Mission of Honor

Chapter Forty-Seven

Matt Stoll had once told Paul Hood about the electron factor. It was knowledge that Hood thought he would never use. Like so many things, however, he was wrong.

The science lesson had been given two months ago. The senior staff had taken Hood to dinner for his birthday. It was Ann's idea to have the postmeal celebration at a bar near Ford's Theater. Bob Herbert, Stephen Viens, and Lowell Coffey joined them at a booth in the empty tavern. Stoll went, even though he was not a drinker. He said he liked watching other people drink.

"Why?" Ann asked.

"I like seeing who they become," Stoll said.

"That sounds a little condescending," Ann remarked.

"Not at all," Stoll replied. "It's inevitable. Everyone and everything has two natures."

"You mean you, too?" Herbert asked.

"Sure."

"The old Superman, Clark Kent thing?" Herbert asked.

"There's the timid or the heroic, the benevolent or the bestial, countless yins and yangs," Stoll said.

"Oh yeah?" Herbert remarked. He raised his beer in the direction of the Capitol. "I know some people who are just stinking rotten all the time, thank you very much Senator Barbara Fox, you disloyal, budget-cutting Ms. Hyde."

"She was also a loving mother," Stoll replied.

"I know," Herbert said. "We helped her find out what happened to her daughter. Remember?"

"I remember," Stoll said.

"That's something she seems to have forgotten," Herbert said.

"No. It's the duality that is a fact of life," Stoll insisted. "It's the result of physics."

"Physics?" Hood asked. "Not biology?"

"Everything comes down to physics," Stoll told him. "I call it the 'electron factor.' "

"Is this your own theory?" Herbert asked.

"It's not a theory," Stoll replied.

"No. He said it's a 'fact of life,' " Ann said, grinning and slapping Herbert on the wrist. "Facts are not theoretical."

"Sorry," Herbert replied. "All right, Matthew. Tell us about the electron factor."

"It's simple," Stoll replied. "When an electron is doing its thing, spinning around the nucleus of an atom, we don't know it's there. It's just a cloud of force. But when we stop an electron to examine it, what we're studying is no longer an electron."

"What is it?" Hood asked.

"Basically it's a 'Hyde' electron," Stoll said. "An electron is defined by what it does, not what it looks like or how much it weighs. Remove it from its natural habitat, from its orbit, and it becomes a particle with nothing to do."

Stoll went on to say that everything in nature had that double personality. He said that people could be one thing or another at any given time. Loving or angry, awake or asleep, sober or drunk. But not both. He said he enjoyed watching the change. He wanted to see if there would ever be someone who could be two things at the same time.

"Sure," Herbert said. "How about annoying and boring?"

Stoll pointed out that those were not occurring at once. It was obvious that the scientist was annoying Herbert. Therefore, Herbert was not bored. As for Stoll boring someone else, that was purely speculative. And if he were boring them, then he was not annoying them.

Ann was sorry that she had brought the subject up. She ordered another chocolate martini. Herbert ordered another Bud.

Hood continued to nurse his light beer. He was fascinated.

Hood remembered the conversation now because he was that electron. The stationary electron. The one without a purpose.

Hood stood in the small washroom at the back of his office. The door was shut. Physically, he was as isolated as he felt. He rubbed water on the nape of his neck and looked in the mirror on the small medicine cabinet. Incredibly, there was only one decision he had to make at the moment: whether to go to the local greasy spoon or the pizzeria for lunch. And Hood was not even that hungry. It was simply something to do.

Isolated and useless, he thought, at forty-five years of age.

Mike Rodgers was running the field operation. Bob Herbert was handling the intelligence gathering and liaising with Edgar Kline. Matt Stoll was on top of the ELINT. Liz Gordon would be refining her profile of Dhamballa and Leon Seronga.

Even the former accountant in Hood was restless. Senator Fox had done all the budget slashing for him. He could probably stay in here the rest of the day, and everything would run just fine. Even Bugs Benet, God bless him, was on top of things. Hood's assistant was dealing with a lot of the operational details, paperwork, and E-mails the director had been handling. Benet even found time to take care of some of the press matters Ann Farris used to handle.

It was not just here Hood felt a sudden disconnect. Right now, his kids would be eating the lunch their mother had prepared. There was a time when Hood knew what was in those sandwiches. Or in the juice boxes. What kind of snack they were having. What brand of chips. Who they would be sitting with at school. Hell, he did not even know what their class schedules were.

Some of that was their age. They were not in elementary school anymore. Some of it was circumstance. Hood was not at the house anymore. If he called each morning to ask what the kids were having for lunch, they would not see it as Dad connecting. They would think it was weird.

Whether or not this was a momentary lull or the shadow of things to come, Hood had to do something. The leaner OpCenter was still feeling its way. His divided family was still finding its own new personality. Hood had to do the same. If things were quiet here this afternoon, maybe he would drive over to the school and pick up Harleigh and Alexander. Or he could stay and watch Alexander play ball, if that was what he was doing.

Hood was about to splash water on his eyes when the phone on the washroom wall beeped. Maybe Lowell Coffey was bored and thinking about going to lunch.

It was Mike Rodgers.

"Are you free?" Rodgers asked.

"Yes," Hood replied.

"We may have to blow the situation in Botswana to the next level," Rodgers replied. "We're meeting in the Tank in two minutes."

"I'm on my way," Hood said. He hung up the phone, wiped his neck, and tightened the knot of his tie. Then he opened the washroom door.

And, gratefully, Paul Hood began to move again.