War of Eagles (28 page)

“He was a leader,” Hood replied. “It’s a tradition I will leave for presidents and prime ministers.”

“Not ambassadors or revolutionaries or even men of intrigue?” she pressed. Anita spoke the last words leaning toward Hood, as though they were sharing a secret.

Hood grinned. “There would be no intrigue, would there, if a man walked into a room and said, ‘My name is Bond. James Bond.’ Some things are best kept private.” He thought for a moment. “Though maybe there is one story I would consider telling.”

Anita brightened. “May I ask what that is?” She obviously felt that she had her in.

They had reached the corner. Hood stopped and faced the woman. Her face stood out sharply, remarkably against the misty glow of the streetlamps.

“It’s the story of my own daughter,” he said. “She was taken hostage a few years ago at the United Nations by rogue peacekeepers.”

“I remember that siege,” Anita said. “Your daughter was there?”

“Harleigh was performing music with a youth group,” Hood said. “She came out of it with severe post-traumatic stress and has worked very hard to regain her footing. A son’s accomplishments are invariably measured against those of the father, but a daughter’s courage and devotion stand alone.”

Anita smirked. “That may be a first, Mr. Hood.”

“What is?”

“It’s the first compliment I have heard about a woman’s character that I would consider sexist,” she said.

“It is not meant to be,” Hood said.

“You would have to convince me of that,” she said. The challenging tone from the reception was returning.

“Are you familiar with the American dancer Fred Astaire?” Hood asked.

“From films?”

Hood nodded.

“Yes,” Anita said. “That is an odd question.”

“Not at all. He is considered the finest ballroom dancer of his generation,” Hood told her. “He had a partner, Ginger Rogers. She did everything he did but in high heels and backward. It is not sexist to say that women have to work harder than men, and that they possess—or have developed—a different set of physical, emotional, and psychological skills in order to do that.”

“You make us sound freakish.”

“I’m saying that you are special,” Hood said.

“In context, there is no distinction,” she charged.

“I believe there is,” Hood said. “Most women are a little scary to men. I think your father would agree.”

“You think I
frighten
him?” she asked with a trace of annoyance.

“Not you, Anita. I meant in general. Your father obviously loves and trusts you a great deal.”

Anita was frowning and silent. Hood could see her trying to determine whether his observation was calculated or innocent. He had meant it as a bit of a dig—perhaps carelessly, in retrospect—and he did not want her going back angry. Her father would not be happy about that.

Hood nodded toward the canopy. “We should go back. Your father is a fascinating man, and I want to hear what he has to say.”

That was not an invitation Anita could resist. The couple turned and walked back in silence. Hood was relatively certain that he had achieved his goal. He had stymied Anita’s mission, and he did not think she would go into detail with the prime minister. Le probably would not approve of his daughter having been distracted by a feminist debate. He might not be surprised, Hood suspected, but the prime minister would not be pleased.

Now that he had a chance to think about it, Hood was not too happy with all of that either. Until he had said it, Hood had never articulated the idea that he found women to be scary. From confronting Nancy Jo way back when to dealing with the romantic workplace tensions with Ann Farris to his talk with General Carrie, he had not been as comfortable as he was saving the world alongside Mike Rodgers and Bob Herbert. But that was something he would have to consider another time.

Unlike Anita, Hood did not want to be distracted from his mission. The idea that a nuclear-powered satellite could be blown up was pretty scary, too.

Loyalty. In the end, that was the one irreducible value of life. It defined one’s sense of honor and priority, of sacrifice and industry. The only question the individual had to decide was to whom—or what—loyalty should be given.

General Carrie spoke with Bob Herbert as she scrolled through her E-mail. The intelligence chief had no new information from China. He was frustrated by that fact and complained that Op-Center had no senior-level executive over there representing their interests.

“Just two former bosses, both of whom have their own agendas,” he said.

“I am working on the problem,” she assured him.

