Even then, the nationals could not always be trusted. Ramping up HUMINT operations also took time and ingenuity. In the interim, United States intelligence operations had assumed a posture similar to the Soviet approach of defending the homeland during World War II. They threw every available body at the problem in the hope of stopping it.
The men emerged from the elevator and went in separate directions along the oval corridor. As deputy director, Rodgers's office was located next to that of Paul Hood in the so-called executive wing. The only other office in that section was that of attorney Lowell Coffey III.
McCaskey, intelligence chief Bob Herbert, computer expert Matt Stoll, psychologist Liz Gordon, and political liaison Ron Plummer were in the operations corridor. That was where all the real work was done, according to Herbert.
When Rodgers passed Hood's office, Bugs Benet asked the general if he had a minute.
"Sure," Rodgers said. "What's up?"
"The chief wanted to talk to you," Bugs replied.
"All right. When?" Rodgers asked. Hood's door was rarely closed. It was closed now.
"He said you should go in when you got here," Bugs told him.
"Thanks," Rodgers said. He walked past Bugs's cubicle and knocked on Hood's door.
"It's open," Hood said.
Rodgers went in.
"Good morning," Hood said.
"Morning," Rodgers said.
Hood rose from behind his desk and gestured toward a leather sofa set against the inside wall. Rodgers walked over and sat. Hood shut the door, then joined Rodgers. His expression was curiously neutral. Hood was a diplomat, but he was usually open and empathetic. That helped people trust him, and that made him effective.
"Mind if I help myself to coffee?" Rodgers asked.
"No, of course not, Mike," Hood said. "Sorry I didn't offer. I've been preoccupied."
"I can tell," Rodgers said. He went to the coffeemaker on a small, triangular, teakwood corner table. "Want any?"
"No thanks. I've already had enough to float a horseshoe," Hood told him.
"What's going on?" Rodgers asked as he poured.
"I spoke with Senator Debenport this morning," Hood said. "He wants me to make deep cuts."
"More than the four percent we just gave him?"
"Much more," Hood told him. "Five times more."
"That's ridiculous," Rodgers said. He returned with his mug and took a sip. "You don't trim that kind of money. You amputate."
"I know," Hood said.
"How far from that figure can you move him?"
"He's not going to yield a dime," Hood said.
"Balls. Everything is negotiable."
"Not when you're a politician in the public eye," Hood said.
"I guess you would know."
"I do," Hood said. "People want to feel secure, and CIOC wants to give that to them in as showy a way as possible. That is where the money is needed."
Rodgers was starting to get a very uneasy feeling about the direction of this conversation. Hood was not asking questions; he was making statements, as though he were building a case.
"Anything that has a redundancy somewhere else in the intelligence system has to go," Hood went on.
"My field unit," Rodgers said.
"Yes, Mike."
There was something in Hood's voice that said he was not finished.
"And me?" Rodgers asked.
"They want me to merge the political office and deputy director's post," Hood told him.
"I see." Rodgers took a short swallow of black coffee. Then another.
"Ron Plummer is more qualified for my position than I am for his," he said. "When do you want me to clear out?"
"Mike, we need to talk about this "
"Talk to Liz Gordon. That's what she's here for."
"No, you and I need to work this out," Hood said. "I don't want our friendship to end."
The sentiment made Rodgers squirm. He was not sure why. "Look, don't worry about it. I'm probably overdue for a change. The army will reassign me. Or maybe I'll do something else."
"Maybe we can out source some of our intel or recon activities, work with you on scenarios for the crisis sims," Hood said.
"I'd rather look at other options," Rodgers replied.
"All right. But the offer stands."
"Was there an offer?" Rodgers asked. "I heard a 'maybe."
"It was an offer to try to find projects "
"Busywork, you mean," Rodgers said.
"No," Hood replied. "Assignments for a uniquely skilled intelligence professional."
Rodgers took a swallow of coffee and rose. He did not want to talk to Paul Hood right now. He had no doubt Hood fought to keep him. Perhaps he had even threatened to resign. But in the end, Hood chose to stay on and confront his "friend" with hard facts and cold efficiency. "When does the CIOC want me out of here?"
"Mike, no one wants you out of here," Hood said. "If they did, we would have done this when Striker was officially disbanded."
"Right," Rodgers said. "It's the position that's being eliminated not the man. I'd like to resign rather than being downsized. That has a little more dignity."
"Of course," Hood said.
"How long will Plummer need to take my post?"
"Two weeks?" Hood guessed.
"Fine," Rodgers said and turned to go.
"Mike "
"I'm okay," Rodgers said. "Really."
"I was going to say that it has been a privilege working with you."
Rodgers stopped. Screw this, he thought. He was a soldier, not a diplomat. He turned back. "Would it be a privilege to resign with me?" he asked.
"If I thought that would have changed Debenport's mind, I would have done it," Hood told him.
"As a maneuver," Rodgers said. "A tactic. What about standing shoulder-to-shoulder as a point of honor?"
"To me, falling on my sword would be vanity, not honor," Hood said. "It would be an act of surrender."
"Backing a friend and coworker?"
"In this case, yes," Hood said.
"Jesus," Rodgers said. "I'm glad I didn't have guys like you watching my ass in "Nam. I'd be under a pile of rocks somewhere."
"This isn't combat, Mike. It's politics. People fight with words and access. They don't die. They get marginalized, they get recycled, they regroup. It's the nature of the beast. Some people do it for ego, and some do it for principle. I took this job to serve the people of the United States. That is sacred to me. I won't give it up to make a dramatic statement. One that won't change a thing."
"Is that how you view loyalty, Paul? As a dramatic statement? Was I just being dramatic when I helped save your daughter in the UN takeover?"
