Call to Treason

FORTY-FOUR

Eric Stone had told the reception desk to let him know when Mike Rodgers arrived. Stone had not met Rodgers. But Kat had called to say she was concerned about his loyalties. That amplified the discomfort Stone felt over the fact that the general was still working with the people who were investigating the USF. Rodgers was a patriot, but not of the extremist mold like Senator Orr. Stone wanted to have a talk with him. More importantly, he wanted to look into Rodgers’s eyes and see where his loyalties lay. Stone was very good at reading expressions. It was a talent he discovered while working as a waiter. He knew the exact moment there was an opportunistic break in a conversation so he could offer a tray of hors d’oeuvres. He knew from partygoers’ expressions, from the way their eyes moved, who liked their egg rolls crispy, their meat skewers rare, and who did not like sushi. He could tell from the vaguely embarrassed manner who was going to take more than one or two cocktail wieners. He evolved those skills working for Admiral Link, watching the fearful or indignant or occasionally dangerous expressions of the servicemen and dignitaries, politicians and civilians who came to visit. Mike Rodgers was an unknown quantity to him.

Until Stone saw him in the corridor of the hotel. The general was just leaving his room. Stone wanted to get a quick sense of what he was about. From appearances, Rodgers was one hundred percent military. Admiral Link was that way, too. But the admiral was offense, and this man was defense. Stone could tell from the set of his head. It was not upright but tilted back slightly, presenting the chin. He was expecting a blow, yet the square set of his shoulder said he was ready for it.

“General Rodgers?” Stone asked as he approached.

“Yes?”

“Eric Stone,” said the young man.

“Pleased to meet you, Eric,” Rodgers said.

Stone offered his hand. The general shook it firmly though not too hard. He was a man who did not have to prove his strength.

“Did you have a good trip?” Stone asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

Rodgers is formal, guarded, Stone thought. He wondered why. “You know, General, I have a bunch of steaks on the grill right now, so I can only stay a minute. But I hope we will have a chance to talk before things get under way.”

“I look forward to that,” Rodgers replied.

“I also hope all of this will be a positive experience for you, a welcome distraction,” Stone went on. “I heard what happened at Op-Center. Just terrible. How long before operations can be resumed?”

“They’re running now,” Rodgers replied.

“At full capacity?”

“Full enough,” Rodgers replied. “Op-Center has always been about the people, not the technology.”

“Heart, not hardware,” Stone remarked.

Rodgers nodded once in agreement.

“That’s good to hear. We believe in that, too,” Stone said, raising a fist in a show of solidarity, “which is why the senator and the admiral are convinced you will be an enormous asset to the party and to a future Orr administration. I hope you are still enthusiastic.”

“More than ever,” Rodgers replied.

“Truly?” The general’s tone seemed a little too affirmative. It almost seemed like a challenge or a threat.

“Don’t interpret quiet observation as disinterest,” Rodgers said. “Contemplation moves power from here,” he held up a hand, “to here,” he touched a finger to his temple. “It does not lessen a man’s strength.”

“Ah. That is the scholar talking,” Stone observed. He knew that Mike Rodgers held a doctorate in world history. The general had obtained it after two combat tours of Vietnam.

“To tell the truth, Eric, it’s more of the soldier in me,” Rodgers said. “I have participated in a number of wars and conflicts. I learned that if one moves too enthusiastically, he could put his foot on a land mine.”

“I guess I was lucky,” Stone said. “When I wore my country’s uniform, we were at peace. We were always wary but unafraid. We were also optimistic, whatever the situation, whatever the alert status.”

“I am always optimistic,” Rodgers assured the younger man.

“Really?” Stone clasped him on the shoulder and laughed. “Forgive me, General, but you look as though you came for a funeral.”

Rodgers fixed his eyes on Stone. “Actually, this is not my funeral face,” he said. “If you want to see that, you will have to be with me on Saturday.”

“Saturday? What is happening then?” Stone asked.

“We bury Mac McCallie,” Rodgers said. “He died in the e-bomb blast at Op-Center.”

“Oh. I am sorry,” Stone said, removing his hand. “I have been rather tied up here. I had not heard there were casualties.”

That was a lie. Stone knew everything about the explosion he had ordered. And he was furious at himself for the funeral comment. It proved Rodgers’s point about careless haste causing problems. It gave the general a moral victory.

It gave Mike Rodgers first blood.

“As for being unafraid, Eric, fear has never driven me to be cautious or watchful,” Rodgers went on. His tone was more aggressive now. What had begun as Stone sizing up the general had been turned around, like a classic military counteraction. “The apparent lack of chaos does that. It is always there, hidden. Disraeli said that peace has occasioned more wars than the most ruthless conquerors. Peace makes us complacent. We stop looking over our shoulder. One job of any leader is to sniff out that lurking danger. To stir it up if necessary, to free it so it can be crushed.”

“That sounds like warmongering,” Stone said.

“It is,” Rodgers replied proudly. “I have always felt it is better to flush out the enemy before he has a chance to power up.”

“While you are sniffing and flushing, do you also look over your shoulder?” Stone asked. “Do you know what is behind you right now?” His own tone was slightly confrontational now, but he did not care.

“I do know what is there,” Rodgers said. “A fire escape and a hotel security camera.” He smiled. “I like to know where the exits are.”

Stone did not like this conversation or the turn it had just taken. He could not tell if Rodgers was still being philosophical or whether he was baiting Stone with references to the chaos of the past few days. What Rodgers did not say was also informative. He had mentioned nothing about Op-Center’s investigation or the arrest of Darrell and Maria McCaskey. He knew, of course. When Detective Howell arrested the couple, he noted that the last number dialed on McCaskey’s cell phone belonged to Mike Rodgers. Stone wanted to find out more about that if he could.

Quickly.

“You know, General, this is not the conversation I expected to have the first time we met.” Stone laughed. “But it does interest me. In fact, if you have a minute, all I need to do is grab my laptop from the room. Then we can go over to the convention center together. I would appreciate your input.”

“I would prefer to meet you there,” Rodgers said. “There are a few things I have to do first.”

“I can wait if you’d like.”

“Your steaks will burn,” Rodgers said. “I’ll catch up with you. Maybe we can have a drink later.”

“I would like that,” Stone replied.

The convention manager continued down the corridor to his room. As he opened the door, he glanced to his left. Rodgers went to Kat’s door and knocked. He did not attempt to conceal it. Was that innocent or meant to inspire concern? Stone could not be sure, and that frustrated him. More than the conversation, Stone did not like the man himself. Rodgers had launched salvos from his moral high ground. When Link spoke, it was with persuasive authority. This man lectured, as if there was no correct opinion other than his own.

Not that it mattered. He had learned what he needed to learn.

Mike Rodgers was not an ally. And if he was not an ally, then moderate or not, war hero notwithstanding, there was only one thing he could be: an enemy.