Games of State

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

After dropping Billy at school and giving himself a couple of minutes to shake off the adrenaline rush of two games of Blazing Combattle, Rodgers used his car phone to call Darrell McCaskey. Op-Center's FBI liaison had already left for work, and Rodgers caught him on his car phone. It would not have surprised the General if the two of them passed each other while talking. He was beginning to believe that modern technology was nothing more than some huckster's way of selling people two tin cans and a string for thousands of dollars. Of course, these tin cans were equipped with scramblers which switched high and low voice tones at one end and restored them at the other. Signals inadvertently picked up by another phone would be meaningless.

"Morning, Darrell," Rodgers said.

"Morning, General," McCaskey replied. He was his usual surly morning self as he said, "And don't ask me about last night's volleyball game. DOD nuked us bad." "I won't ask about it," Rodgers said. "Listen, I've got something I need you to check on. A group named WHOA— Whites Only Association. Ever hear of them?" "Yeah, I've heard of them. Don't tell me you got wind of the Baltic Avenue. That was supposed to be a deep secret." "No," Rodgers said, "I didn't know about it." A Baltic Avenue was the FBI's current code for an action being taken against a domestic adversary. They took the name from the game of Monopoly. Baltic Avenue was the first deed after passing "Go" — hence, the start of a mission. The codes changed weekly, and Rodgers always looked forward to Monday mornings when McCaskey shared the new ones with him. In recent months his favorite gocodes had been "Moses," which was inspired by "Let my people go," and "Peppermint Lounge," which came from the famous "go-go" discotheque of the 1960s.

"Is WHOA the subject of the Baltic Avenue?" Rodgers asked.

"No," McCaskey replied. "Not directly, anyway." Rodgers knew better than to ask McCaskey more on this particular mission. Even though the line was scrambled, that was only effective against casual listeners. Calls could still be monitored and descrambled, and some of these white supremacist groups were pretty sophisticated.

"Tell me what you know about WHOA," Rodgers said.

"They're big time," said McCaskey. "They have a couple of paramilitary training camps in the Southeast, Southwest, and Northwest. They offer everything from make-your-ownbullet classes to afterschool activities for the tykes. They publish a slick magazine called Phrer, spelled like Fhrer, which actually has news bureaus and ad sales offices in New York, L.A., and Chicago, and they sponsor a successful rock band called AWED— All White Electric Dudes." "They're also on-line," Rodgers said.

"I know." McCaskey asked, "Since when do you surf the net?" "I don't," Rodgers said, "but Charlie Squires' kid does.

He picked up a hate game about blacks getting lynched." "Shit." "That's how I felt," Rodgers said. "Tell me what you know." "Funny you should ask," said McCaskey. "I was just talking to a German friend in the Office for the Protection of the Constitution in Dsseldorf. They're all worried about Chaos Days, when all the neo-Nazis over there gather— the closeted ones in the open and the open ones in hiding, if you follow." "I'm not sure I do." McCaskey said, "Since neo-Nazism is illegal, admitted Hitlerites can't hold gatherings in public. They meet in barns or woods or old factories. The ones who pose as mere political activists, even though they're advocating Nazi-like doctrine, are able to meet in public." "Got it," Rodgers said. "But why aren't the admitted Hitlerites under surveillance?" "They are," said McCaskey, "when the government can find them. And even when they are found, some— there's this guy Richter, for example, who did jail time— go to court, claim harassment, and have to be left alone. Public sentiment against skinheads is high, but they feel that articulate, clean-cut jerks like Richter deserve to be left alone." "The government can't afford to alienate too many voters." "That," said McCaskey, "and make the neo-Nazis look like victims. Some of the Hitler wannabes have got sound bites and charisma that'd curl your toes. They play very well with the evening news crowd." Rodgers didn't like what he was hearing. This mediaplaying- into-the-hands-of-criminals thing was an old beef of his. Lee Harvey Oswald may have been the last killer to protest his innocence on TV and get blamed in the court of public opinion anyway— though even that jury didn't come back with a unanimous verdict. There was something about the hangdog face of a suspect and the determined face of a prosecutor that drove the underdog-loving public to the suspect.

