Line of Control

THREE

Mike Rodgers strode down the corridor to the office of Paul Hood. His briefcase was packed and he was still humming "Witch Doctor." He felt energized by the impending challenge, by the change of routine, and just by getting out of the windowless office.

Hood's assistant, Stephen "Bugs" Benet, had not yet arrived. Rodgers walked through the small reception area to Hood's office. He knocked on the door and opened it. Op-Center's director was pacing and wearing headphones. He was just finishing up his phone conversation with Senator Fox. Hood motioned the general in. Rodgers made his way to a couch on the far end of the room. He set his briefcase down but did not sit. He would be sitting enough over the next day.

Though Hood was forty-five, nearly the same age as Rodgers, there was something much younger-looking about the man. Maybe it only seemed that way because he smiled a lot and was an optimist. Rodgers was a realist, a term he preferred to pessimist. And realists always seemed older, more mature. As an old friend of Rodgers's, South Carolina Representative Layne Maly, once put it, "No one's blowin' sunshine up my ass so it ain't showin' up between my lips." As far as Rodgers was concerned that pretty much said it all.

Not that Hood himself had a lot to smile about. His marriage had fallen apart and his daughter, Harleigh, was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, a result of having been taken hostage at the United Nations. Hood had also taken a bashing in the world press and in the liberal American media for his guns-blazing solution to the UN crisis. It would not surprise Rodgers to learn that Senator Fox was giving Hood an earful for that. The goddamn thing of it was nothing helped our rivals more than when we fought among ourselves. Rodgers could almost hear the cheering from the Japanese, from the Islamic Fundamentalists, and from the Germans, the French, and the rest of the Eurocentric bloc. And we were arguing after saving the lives of their ambassadors.

It was a twisted world. Which was probably why we needed a man like Paul Hood running Op-Center. If it were up to Rodgers he would have taken down a few of the ambassadors on his way out of the UN.

Hood slipped off the headphones and looked at Rodgers. There was a flat look of frustration in his dark hazel eyes. His wavy black hair was uncharacteristically unkempt. He was not smiling.

"How are you doing?" Hood asked Rodgers. "Everything set?"

Rodgers nodded.

"Good," Hood said.

"How are things here?" Rodgers asked.

"Not so good," Hood said. "Senator Fox thinks we've gotten too visible. She wants to do something about that."

"What?" Rodgers asked.

"She wants to scale us back," Hood said. "She's going to propose to the other members of the COIC that they recharter Op-Center as a smaller, more covert organization."

"I smell Kirk Pike's hand in this," Rodgers said.

Pike was the newly appointed head of the Central Intelligence Agency. The ambitious former chief of navy intelligence was extremely well liked on the Hill and had accepted the position with a self-prescribed goal: to consolidate as many of the nation's intelligence needs as possible under one roof.

"I agree that Pike is probably involved, but I think it's more than just him," Hood said. "Fox said that Secretary-General Chatterjee is still grumbling about bringing us before the International Court of Justice. Have us tried for murder and trespassing."

"Smart," Rodgers said. "She'll never get the one but the jurists may give her the other."

"Exactly," Hood said. "That makes her look strong and reaffirms the sovereign status of the United Nations. It also scores points with pacifists and with anti-American governments. Fox apparently thinks this will go away if our charter is revoked and quietly rewritten."

"I see," Rodgers said. "The CIOC acts preemptively to make Chatterjee's action seem bullying and unnecessary."

"Bingo," Hood said.

"Is it going to happen?" Rodgers asked.

"I don't know," Hood admitted. "Fox hasn't discussed this with the other members yet."

"But she wants it to happen," Rodgers said.

Hood nodded.

"Then it will," Rodgers said.

"I'm not ready to concede that," Hood said. "Look, I don't want you to worry about the political stuff. I need you to get this job done in Kashmir. Chatterjee may be secretary-general but she's still Indian. If you score one for her side she'll have a tough time going after us."

"Not if she passes the baton to Pike," Rodgers said.

"Why would she?" Hood asked.

"Back-scratching and access," Rodgers said. "A lot of the intel I have on Kashmir came from the CIA. The Company works very closely with the Indian Intelligence Bureau."

"The domestic surveillance group," Hood said.

"Right," Rodgers said.

