Collateral Damage by Dale Brown Read Free Book Online

You’ve done our country, and this administration, a world of good. I know it’s a lot to ask. But I think we need someone of your caliber on the oversight committee. You weren’t involved in the operation, but you know as much about unmanned fighters as anyone in the world who’s not directly involved.”
    â€œI know a lot about the Flighthawks,” he told her. “Sabres are different beasts.”
    â€œThink it over. Please, Senator.”
    â€œI will.”
    â€œBest to your family.”
    Zen had no sooner hung up than there was a knock at his door.
    â€œCome on in,” he said, thinking it was Jason.
    The second knock told him that it wasn’t—Jason had a key. But now he had announced that he was there, and couldn’t pretend not to be there.
    â€œWho is it?” Zen asked.
    â€œMina Toumi, from al Jazeera news service,” answered a woman. “I would like to ask a few questions, Senator.”
    â€œI’m in my pajamas.”
    â€œIt will only take a minute. And I don’t have a camera, only a voice recorder.”
    Al Jazeera—the Islamic news service based in the Middle East—had been generally favorable to the uprising. But he knew that didn’t make any difference now. He didn’t know what she wanted to talk about, but he could easily guess.
    Was there a way to duck out?
    â€œGive me a second to get my robe.”
    Zen fussed with his robe, pulling it tight. Then he realized that he really ought to have a witness—he sent a text to Jason and told him to come over to his room ASAP.
    He rolled to the door, unlocked it, then moved back in the corridor.
    â€œIt’s open,” he said.
    A young woman pushed open the door shyly. She was pretty—and young.
    â€œI am sorry to bother you, Senator Stockard. I wanted a few questions about the incident.”
    â€œIs that a French accent?” asked Zen.
    â€œMy mother was from Lyon,” she said. She was standing in the doorway.
    â€œTell you what—maybe I should get dressed and we can go somewhere a little more comfortable downstairs,” said Zen, feeling very awkward in his robe.
    â€œOh.”
    â€œCould you just wait in the hall a moment? It won’t take too long.”
    She stepped back. Zen rolled himself inside and grabbed his clothes. A few minutes later Jason knocked on the door.
    â€œSenator?”
    â€œHang tight, Jay. Say hello to Ms.—”
    â€œToumi,” she said.
    Zen dressed as quickly as he could. When he came out of the room, Jason and Mina Toumi were standing awkwardly on opposite walls, staring down at the carpet. For just a moment Zen forgot that the woman was a reporter—they looked like they would make a fine couple.
    â€œSenator Stockard, thank you for your time,” said Toumi. She pulled out a voice recorder and held it toward him.
    â€œLet’s go downstairs where we can have a little more privacy. And you can sit down.” He started wheeling himself toward the elevator.
    â€œI didn’t know . . .”
    Zen glanced at her and guessed what the problem was.
    â€œYou didn’t know I was in a wheelchair?” he asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYup. For a long time.” He spun himself around and hit the button for the car. “It was during a flight accident. A plane went left when it was supposed to go right. They tell me I’m lucky to be alive.”
    â€œBut, I heard you were an ace—”
    â€œAn ace?” He laughed. “Oh. Yes, I guess I am.”
    â€œAn ace pilot,” she said. “That you had been, before you were elected.”
    â€œSenator Stockard is an ace,” said Jason, finally finding his voice, albeit a little awkwardly. “Certified.”
    â€œJason’s my flack,” joked Zen, using an old term for a press agent.
    She didn’t understand. “You need a nurse?”
    â€œI’m not a nurse,” blurted Jason.