"So what about this German friend of yours?" Rodgers asked.

McCaskey said, "The OPC is worried because in addition to Chaos Days, they've got this new phenomenon called the Thule Network. It's a collection of about a hundred mailboxes and bulletin boards which allow neo-Nazi groups and cells to communicate and form alliances. There's no way of tracking the correspondence to its source, so the authorities are helpless to stop it." "Who or what is Thule?" Rodgers asked.

"It's a place. The legendary northern cradle of European civilization." McCaskey laughed. "When I was a kid, I read a lot of fantasy novels, and a whole bunch of barbarian-type adventure stories were set there. Ursus of Ultima Thule, that sort of thing." "Manliness and European purity," Rodgers said. "That's an irresistible symbol." "Yeah," said McCaskey, "though I'd never have believed that a place which seemed so wondrous could come to stand for something so corrupt." Rodgers asked, "I take it this Thule Network has made inroads to America?" "Not per se," said McCaskey. "We've got our own homegrown demons. For about two years now, the Feds, the Southern Poverty Law Center in Alabama, and the Simon Wiesenthal Center have been closely monitoring the inroads hate groups have been making on the information highway.

The problem is, like in Germany, the bad guys usually obey the law. Plus, they're fully protected by the First Amendment." "The First Amendment doesn't give them the right to incite violence," Rodgers said.

"They don't. They may stink to the bone, but these people are careful." "They'll slip up somewhere," Rodgers said confidently.

"And when they do, I want to be there to nail them." "So far, they haven't," McCaskey said, "and the FBI has been watching all the neo-Nazi Web sites— their five Internet playgrounds as well as the eight national computer bulletin boards. We've also got a reciprocal agreement with Germany to trade any information they pick up on-line." "Only Germany?" Rodgers asked.

"Germany, England, Canada, and Israel," said McCaskey. "No one else wants to shake things up. So far, there's been nothing illegal." "Only immoral," Rodgers said.

"Sure," said McCaskey, "but you know better than anyone that we've fought a whole lot of wars to give free speech to all Americans, including WHOA." "We also fought a war to prove that Hitler was wrong," Rodgers said. "He was and he still is. As far as I'm concerned, we're still at war with these dirtbags." "Speaking of war," McCaskey said, "I got a call from Bob Herbert before I left home. Coincidentally, he needs information on a German terrorist group named Feuer. Did you hear about the attack this morning?" Rodgers said that he hadn't watched the news, and McCaskey briefed him. The murders reminded him that neo- Nazis were as cold as the monsters who inspired them, from Hitler to Heydrich to Mengele. And he could not believe, would not believe, that people like these were on the minds of the Founding Fathers when they drafted the Constitution.

"Have we got anybody looking into what Bob needs?" Rodgers asked.

"Liz has more info on Feuer," McCaskey said. "I'm going to meet with her when I get to the office. I'll go over it and get the essentials right over to Bob, the CIA, and Interpol. They're looking for the perpetrators as well as the missing girl." "Okay," Rodgers said. "When you're done with that, bring the data and let's you and Liz and me have a talk. I don't think my meeting with Senator Fox will last very long." "Ouch," said McCaskey. "I've got to meet you after you see her?" "I'll be okay," Rodgers said.

"If you say so," McCaskey said.

"You don't believe that." "Paul's a diplomat," McCaskey said. "You're an asskicker.

