The Threat

But he didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it. Work sucked him into its vortex. He read interagency approvals. He spent a lot of time on the phone. Meilhamer told him to go to all the meetings he could, to get his face known. Sounded reasonable, but sometimes Dan wondered if his assistant preferred to have him out of the office. He’d gone to a session of the Iraq working group, which discussed Saddam’s defiance of the inspection regime. When an attendee from Commerce had questioned the embargo, Dan had been able to make some points about its effectiveness, based on his time in the Red Sea and the Gulf.

This afternoon he was due at the National Photographic Interpretation Center. For something that close, he took the Metro, a three-block walk through downtown to the Farragut West station. When he got off at the Navy Yard stop it was another two blocks to the west gate. The last time he’d lived in D.C., this had been a dangerous section. Now it showed signs of gentrification.

A CIA counternarcotics specialist asked the attendees not to make notes, then began explaining how multispectrum overhead imagery could do crop estimates in Peru. Find individual pot plants in national forests. Show upturned faces on a boat being loaded at a Guajira pier. Unfortunately, it was less useful above triple-canopy jungle, where the processing took place. What Dan found interesting was the ability to eavesdrop on phone calls. The briefer said if assets were requested in advance, and the environment was radio frequency — quiet, they could provide real-time relay of cell conversations. “Given, of course, that they’re not scrambled,” he added. “And that this administration doesn’t cut the program, along with the rest of our high-technology assets they’re throwing out.”

Dan raised his hand. “We can’t decode?”

“Year before last we could. Now companies are marketing systems we can’t break.”

When the brief was over he checked his watch. He’d already told Meilhamer he wouldn’t be back in the office. He had an appointment out in Fairfax. One he’d made weeks before, and wasn’t about to break.

* * *

“Dad! Over here!”

His daughter leaped and waved in front of a new-looking redbrick dorm. Her legs were brown in shorts. He swallowed, dizzied by how much she looked like her mother.

Nan gave him a quick hug. Said into his ear, “Boy, Dad, I almost didn’t recognize you out of uniform.”

He tried to smile. “They don’t like ’em where I work.”

“The White House, right? My roommate was so impressed.”

Strolling around a huge lawn where the students were tossing Frisbees or lying together on blankets, she told him about her courses. She didn’t have to decide till sophomore year, but thought she’d try for a bachelor’s in life sciences and maybe a master’s in molecular medicine.

“Holy smoke,” he said. “Molecular medicine?”

“I know, but they’ve got a world-class biotechnology program.” She wanted to take economics and Japanese too. She was already on the tennis team. Did he want to play a game? He said he was out of practice, hadn’t brought his racket. Instead he proposed a snack at a café overlooking the campus. “So, what’s new with your mom?”

“She’s the dean now. She does yoga these days. Says it helps with the stress.”

“I can imagine. How’s Ted?”

“Oh, the same. How’s Blair?”

“She’s good. Really busy, but we’ll take you out to dinner. The Four Seasons, maybe.”

“So who’s more important, her or you?”

He had to grin. “She swings a lot more weight in this town than a Navy commander.”

“You know, I met a guy from the Navy once. In an airport. I asked him if he knew you. He said everybody did. You were a … what did he call you … a warfighter. Like, you’d really done stuff. Dangerous stuff.”

“Most people don’t have that positive an opinion.”

“He said you got the Medal of Honor. You never told me that.”

He looked away. “It’s not something you make a big deal about, Punkin.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“Because the guys who really deserved it didn’t make it out.”

“Didn’t make it out of where?”

“The Middle East. Actually Iraq.”

“And, what — you don’t deserve it, because these other guys got killed?”

He remembered a man’s head on fire, and closed his eyes. “Right.”

She reached across the table for his hand. “Oh, Dad … I know I was a brat sometimes growing up. I was mad at you for not being around. Hearing stuff from Mom didn’t help. You know, what an asshole you were. But you know what? I never quit loving you. And I’m proud of you, for not drinking anymore, and I like Blair, and … anyway, thanks. For not giving up. On me, or anything else.”

“Your mom’s a good person, Punkin. We just couldn’t get along.”

“Want to know a secret? That’s why I picked this school. To be near you.”

“Are you serious?” he said. “That’s great. That’s really great.”

“I thought we could do something together. Go sailing or something … I’ve never been on a boat.”

“I know a guy in Annapolis who runs charters. Pick a weekend.”

“Oh, look! There’re my friends. Over here!”