.”

“As am I,” Umarov said. “As are all soldiers. Still, if there is time perhaps we will pay my brother-in-law’s cousin’s sister-in-law’s parents a visit anyway.” Umarov opened the front passenger door of the vehicle and held it for Wei-Liu. “Marhamet—please, miss.”

Wei-Liu climbed in. “Thank you, Colonel.”

“It is nothing.” He slapped the door shut behind her, walked around the flat hood, and slid behind the wheel. He waited until Ritzik climbed in, then stepped on the starter button.

Ritzik said, “How’s the baby?” He glanced toward Wei-Liu. “Talgat and his wife, Kadisha, just had a son.”

“Congratulations. What’s his name?”