I've never seen a senator who responded to anything other than lips on their butts." "Paul and I talked about that," Rodgers said. "He felt that since we've proven ourselves in Korea and Russia we should take a harder line with Congress. We feel that because of Striker's performance and sacrifices, Senator Fox will have a tougher time saying no to me on the budget increase we've requested." "An increase?" McCaskey said. "General, Deputy Director Clayton at the Bureau tells me he's got to whack nine percent from his budget. And he got off lucky. Rumor is, Congress is talking a twelve-to-fifteen-percent cut for the CIA." "The Senator and I will talk," Rodgers said. "We need more HUMINT out there. With all the changes going on in Europe and the Middle East and especially Turkey, we need more assets in the field. I think I can make her see that." "General," McCaskey said, "I hope you're right. I don't think the lady has had a reasonable day since her daughter was murdered and her husband put a gun in his mouth." "She's still on a committee whose job is to help safeguard the country," Rodgers said. "That has to come before anything." "She also has taxpaying constituents to answer to," McCaskey said. "Anyway, I wish you luck." "Thanks," Rodgers said. He did not actually feel as confident as he'd sounded, nor did he bother to tell McCaskey what A. E. Housman said about luck: "Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure." And whenever the thorny Fox was involved with a project, trouble was sure.

Two minutes later, Rodgers was off the expressway and headed toward the gate at Andrews AFB. As he drove the familiar roads, he phoned Hood on his cellular phone for the short morning check-in. He briefed him on what had happened with Billy, and told him that he was putting Darrell on the case to find out who was behind the game. Hood agreed completely.

After hanging up, Rodgers thought about the hate groups and wondered if they were more pervasive than ever, or if the instant media coverage simply made people more aware of them.

Or maybe it's both, he thought as he passed the sentry at the gate. The media coverage of these groups inspired like-minded racists to form their own groups, causing the media to report on the "phenomenon" of hate groups. One dirty hand washes the other.

Rodgers parked and walked briskly toward the front door. The meeting with Senator Fox was scheduled for 8:30.

It was already 8:25. The Senator was usually early. She was also usually pissed if whoever she came to see wasn't early.

That will probably be strike one against me, Rodgers thought as he rode the elevator down. Strike two if she's in an unusually bad mood.

When the General exited in the lower level, the sympathetic look on the face of Anita Mui, the lower-level sentry, confirmed that the count was 0-and-2.

Well, he thought as he headed down the corridor, I'll have to find a way to deal with that. Commanders do, and Rodgers loved being a commander. He loved overseeing Striker and he loved running Op-Center when Hood was away. He loved the process of making things happen for America. Being even a small cog in that great machine filled him with indescribable pride.

And part of being that cog is dealing with other cogs, he told himself. Including politicians.

He stopped short as he passed Martha Mackall's office.

The door was open and Senator Fox was sitting inside. He saw from the Senator's grim expression that he had struck out, even before he'd stepped to the plate.

He looked at his watch. It was 8:32. "Sorry," he said.

"Come in, General Rodgers," she said. Her voice was tight, clipped. "Ms. Mackall has been telling me about her father. My daughter was a tremendous fan of his music." Rodgers entered. "We all liked Mack's stuff," he said as he shut the door. "Back in 'Nam, we called him the Soul of Saigon." Martha was wearing her serious professional face.

Rodgers knew it well. Martha had a habit of adopting the attitudes of people who could advance her career. And if Senator Fox was down on Rodgers, then Martha would be too. Even more so than usual.

Rodgers sat on the edge of Martha's desk. Since Senator Fox wanted the home court advantage, she was going to have to look up at him.

"Unfortunately," Senator Fox said, "I didn't come here to discuss music, General Rodgers. I came to discuss your budget. I was disappointed when Director Hood's assistant telephoned yesterday to say that Mr. Hood had a more pressing engagement— spending money he won't have. But I decided to come here anyway." "Paul and I worked closely together preparing the budget," Rodgers said. "I can answer any questions you have." "I have only one question," the Senator said. "When did the Government Printing Office begin publishing fiction?" Rodgers's stomach began to burn. McCaskey was right: Paul should have handled this.

