Call to Treason

TWENTY-SEVEN

Mike Rodgers felt like Philip Nolan in The Man Without a Country. Whereas Edward Everett Hale’s protagonist had been exiled for his part in the treasonous activities of Aaron Burr, Rodgers felt as if he had been banished by timing and circumstance. He was still employed by Op-Center, which had betrayed its charter. The general believed that Paul Hood was pursuing what the military described as a directed service agenda. That was a program masquerading as patriotism that was designed to help the branch itself, like starting a war to test new weapons or burn through old ordnance. Op-Center had a marginally legitimate reason to look into Wilson’s death. Now they were pursuing it beyond that original mandate for self-serving reasons. Ironically, part of Rodgers understood those reasons. It had obviously hurt Hood to ask for Rodgers’s resignation. He wanted to make sure there were no more firings. But part of Mike Rodgers also wanted to go to Op-Center and call Hood out, challenge him for the sludge he was flinging on Rodgers’s new employer.

Instead, Rodgers sat down with Kat Lockley and Kendra Peterson and reviewed the plans for the convention as well as Senator Orr’s platform. Now and then, they solicited Rodgers’s opinion. The women were responsive to the handful of suggestions he made. The staff had spent so long knocking ideas around just between themselves, they were happy to have a new set of eyes. The experience was a good one for Rodgers. It was nice to be heard.

When the meeting was over, Rodgers asked Kat Lockley to lunch. She said she could get away in about a half hour. Rodgers said he would wait for her on Delaware Avenue. That lifted his spirits even more. At Op-Center, he had to remain detached from the women because he was the number-two man. He did not want to be emotionally involved with someone he might have to overrule or send into combat. It was pleasant to get in there and push around ideas, especially among young women who had energy and fresh ideas. And, yes, killer smiles. Bob Herbert had once described a meeting with young women at some university mock think tank as “PC.”

“Not politically correct,” Herbert said. “Pleasantly coercive.”

This meeting was definitely PC.

On the way out, Rodgers bumped into Admiral Link. The future vice presidential candidate did not look happy.

“Is your friend Mr. McCaskey usually so bullheaded?” Link asked. “I don’t mean that meeting,” he added. “McCaskey called back to tell me we were going to see some rising tide on this investigation.”

“What?” Rodgers said. “That doesn’t sound like Darrell at all. Someone must be holding his feet to the flame.”

“Is Hood usually this reckless?” Link asked.

Rodgers shook his head firmly. “This budget crisis must have really shaken him up. Do you want me to talk to him?”

“I don’t think so—”

“I don’t mind,” Rodgers said. “I was thinking about going over there anyway and kicking up dust.”

“No,” Link said. “Hood is going to do what he wants. Let him. Why fight a battle we’re going to win anyway?”

“Because I’ve got rockets in the launcher, and I’ve flipped open the safety cover,” Rodgers said.

Link smiled. “Save them for the campaign, General. This is a sideshow. That’s all it is.”

Rodgers reluctantly agreed. There were times when he simply wanted to engage the enemy, and this was one of those times. Link thanked him for his support and went to see Kendra. Rodgers walked out to Delaware Avenue, sat on a bench, and let the sunshine wash over him. It was amazing how different the same sun felt in different parts of the world. It was searing in the deserts of the Southwest where he had once trained a mechanized brigade, impotent in the Himalayas, slimy in the humid Diamond Mountains of North Korea. It was full of warmth and vitamins in the South American plains, an outright enemy in the Middle East, and comforting here, like freshly brewed tea. Individuals and institutions had almost as many colors as the sun. Everything depended on the place, the day, and the circumstances.

There was a time when Op-Center had nourished Rodgers, too.

While the general sat there, he checked his cell phone for messages. There was one call from psychologist Liz Gordon, checking to see how he was, and one from Paul Hood asking him to call as soon as it was convenient. Hood sounded annoyed. Rodgers smiled. He could guess why. He speed-dialed Hood’s direct line. Apparently, he was going to get his confrontation after all.

“ ‘Loyalty is missing in action, along with honor and integrity,’” Hood said angrily, without preliminaries. “Mike, did you give that quote to a reporter named Lucy O’Connor?”

