Call to Treason

TWENTY-FOUR

It was a warm, clear day, and the world around him white and blue. Hood’s eyes went from the gleaming monuments that dominated the Washington skyline to the clear sky that dominated the monuments. Many of the city’s significant landmarks were visible from the White House, enhancing the already strong sense that this was the center of the globe.

Hood pulled into the heavily barricaded parking area on the north side of the White House. Being outside, warmed by the sun, Hood should have enjoyed a burgeoning sense of well-being. He did not. President Lawrence and Senator Debenport belonged to the same centrist section of the same party. Between them, they controlled Op-Center’s charter and Op-Center’s funding. If the two men had an agenda, Hood had no avenue of appeal. What he did not know was whether Lawrence and Debenport had called him here to expand the downsizing of Op-Center or whether they wanted him to work on some partisan intrigue.

On one level, it did not matter. Whether it was a mugging or a hazing, Hood knew it would hurt.

Hood passed through the security checkpoint at the west gate. Since he was not carrying anything, that meant a wand search from the security guard. A Secret Service agent met Hood at the security vestibule and escorted him to the office of the president’s executive secretary. Senator Debenport was already in the Oval Office. Hood was told to go right in.

Debenport was standing with his arms folded. President Michael Lawrence was seated on the edge of a desk that had once belonged to Teddy Roosevelt. That was the spot from which the president preferred to conduct meetings. He stood just over six feet four inches tall. This put him eye level with most of the people who came to see him. The president’s sharp blue eyes shifted from Debenport to the door as Hood walked in. Lawrence’s expression was warm and welcoming. The two men had always enjoyed a good rapport. That bond was strengthened over a year before, when Op-Center protected the president from a coup attempt. Unfortunately, politics were governed by a single rule: “What can you do for me now?” If Hood and Op-Center were a liability, the president would be hard-pressed to help them.

“Paul, thanks for coming,” the president said, extending his hand.

“My pleasure,” Hood replied diplomatically. It was not as if he had a choice. He turned to Dan Debenport. “Good morning, Senator.”

“Paul,” the senator replied.

Debenport was a slope-shouldered man of average build. He had thinning straw-colored hair and a quick smile. He was not smiling now.

The president gestured to a chair. Hood sat. The president returned to the edge of his desk. Debenport remained standing.

“Please tell Mr. McCaskey it was a hell of a piece of detective work, finding that wound under William Wilson’s tongue,” the president said.

“I will, and thank you, sir.”

“I second that, Paul,” Debenport said. “Are there any new developments?”

“Off the record?” Hood asked. He was tempted to ask Debenport if he and the CIOC were impressed enough to reinstate the budget cuts. But he had a politician’s sense that there was another reason he was here.

“Everything we say here now is off the record,” the president said.

“Well, we did a sketchy profile of the killing scenarios,” Hood said. “There is a very sketchy fit with Admiral Kenneth Link. Darrell is talking to him now.”

“An ambush interview?” Debenport asked.

“More or less,” Hood said. “We may not have a lot of time on this, and Darrell did not want to be stonewalled.”

“Good thinking,” the president said.

That made two compliments back to back. Hood was convinced that the president wanted something.

“Going to talk to Link is a very encouraging development,” Debenport said. “Is there any suggestion that Senator Orr might have been involved?”

“Senator, we’re not sure whether there was anything for Donald Orr to be involved with.”

“You probably need to find that out,” Debenport replied.

That was unexpected. It was also a potential violation of district privacy statutes. “If it becomes necessary, and if Op-Center has the manpower to spare, we will,” Hood told him.

“That’s just the point,” Debenport said. “It is necessary to expand the investigation.”

“On what grounds?” Hood asked. He did not like where this was headed. “Do you have additional information?”

“Not as such,” Debenport replied.

“Then — I’m confused.”

Debenport paced for a moment before continuing. “Don Orr announced this morning that he will be running for president on the United States First Party ticket. Did you hear any of the senator’s speech?”

“No,” Hood answered.

“Don Orr intends to promote an extreme form of isolationism,” Debenport went on. “It may sound appealing to voters, but it will be terribly destructive.”

“The United States cannot disentangle itself from the global economy and international resources,” the president said. “Even if we wanted to replace oil with nuclear or solar power and make all our computer and automobile components stateside, the tooling up period would take years.”

“It would also be extremely expensive,” Debenport added. “Union workers and factories are not inexpensive.”

“All right,” Hood said. “Senator Orr is misguided. I’m still not clear what justification Op-Center has to involve him.”

“Paul, the senator is not only misguided, he is dangerous,” Debenport said. “Voters, God bless them, tend to respond positively to protectionist ideas, however unworkable they are.”

“That’s their prerogative, God bless ’em,” Hood pointed out. “Using a legitimate investigation to fling mud is also dangerous.”

“Well, there you get into the question of rights versus responsibility,” Debenport replied. “Consider the judge who overrules a jury that has been manipulated by a skilled attorney. A skilled politician can do the same thing. He can sell a catastrophic agenda. We need to take dramatic steps to undermine a seditious platform.”

“What’s wrong with debates?”