Senator Fox placed the briefcase in her lap and popped the latches. "You asked for an increase of eighteen percent at a time when government agencies are making across-theboard cuts." She handed Rodgers his own three-hundredpage document. "This is the budget I will present to the finance committee. It contains my blue-pencil reductions totaling thirty-two percent." Rodgers's eyes snapped from the budget to the Senator. "Reductions?" "We can talk about how the remaining seventy percent is to be apportioned," Fox continued, "but the cut will be made." Rodgers wanted to throw the budget back at the Senator. He waited a moment until the urge had passed. He turned and placed it on Martha's desk. "You've got nerve, Senator." "So do you, General," Fox said, unfazed.

"I know," he replied. "I've tested it against North Vietnamese, Iraqis, and North Koreans." "We've all of us seen your medals," she replied politely.

"This is not a mandate on courage." "No, it's not," Rodgers quietly agreed. "It's a death sentence. We have a top-flight organization and we still lost Bass Moore in Korea and Charlie Squires in Russia. If you cut us back, I won't be able to give my people the support they need." "For what?" the Senator said. "More adventures overseas?" "No," he said. "Our government's entire intelligence focus has been on ELINT. Electronic intelligence. Spy satellites. Eavesdropping. Photo reconnaissance. Computers.

These are tools but they aren't enough. Thirty, forty years ago we had a human presence around the world. HUMINT— human intelligence. People who infiltrated foreign governments and spy organizations and terrorist groups and used judgment, initiative, creativity, and courage to get us information. The best camera in the world can't pull blueprints from a drawer. Only a human operator can break into a computer which isn't on-line. A spy satellite can't look into a terrorist's eyes and tell you if he or she is really committed or if he can be turned. We need to rebuild those assets." "A pretty speech," said the Senator, "but you do not have my support. We do not need this HUMINT to protect American interests. Striker stopped a Korean lunatic from bombing Tokyo. They saved the administration of a Russian President who has not yet proven that he is our ally. Why should American taxpayers underwrite an international police force?" "Because they're the only ones who can," Rodgers said.

"We're fighting a cancer, Senator. You've got to treat it wherever it shows up." Martha said from behind him, "I agree with Senator Fox. There are other forums in which the United States can address international concerns. The United Nations and the World Court are chartered and funded for that purpose. And there's NATO." Rodgers said without turning, "So where were they, Martha?" "Pardon me?" "Where was the U.N. when that Nodong missile took off from North Korea? We were the surgeons who kept the Japanese from catching a fever of roughly eighteen million degrees Fahrenheit." "Again," said Senator Fox, "that was a job well done.

But it was a job you needn't have shouldered. The United States survived while the Soviet Union and Afghanistan battled one other, while Iran and Iraq were at war. We will survive other such conflicts." "Tell that to the American families of terrorist victims," Rodgers said. "We're not asking for toys or luxuries here, Senator. I'm asking for security for American citizens." "In a perfect world we would be able to safeguard every building, every airplane, every life," the Senator said.

She closed the briefcase. "But it is not a perfect world and the budget will be cut, as I've indicated. There will be no debate and no hearing." "Fine," Rodgers said. "When Paul gets back, you can start by cutting my salary." Senator Fox shut her eyes. "Please, General. We can do very nicely without the grandstanding." "I'm not trying to be dramatic," Rodgers said. He stood and tugged the hem of his jacket. "I just don't believe in doing anything half-assed. You're an isolationist, Senator.

You have been since the tragedy in France." "This has nothing to do with that—" "Of course it does. And I understand how you feel. The French did not find your daughter's killer, didn't seem to care very much, so why help them? But you've let that get in the way of the larger picture, of our national interests." Martha said, "General, I didn't lose anyone abroad and I agree with the Senator. Op-Center was created to help other agencies, not to help other nations. We've lost sight of that." Rodgers turned and looked down at Martha. "Your father sang a song called 'The Boy Who Killed the Lights,' about a white kid who shut the lights in a club so a black singer could sing there—" "Don't quote my dad to me," Martha snapped, "and don't tell me that I'm lucky to be in'this club, General.