“I did,” Rodgers replied.

“Why?”

“Because it is true. And don’t take it too personally, Paul. I told her it was missing everywhere, not just at Op-Center.”

“How I take it doesn’t matter,” Hood said. “It’s how the rest of the team takes it. Mike, I thought we had discussed the circumstances surrounding the budget cut, that you understood—”

“Paul, this is not just about me getting shit-canned,” Rodgers said. “It’s about this whole stinking investigation of Admiral Link.”

“Stinking in what way?” Hood asked.

“It’s harassment for gain,” Rodgers told him.

“You know us better than that, dammit.”

“I know Darrell better than that,” Rodgers said. “I’m not so sure about you anymore, and I can’t believe he did that without your okay.”

“Yeah, I approved it,” Hood told him. “Hell, I encouraged it, and with good reason. I didn’t suggest the ramping-up, though. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but that was Bob Herbert’s idea.”

“Bob?”

“Bob,” Hood said.

That took Rodgers by surprise. It also stripped him naked. He looked around with slow, probing eyes. His gaze moved along the avenue, across the street, peered into parked cars and the windows of office buildings. Rodgers knew all the tails Op-Center used. He half-expected to see one of them watching him from behind a hamburger or a paperback book. The thought was also a disturbing reminder of how quickly an ally could become an adversary.

“Look, I’m not going to get into a howling contest in the press,” Hood went on. “I told Ms. O’Connor that I disagree with your view and left it at that. But I do want to remind you that Op-Center is my first concern—”

“I have my dismissal to remind me, thanks,” Rodgers interrupted.

“I thought you understood what went down,” Hood said.

“I do. I thought you understood that I did not like it.”

Both men snapped off the conversation. The crackling cell phone silence was heavy, but it did not hurt. Rodgers felt that Hood was out of line. As he sat there, his eyes continued to search for familiar faces. Aideen Marley, Maria Corneja-McCaskey, David Battat, some of the others that Rodgers himself had trained. His heart ached over what they must be feeling.

“Mike, we both want the same thing,” Hood said. “Whichever way it goes, we want this to be over as soon as possible. So I’m going to ask you to cooperate by letting Bob’s people work—”

“Christ, you don’t have to ask that,” Rodgers said. “I know the drill. Just don’t put any of them on me.”

“Of course not.” Hood said. He sounded as though he had been wounded.

Too bad.

Rodgers clicked off the phone. He decided he was not angry with Bob Herbert. Yes, the intelligence chief was just doing his job. More importantly, though, Rodgers believed that Herbert had involved himself for the reasons Hood had stated: to put this crippled bird in the hangar. Unlike Paul Hood, Herbert was looking out for his friend’s interests.

Rodgers tucked the cell phone back in his pocket. Because he was not technically on duty, he was not in uniform. It seemed strange wearing a blazer instead of his uniform. It was also liberating. Mike Rodgers and General Mike Rodgers had been the same person for so long, he was looking forward to discovering what it was like to be a civilian. Starting with having the freedom to talk back to a commander who had betrayed him.

Rodgers stopped looking for spies. He enjoyed the respite, and when Kat finally showed up, breathless but smiling, he knew he would enjoy his lunch as well. They set out toward a café with open-air seating, put their names on the waiting list, and talked about the morning. Rodgers let her out-gas as they rather unromantically called it in the military. But he made Kat promise that once they were seated, she would not discuss the campaign, the investigation, or anything else pertaining to Senator Orr. He wanted to hear about her life.

She agreed to tell him.

It was good to be a civilian but, more important, it felt good to be a man. Hood had done him a favor. He tried not to let his mind go to a place where it desperately longed to be, to a future where Senator Orr was President Orr and Mike Rodgers was the secretary of defense. A future where a spoils system appointee took over the CIOC from Senator Debenport. A future where the first act of the new chairman was to ask for Paul Hood’s resignation.

Rodgers did not let himself go there because revenge was not a good primary reason to do anything. It caused rash, often counterproductive behavior, like the prize-fighter who looked to put away a hated rival in round one and tired himself out.

Rodgers would take a more measured approach.

Revenge would not be an atom bomb. It would be fallout.