Under the Indian Telegraph Act, the Indian Intelligence Bureau has the legal authority to intercept all forms of electronic communication. That includes a lot of faxes and e-mail from Afghanistan and other Islamic states. It was IIB that blew the whistle on Iraq's pharmaceutical drug scam back in 2000. Humanitarian medicines were excluded from the United Nations sanctions. Instead of going to Iraqi hospitals and clinics, however, the medicines were hoarded by the health minister. When shortages pushed up demand the drugs were sold to the black market for hard foreign currency that could be used to buy luxury goods for government officials, bypassing the sanctions.

"The IIB shares the information they collect with the CIA for analysis," Rodgers went on. "If Director Pike helps Chatterjee, the Indians will continue to work exclusively with him."

"Pike can have the trophy if he wants," Hood said. "We still get the intelligence."

"But that isn't all Pike wants," Rodgers said. "People aren't satisfied just winning in Washington. They have to destroy the competition. And if that doesn't work they go after his friends and family."

"Yeah — well, he'll have to get a task force for that one," Hood said quietly. "We Hoods are kind of spread out now."

Rodgers felt like an ass. Paul Hood was not living with his family anymore and his daughter, Harleigh, spent a lot of time in therapy. It was careless to have suggested that they might be at risk.

"Sorry, Paul. I didn't mean that literally," Rodgers said.

"It's all right," Hood replied. "I know what you meant. I don't think Pike will cross that line, though. We've got pretty good muckrakers and a great press liaison. He won't want to take any rivalry public."

Rodgers was not convinced of that. Hood's press liaison was Ann Farris. For the last few days the office was quietly buzzing with the rumor that the divorcee and Paul Hood were having an affair. Ann had been staying late and the two had been spotted leaving Hood's hotel together one morning. Rodgers did not care one way or the other as long as their relationship did not impact the smooth operation of the NCMC.

"Speaking of family, how is Harleigh doing?" Rodgers asked. The general was eager to get off the subject of Pike before leaving for India. The idea of fighting his own people was loathsome to him. Though the men did not socialize very much, Rodgers was close enough to Hood to ask about his family.

"She's struggling with what happened in New York and with me moving out," Hood said. "But she's got a good support system and her brother's being a real trouper."

"Alexander's a good kid. Glad to hear he's stepping up to the plate. What about Sharon?" Rodgers asked.

"She's angry," Hood said. "She has a right to be."

"It will pass," Rodgers said.

"Liz says it may not," Hood replied.

Liz was Liz Gordon, Op-Center's psychologist. Though she was not counseling Harleigh, she was advising Hood.

"Hopefully, the intensity of Sharon's anger will diminish," Hood went on. "I don't think she and I will ever be friends again. But with any luck we'll have a civil relationship."

"You'll get there," Rodgers said. "Hell, that's more than I've ever had with a woman."

Hood thought for a moment then grinned. "That's true, isn't it? Goes all the way back to your friend Biscuit in the fifth grade."

"Yeah," Rodgers replied. "Look, you're a diplomat. I'm a soldier. I'm a prisoner to my scorched earth nature."

Hood's grin became a smile. "I may need to borrow some of that fire for my dealings with Senator Fox."

"Stall her till I get back," Rodgers said. "And just keep an eye on Pike. I'll work on him when I get back."

"It's a deal," Hood said. "Stay safe, okay?"

Rodgers nodded and the men shook hands.

The general felt uneasy as he headed toward the elevator. Rodgers did not like leaving things unresolved — especially when the target was as vulnerable as Hood was. Rodgers could see it in his manner. He had seen it before, in combat. It was a strange calm, almost as if Hood were in denial that pressures were starting to build. But they were. Hood was already distracted by his impending divorce, by Harleigh's condition, and by the day-to-day demands of his position. Rodgers had a feeling that the pressure from Senator Fox would become much more intense after the CIOC met. He would give Bob Herbert a call from the C-130 and ask him to keep an eye on Op-Center's director.

A watcher watching the watcher, Rodgers thought. Op-Center's intelligence chief looking after Op-Center's director, who was tracking Kirk Pike. With all the human drama gusting around him the general almost felt as if it were routine to go into the field to search for nuclear missiles.

But Rodgers got his perspective back quickly. As he walked onto the tarmac he saw the Striker team beginning to assemble beside the Hercules transport. They were in uniform, at ease, their grips and weapons at their feet. Colonel August was reviewing a checklist with Lieutenant Orjuela, his new second-in-command.

Behind him, in the basement of the NCMC, there were careers at risk. Out here men and women were about to buy their way into India using their lives as collateral.

The day that became routine was the day Rodgers vowed to hang up his uniform.

Stepping briskly, proudly, Rodgers made his way toward the shadow of the plane and the sharp, bright salutes of his waiting team.