Nobody helped me get this gig—" "If you'll let me finish," Rodgers said, "that wasn't the point I was making." Rodgers remained calm. He didn't raise his voice to women. That wasn't how Mrs. Rodgers had raised her son. "What I was trying to say before is that what Goschen called 'splendid isolation' simply doesn't exist anymore. Not in the music world and not in the political world. If Russia breaks down, it affects China, the Baltic republics, and Europe. If Japan suffers—" "I learned all about the domino theory in elementary school," Martha said.

"Yes we all did, General Rodgers," Senator Fox said.

"Do you really believe that General Michael Rodgers and Op- Center are the tent poles which hold the infrastructure up?" "We do our part," Rodgers said. "We need to do more." "And I say we already do too much!" Senator Fox shot back. "When I was still new to the Senate, U.S. warplanes were not permitted to fly over France en route to bomb Tripoli and Benghazi. The French are supposed to be our allies! At the time, I said on the floor of the Senate that we bombed the wrong capital. I meant it. More recently, Russian terrorists blew up a tunnel in New York. Was the Russian Ministry of Security hot on the trail of these murderers? Did your new best friends at the Russian Op- Center warn us? Even today, are their operatives hunting for Russian gangsters on our shores? No, General, they are not." "Paul went to Russia to establish a relationship with their Op-Center," Rodgers, said. "We believe we'll get their cooperation." "I know," the Senator said. "I read his report. And do you know when we'll get their cooperation? After we've spent tens of millions of dollars making the Russian Op- Center as sophisticated as our own. But that's when General Orlov will be retired, someone hostile to the U.S. will take his place, and we'll be left, again, with an enemy whom we've helped to make stronger." "American history is full of chances taken and losses incurred," Rodgers said. "But it's also full of relationships which have been built and sustained. We can't give up optimism and hope." The Senator rose. She handed her briefcase to one of her aides and smoothed her black skirt.

"General," she said, "your penchant for dictums is well known, and I don't appreciate being lectured to. I am optimistic and I am hopeful that we can solve America's problems. But I will not support Op-Center as a base for international troubleshooters. A think tank, yes. An intelligence resource, yes. A domestic crisis management center, yes. A team of international Dudley Do-Rights, no.

And for what I've just outlined, you will need only the budget I've given you." The Senator nodded to Rodgers, offered her hand to Martha, then started to go.

"Senator?" Rodgers called after her.

The Senator stopped. She turned, and Rodgers took a few steps toward her. She was nearly as tall as Rodgers, and her clear blue-gray eyes held his.

"Darrell McCaskey and Liz Gordon are scheduled to work together on a project," Rodgers said. "I assume you've heard about the terrorist group that attacked the movie set in Germany?" "No," Fox said. "There was nothing in this morning's Post." "I know," Rodgers said. The Washington Post and CNN were how everyone in government got news. He was counting on the fact that she didn't know. "It happened about four hours ago. Several people were killed. Bob Herbert is over there on business and has asked for our assistance." "And do you think that we should help German authorities investigate?" the woman asked. "What vital American interests are at stake? Is it cost effective? Which taxpayers will care?" Rodgers weighed his words with care. He had laid the snare and Fox strode right in. This was going to hit the Senator hard.

"Only two taxpayers will care," Rodgers said. "The parents of a twenty-one-year-old American girl who may have been kidnapped by the terrorists." The woman's strong blue-gray eyes melted. The Senator trembled slightly as she tried to remain erect. It was a moment before she could speak.

"You don't take prisoners, do you, General?" "When the enemy surrenders I do, Senator." She continued to look at him. All the sadness of the world seemed to be there in those eyes, and Rodgers felt like hell.

"What do you expect me to say?" the Senator asked.

"Of course help them save the girl. She's an American." "Thank you," Rodgers said, "and I'm very sorry.

Sometimes American interests are hidden in the things we do." Senator Fox looked at Rodgers a moment longer, then shifted her gaze to Martha. Bidding the woman a good morning, the Senator walked quickly from the office, her aides trailing close behind.

Rodgers didn't remember turning and picking up the budget, but it was in his hands as he started toward the door.