"Not always," he said with more hope than conviction.

The American system was not perfect, but as they drove to Op-Center, McCaskey took comfort in a slogan that had been written on the blackboard of a Community Outreach Theory cla.s.s he once took at the FBI Academy in Quantico. It was a rea.s.suring quote from Jefferson: "The boisterous sea of liberty is never without a wave."

SIX.

Washington, D.C. Monday, 9:02 A.M.

Mike Rodgers pulled into the Op-Center parking lot moments after Darrell McCaskey arrived. Their reserved parking spots were side by side, and McCaskey waited while Rodgers got out. The spots were numbered rather than named. If security were ever compromised and someone rigged a car to explode, the a.s.sa.s.sin would have to know which vehicle he wanted. That was why Rodgers had started leasing cars every six months instead of buying them. He had made a number of powerful enemies abroad with his Striker a.s.saults. The general was not paranoid, but Bob Herbert once told him that Washington, D.C., had over five hundred freelance "street potatoes," as they were called. Individuals who watched the comings and goings of government officials and reported the information to foreign governments. That data could be used for everything from blackmail to murder. Changing cars, like alternating the routes Rodgers took to work, was just good sense. Of course, the general half-expected to open the newspaper one morning and read about some poor joker with his last car getting blown up in a driveway or sniped at in a shopping mall. Then again, Rodgers always checked the provenance of his vehicle. He did not want to end up with a car that had been rented by an emba.s.sy employee or drug dealer who was someone else's target.

"Did we both sleep in?" Rodgers asked.

"Nah," McCaskey said. "Maria and I were on a stakeout for a friend with the postal service."

"Some careless spy using the same drop box more than once?" Rodgers asked.

"Sort of. He was pa.s.sing material to the carrier to bypa.s.s security inspections," McCaskey said.

Our own people betraying us, Rodgers thought. Whenever he heard something like that, the general felt every civilized inhibition slide away. He would have no trouble executing someone to whom a payday mattered more than his country. "Did you get them?" Rodgers thought. Whenever he heard something like that, the general felt every civilized inhibition slide away. He would have no trouble executing someone to whom a payday mattered more than his country. "Did you get them?"

McCaskey nodded. "Maria had the spook spotted from the start. That lady's intuition is amazing."

"Jealous?" Rodgers joked.

"No. Proud. I went after a guy who was web camming the Lincoln Memorial. He turned out to be undercover with Homeland Security. I swear, we've got more cops here than gangsters."

"There are still plenty of bad guys to round up," Rodgers said as they entered the building.

"I know," McCaskey said. "But when counter espionage units start taking friendly fire, it's time to rethink our overall policy. We should be doing more of what you're doing, training personnel to operate abroad and targeting ETs."

ETs were not just aliens, they were exported terrorists. When Striker had been replaced by a human intelligence unit, the mandate was to infiltrate and undermine foreign operations before they became a real threat.

Rodgers did not disagree. But the intelligence community had spent decades relying on increasingly sophisticated ELINT-electronic intelligence-such as intercepted phone and E-mail messages, spy satellites, and unmanned drones. Human intelligence was deemed too risky and unreliable. Foreign nationals who could not be hired outright had to be blackmailed into cooperating. That was costly and time consuming and required a sizable support system. Even then, the nationals could not always be trusted. Ramping up HUMINT operations also took time and ingenuity. In the interim, United States intelligence operations had a.s.sumed a posture similar to the Soviet approach of defending the homeland during World War II. They threw every available body at the problem in the hope of stopping it.

The men emerged from the elevator and went in separate directions along the oval corridor. As deputy director, Rodgers's office was located next to that of Paul Hood in the so-called executive wing. The only other office in that section was that of attorney Lowell Coffey III. McCaskey, intelligence chief Bob Herbert, computer expert Matt Stoll, psychologist Liz Gordon, and political liaison Ron Plummer were in the operations corridor. That was where all the real work was done, according to Herbert.

When Rodgers pa.s.sed Hood's office, Bugs Benet asked the general if he had a minute.

"Sure," Rodgers said. "What's up?"

"The chief wanted to talk to you," Bugs replied.

"All right. When?" Rodgers asked. Hood's door was rarely closed. It was closed now.

"He said you should go in when you got here," Bugs told him.

"Thanks," Rodgers said. He walked past Bugs's cubicle and knocked on Hood's door.

"It's open," Hood said.

Rodgers went in.

"Good morning," Hood said.

"Morning," Rodgers said.

Hood rose from behind his desk and gestured toward a leather sofa set against the inside wall. Rodgers walked over and sat. Hood shut the door, then joined Rodgers. His expression was curiously neutral. Hood was a diplomat, but he was usually open and empathetic. That helped people trust him, and that made him effective.

"Mind if I help myself to coffee?" Rodgers asked.

"No, of course not, Mike," Hood said. "Sorry I didn't offer. I've been preoccupied."

"I can tell," Rodgers said. He went to the coffeemaker on a small, triangular, teakwood corner table. "Want any?"