"That's not fair," Hood said. "We've been in the line of fire for people we don't even know. We agreed to do that when we went to work here. We agreed to protect our nation and its interests."
"I don't need the sermon," Rodgers said. "I've served the country for my entire adult life."
"I know, which is why you should understand what it means to work for a government agency," Hood said. "Op-Center has this much in common with the military. We are impacted by political trends and public whim.
Whoever sits in this office has to work with whatever he is given. And with whatever is taken from him."
Rodgers shook his head. "That's what the Vichy collaborators did when they capitulated to the German invaders."
Hood's expression was no longer neutral. He winced, as though he had taken an uppercut square in the chin.
"I'm sorry," Rodgers said. "I did not mean to imply that you're a coward."
"I know," Hood said.
An uncomfortable quiet settled upon the room. Hood stood. He walked toward Rodgers and offered his hand. The general accepted it. There was surprising warmth in Hood's handshake.
"If you need anything, let me know," Hood said. "Or you can talk to Bob, if you prefer."
"I'll talk to you," Rodgers said.
"Good." Hood held on to Rodgers's hand. "Mike, I need you to believe something. This place cost me my family. If it costs me your friendship, I'm going to have to live with that. If it costs me your respect, I'm going to have to live with that, too. But I want you to know that leaving here would have been easier than what I just did. You talked about loyalty. I did what I believe was right for Op-Center, not what was convenient or comfortable or even best for me."
"I believe you, Paul," Rodgers said. "I just don't agree with you."
"Fair enough," Hood said. "But you need to know this, too. If there were a resistance movement fighting the CIOC, I would join it."
"We can start one," Rodgers said. "I'll have some free time."
"I doubt that," Hood said.
"We'll see," Rodgers said and withdrew his hand. He felt much better having taken a swing at Hood's piety. He saw the man's point, but he still did not agree with it. Friends stood by friends. Period.
Rodgers left and went to his own office. Or rather, Ron Plummer's office. He already felt uncomfortable here, like a noncom cleaning out the locker of a dead soldier. He forced himself to look beyond this, to the meeting with Senator Orr and whatever lay ahead.
A little anarchy, Rodgers hoped.
He was in the mood.
SEVEN
Washington, B.C. Monday, 9:27 a.m.
Hood was about to buzz Ron Plummer when his outside line beeped. He glanced at the Caller ID. It was his former wife. He did not feel like talking to her now. The conversations were usually difficult.
Sharon was still bitter because he had not been around very much since they moved to Washington. Hood was angry because she had not supported the work he was doing at Op-Center. But none of that mattered. The call could be about the kids.
"Good morning, Sharon," Hood said when he picked up the phone. He tried to sound pleasant.
"Hi, Paul. Do you have a minute?"
"Sure," he said. Sharon sounded unusually relaxed.
"I need a favor," she said. "You met my friend Jim Hunt."
"The caterer."
"The home party restaurateur, yes," she said.
Hunt was someone Sharon had known for years, dating back to when she had her own cooking show. They used to have an occasional lunch together. Now the kids told him they were having frequent dinners together.
"His son Franklin will be studying poli-sci at Georgetown in the fall,"
Sharon went on. "The school will give him college credit if he interns in a political institution over the summer. Is there anything he might be able to do at Op-Center? He's a very sharp young man, Paul."
Hood's former wife, who had always resented the hours he spent at Op-Center, was asking him to help the son of her boyfriend get an internship there. And she happened to make her request on a day when Hood had been ordered to lay people off. Bob Herbert once said that CIA stands for Convergent Incongruities Abound. That certainly applied here.
"Does he have any particular interests?" Hood asked. He did not really care, but he needed to think for a moment. Did he really want to do this?
"He is a student of languages and maps," she said. "He speaks French and is learning Japanese. In fact, he's been teaching Harleigh basic Japanese grammar. But he would be happy to work anywhere, in any capacity."
"I'll ask around," Hood told her. He would, he decided, though Op-Center rarely used interns, and only then as favors to influential members of Congress. "I just want you to know we had some major cutbacks today. So it may be difficult to place him."
"He wouldn't require compensation."
"I understand," Hood said. "What I mean is that people are going to be preoccupied."
"Okay," Sharon said. By the way she dragged out the second syllable Hood could tell she was not happy with that answer. "Can I have a time frame? If Frankie can't intern with you, he'll have to look into other places."
"Give me a day or two to see how the new landscape looks."
"A day would be good," Sharon said. "That will give us time to explore other options. Thanks."
She did not ask about the layoffs. To her, Op-Center was The Enemy. It had been the rival for her husband's affection. Now it was like an organ donor, dead except for whatever his former wife needed from it.
Sharon had also said "us" not "Jim." Hood was a little jealous, not because Sharon had found someone but because she was involved in Jim's life. She was engaged in a way she had never been with Hood's work, she was simpatico. Even the kids were hitting it off. He should have been glad for them all, but he was not.
They chatted a little about the kids. Sharon said that Harleigh seemed to be doing better and had actually picked up the violin again.
Alexander was playing too many computer games, listening to too much rap, and not paying enough attention to his grades. Hood said he would stop by and have a talk with him Tuesday or Wednesday. Sharon said Tuesday would be fine, that she was helping Jim on a catering job that night. Then she hung up.
Hood actually envied Sharon. She had an old friend to go to, someone who had known her even longer than Hood. For all he knew, Jim Hunt may have gotten divorced because he learned that Sharon was free.
Hood sat back and listened to the quiet. A decibel lower, and it would be death. Rodgers probably had not spoken to anyone about what happened, but intelligence people knew when the geometry of a room had changed. That was their job.