“You were in politics,” Debenport said. “It’s very difficult to fight someone who is selling feel-good tonics in a red-white-and-blue package. It usurps patriotism and unplugs the brain by appealing to the soul.”

“Look, Paul,” the president said. “We don’t think the United States First Party has a chance of winning this election. But we believe that Senator Orr can rally the unions, the unemployed, and a chunk of the middle class and take twenty-five to thirty percent of the vote. Neither I nor the vice president is running. That means whoever wins will be a new president and quite possibly a minority. They will also have the senator stuck in their side, pushing his policies.”

“Will you be running, Senator?” Hood asked.

“I have not yet made that decision,” Debenport replied.

Anything that was not a firm no meant yes, and even those were subject to revocation.

Hood shook his head. “Senator, Mr. President — you’re working hard to convince me that something wrong is right. What if I don’t agree?”

“Then we get someone who does agree,” Debenport replied flatly. “Nothing personal, Paul.”

“Oddly enough, I believe you,” Hood said.

“Also, we strongly disagree that what we are asking is wrong,” the president told him. “Orr is the one who is being immoral. He is using the flag for a power grab. We are trying to prevent him from dismantling a successful national and international economic balance. You know me, Paul. Whoever wins, I will be going back to American Sense. I would not be involved in this if I did not believe in it.”

American Sense was a Washington-based think tank the president had founded between his two terms. The nonpartisan organization was a well-respected source of geopolitical expertise.

“Answer this, Senator,” Hood said. “Did the CIOC downsize Op-Center so we would be more inclined to take this assignment?”

“Do you believe that?” Debenport asked. “Because if you do, nothing I say will change your mind.”

Hood laughed. “That’s an old ploy, Senator, avoiding a question by suggesting it’s out of line.”

“There was a confluence of events,” Debenport replied. “This was one way the momentum could turn.”

“I guess it’s better to be an opportunist than a conspirator,” Hood said.

“Paul, that’s getting personal,” the president warned. “Senator Debenport has already said that he does not want to cause you distress. There’s a proposal on the table. Either you accept it or reject it. There are no hard feelings either way.”

“You mean, sir, I could go work for your think tank?”

“You would be an asset.”

“Think of this another way, Paul,” the senator said. “If this undertaking is a success, the new president might consider you for a different post. An ambassadorship, perhaps.”

That should not have been unexpected. Embassies were political coin, the medium for payback. They were the ultimate pedestal for a bureaucrat, and Hood was surely that. Still, when he heard the proposal — the hypothetical phrasing was simply the language of barter — everything changed. Against Hood’s will, his indignation deflated. He no longer viewed cooperation as capitulation. It was part of the job.

It was business.

“Let me talk to Darrell when he gets back,” Hood said. His voice was low and conciliatory. “I’ll see what he found out and where he thinks this can go. Then I’ll call you, Senator.”

“It sounds as if we have an understanding,” Debenport said hopefully.

Hood did not want to say yes. “I understand,” he replied.

“We can accept that for now,” the president interjected. “When do you expect to hear from him?”

“I’ll call him on the drive back. If he is finished with the interview, I will call the senator immediately.”

“Sounds good,” the president said. He offered his hand to Hood. “Paul, I know this is not easy. But I believe we all want the same thing. A prosperous and secure United States of America.”

“We do,” Hood agreed. He wanted to add, With the Bill of Rights intact. But he did not. And he knew, then, that he had agreed to help them.

Hood left the Oval Office in something of a daze. Debenport was right. The men did have an understanding. Not that this plan was perfect or legal, only that it would go forward. Maybe it would move by inches at first, but it would proceed because there was no clearly defined ethic.

In an ideal world, men would fight ideas with other ideas, Hood told himself. But this was far from a perfect world. Every weapon in the sociopolitical arsenal had to be used.

Including rationalization? Hood asked himself.

Is that what this was?

On one level, what the senator and the president had asked him to do was wrong. They wanted him to broaden a legitimate but still very young investigation. They wanted him to pepper it with innuendo, to create gossip and not justice. Yet on another level, while their reasons were political, their argument was not wrong. It did not matter whether Donald Orr’s vision was heartfelt or manipulative. It was impractical at best, dangerous at worst.

Hood reached his car. It was hot from sitting in the sun. In a way that was fitting. He had just made a pact with the devil.

Hood had been seduced intellectually and professionally. Though he hated himself for succumbing, he had to be honest: he was not surprised. Hood had felt distant from Op-Center, from friends, from his family for so long that it was nice to be plugged into something.

And there was something else, something the one-time golden boy mayor of Los Angeles did not like to admit. Idealism was great in theory but unwieldy in practice. In the end, Hood was like the world itself: a compromise; a surface of attractive, sun-hungry green and inviting blue concealing a hot, muddy interior; an imperfect paradox.

Hood turned on the car, cranked up the air-conditioning, and set the secure cell phone in its dashboard holder. He slipped on the headset and autodialed Darrell McCaskey’s number. As he pulled from the parking area, Hood did one thing more.

He prayed that McCaskey found just one reason to continue the investigation.