“How?” Herbert said. “We don’t have the money.” He sounded irritable and distracted.

“Let me worry about that,” she replied.

There was nothing in her mailbox that needed immediate attention.

Not yet. Op-Center needed a makeover of personnel
and
procedures, both of which she would begin today. Since she had the time, Carrie asked Liz to come and see her. Profiling the entire team before contemplating cuts and reassignments was her priority.

The psychologist had just walked in when the phone beeped. The general motioned for her to shut the door behind her, then gestured to an armchair. The call was a surprise. It was from Mike Rodgers. The phone ID said that the general was calling from China.

“It’s a pleasure to speak with you, General Rodgers,” Carrie said.

“Likewise, General Carrie. Congratulations on your promotion and the move to Op-Center.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Are you in Beijing for the launch?”

“Yes, though I won’t be going to the Xichang space center. I just spoke with Paul. He’s going to be Washington’s unofficial representative.”

“What will he be doing?” Carrie asked.

“I am not sure,” Rodgers admitted. “The game plan seems to be to stay close to Prime Minister Le, to watch and see what those around him are doing and who is not present.”

“The von Stauffenburg scenario,” she said.

Rodgers agreed. That was a name given to any plan to cause a catastrophic event to one’s own team. Colonel Claus von Stauffenburg was the German officer who placed a briefcase with a bomb under a conference table at Hitler’s command post in Rastenburg, East Prussia. After triggering the timed explosive, Stauffenburg left. The heavy table saved Hitler’s life when the explosive detonated. Stauffenburg was arrested and executed. Obviously, if an officer or government minister were planning to cause the Unexus rocket to explode, he would not be anywhere in the neighborhood of the blast.

“What will you be doing, then?” Carrie asked.

“That’s the reason I’m calling,” Rodgers said. “Bob Herbert told me there is a field team. I would like to borrow it.”

Carrie was not pleased that Rodgers knew, but she was not surprised, either. It underscored one of the strengths and drawbacks of Paul Hood’s tenure here. His people were more devoted to one another than they were to the organization. That would have to stop.

“For what purpose?” Carrie asked.

“Paul Hood is going there to watch people,” he said. “I want someone watching the rocket and the payload.”

“What makes you think the Chinese would agree to let outsiders near the hardware?” Carrie said. “Isn’t that what Le is worried about?”

“My Unexus tech people can talk to the Chinese tech people,” Rodgers said. “We can try to get private security in openly or off the books. I’d prefer the latter, just to maintain surprise, and I think I can sell that to some of the chief scientists.”

“If Le found out, they could lose their jobs.”

“The only way Le will find out about a covert ops team is if something goes wrong and your guys save his butt,” Rodgers said. “Even if the science team leaders are dismissed as a result, it is better than the alternative.”

Rodgers had a point, and it spoke to a different kind of loyalty: that of the Chinese scientists to their mission. Their allegiance was not to individuals or to a nation but to the hardware, to the science. Carrie could not decide whether that was enlightened or provincial.

She took a moment to consider the ramifications for the United States. Her marines had gone to China to be ready for this kind of mission. But the prep time for the Xichang operation would be distressingly brief. If they undertook what Rodgers proposed and were discovered—especially if their operation failed—her career would be over. Carrie quickly put that thought aside.

Loyalty,
she reminded herself.

The general was not serving in this office to practice loyalty to Morgan Carrie. She was here to do what was best for America and Op-Center. In that order. A failed mission could hurt the NCMC and result in her dismissal. It would cause the Congressional Intelligence Oversight Committee to impose stricter controls on Op-Center, at least cosmetically. But most important, what was the downside for the nation? Risking American lives to help protect a Chinese launch was a no-lose situation. They would not be accused of spying. Not with Hood there as an invited guest. Not with technology that was provided by the West. The upside was a historic first, a demonstration that American intelligence could be used to help other nations.

Perhaps it was also kismet. Hood had made his reputation at Op-Center by boldly preventing an attack against an American space mission. General Carrie could do the same.

“Here’s the deal,” Carrie said. “If you demonstrate that my team can get in and out of the facility, I will give you a go. But I want the names of the sympathetic scientists in time to run a background check. I want to know how you intend to get them to the facility. I want to know how you’re going to get them in and then out of the facility. If there are security cameras, their faces will be on file. We will have to pull them, whether they act or not.”

“I plan to move them in by truck, with other scientists,” Rodgers said. “No security cameras.”

“Most important is the exit strategy,” Carrie said. “If they are forced to act, you will need to get them to safety until everything is sorted out. We cannot have them arrested, held, and interrogated.”

“Paul Hood can help with that, if you have no objections.”

“I do not,” she replied. “But if the numbers fall too far short of one hundred percent, I will not authorize this.”

Rodgers told her he understood. Carrie hung up and regarded Liz. There was something different about her. Carrie saw at once what it was. The psychologist had not been wearing lipstick the day before. She was now.

“Did you know that our late political liaison had a nickname for this place?” Liz asked.

“That would be Martha Mackall?”

“Correct.”

“No,” Carrie said. “What did Martha call it?”

“OTS-Center,” Liz told her. “It stood for zero to sixty. Nothing in crisis management ever accelerates slowly.”

“It’s just a different avatar of national defense,” Carrie said.

“How so?”

“Intelligence work is action of the mind, crisis management is action of the hands,” Carrie told her. “One of the reasons I am here is to make sure said defense is an action of one well-trained and fully integrated body.”

Liz considered that in silence. Something in her eyes said she approved.

“You heard what transpired,” Carrie went on. “We have talked about other former employees. What is your impression of General Rodgers?”

“Mike Rodgers is a bulldog with a high percentage of bottom-line success in the field,” Liz told her.

“Is that a spin doctor way of saying, ‘Pyrrhic victory?’ ” Carrie asked.

Liz laughed. “Maybe.”

“From everything I’ve read, Mike Rodgers is like Ulysses S. Grant,” Carrie said. “The Union won battles because he kept throwing men and ordnance at the enemy until they caved. Compared to Robert E. Lee, Grant’s losses were always improportionately high.”

“Mike’s units do take casualties,” Liz admitted. “In his defense, he rarely had more than the duration of a plane flight to prepare and often with limited intelligence. Yet he always found a way to get to the end zone.”

“This time will be different,” Carrie said. “Op-Center needs human intelligence operatives on the ground in potentially hostile nations. If Rodgers is going to borrow my team, I want to see a game plan that is more Lee than Grant.” Carrie ended the conversation by opening the staff dossier on her computer. “There is just one person we have not yet talked about,” the general said. “My psych officer. Are you ready and able to take on increased responsibilities in profiling and forensic projections about the mental health of my team?”

Liz started slightly. The psychologist obviously did not expect the attention or the question.

“General, I have been waiting years for a director of Op-Center to ask for my input and mean it,” Liz said. “I would be happy to be more fully integrated with NCMC command and its missions.”

“NCMC command meaning this office?”

“If you are asking the extent to which analyst-patient privilege applies—”

“I am asking whether you will implement without question any and all projects not expressly forbidden by the chartered mandate of the NCMC.”

“ ‘Not expressly forbidden,’ ” Liz said. “Interesting choice of words.”

“These are interesting times,” Carrie replied.

“I never do anything without question,” Liz said. She smiled. “But my questions are only meant to stimulate discussion. You’re the boss.”

“Very good,” Carrie said. She closed Liz Gordon’s file and opened two others side by side. “Then let’s talk about Bob Herbert and Darrell McCaskey. I will want you to watch them closely over the next few hours. I want to know how they are handling the demands of this Chinese project. Whatever Rodgers comes back with in terms of a plan, this is a good way for me to see how the team functions under pressure.”