"No thanks. I've already had enough to float a horseshoe," Hood told him.

"What's going on?" Rodgers asked as he poured.

"I spoke with Senator Debenport this morning," Hood said. "He wants me to make deep cuts."

"More than the four percent we just gave him?"

"Much more," Hood told him. "Five times more."

"That's ridiculous," Rodgers said. He returned with his mug and took a sip. "You don't trim that kind of money. You amputate."

"I know," Hood said.

"How far from that figure can you move him?"

"He's not going to yield a dime," Hood said.

"b.a.l.l.s. Everything is negotiable."

"Not when you're a politician in the public eye," Hood said.

"I guess you would know."

"I do," Hood said. "People want to feel secure, and CIOC wants to give that to them in as showy a way as possible. That is where the money is needed."

Rodgers was starting to get a very uneasy feeling about the direction of this conversation. Hood was not asking questions; he was making statements, as though he were building a case.

"Anything that has a redundancy somewhere else in the intelligence system has to go," Hood went on.

"My field unit," Rodgers said.

"Yes, Mike."

There was something in Hood's voice that said he was not finished.

"And me?" Rodgers asked.

"They want me to merge the political office and deputy director's post," Hood told him.

"I see." Rodgers took a short swallow of black coffee. Then another. "Ron Plummer is more qualified for my position than I am for his," he said. "When do you want me to clear out?"

"Mike, we need to talk about this-"

"Talk to Liz Gordon. That's what she's here for."

"No, you and I need to work this out," Hood said. "I don't want our friendship to end."

The sentiment made Rodgers squirm. He was not sure why. "Look, don't worry about it. I'm probably overdue for a change. The army will rea.s.sign me. Or maybe I'll do something else."

"Maybe we can outsource some of our intel or recon activities, work with you on scenarios for the crisis sims," Hood said.

"I'd rather look at other options," Rodgers replied.

"All right. But the offer stands."

"Was there an offer?" Rodgers asked. "I heard a 'maybe.' "

"It was an offer to try to find projects-"

"Busywork, you mean," Rodgers said.

"No," Hood replied. "a.s.signments for a uniquely skilled intelligence professional."

Rodgers took a swallow of coffee and rose. He did not want to talk to Paul Hood right now. He had no doubt Hood fought to keep him. Perhaps he had even threatened to resign. But in the end, Hood chose to stay on and confront his "friend" with hard facts and cold efficiency. "When does the CIOC want me out of here?"

"Mike, no one wants wants you out of here," Hood said. "If they did, we would have done this when Striker was officially disbanded." you out of here," Hood said. "If they did, we would have done this when Striker was officially disbanded."

"Right," Rodgers said. "It's the position that's being eliminated not the man. I'd like to resign rather than being downsized. That has a little more dignity."

"Of course," Hood said.

"How long will Plummer need to take my post?"

"Two weeks?" Hood guessed.

"Fine," Rodgers said and turned to go.

"Mike-"

"I'm okay," Rodgers said. "Really."

"I was going to say that it has been a privilege working with you."

Rodgers stopped. Screw this Screw this, he thought. He was a soldier, not a diplomat. He turned back. "Would it be a privilege to resign with me?" he asked.

"If I thought that would have changed Debenport's mind, I would have done it," Hood told him.

"As a maneuver," Rodgers said. "A tactic. What about standing shoulder-to-shoulder as a point of honor?"

"To me, falling on my sword would be vanity, not honor," Hood said. "It would be an act of surrender."

"Backing a friend and coworker?"

"In this case, yes," Hood said.

"Jesus," Rodgers said. "I'm glad I didn't have guys like you watching my a.s.s in 'Nam. I'd be under a pile of rocks somewhere."

"This isn't combat, Mike. It's politics. People fight with words and access. They don't die. They get marginalized, they get recycled, they regroup. It's the nature of the beast. Some people do it for ego, and some do it for principle. I took this job to serve the people of the United States. That is sacred to me. I won't give it up to make a dramatic statement. One that won't change a thing."

"Is that how you view loyalty, Paul? As a dramatic statement? Was I just being dramatic when I helped save your daughter in the UN takeover?"

"That's not fair," Hood said. "We've been in the line of fire for people we don't even know. We agreed to do that when we went to work here. We agreed to protect our nation and its interests."

"I don't need the sermon," Rodgers said. "I've served the country for my entire adult life."

"I know, which is why you should understand what it means to work for a government agency," Hood said. "Op-Center has this much in common with the military. We are impacted by political trends and public whim. Whoever sits in this office has to work with whatever he is given. And with whatever is taken from him."

Rodgers shook his head. "That's what the Vichy collaborators did when they capitulated to the German invaders."

Hood's expression was no longer neutral. He winced, as though he had taken an uppercut square in the chin.

"I'm sorry," Rodgers said. "I did not mean to imply that you're a coward."

"I know," Hood said.

An uncomfortable quiet settled upon the room. Hood stood. He walked toward Rodgers and offered his hand. The general accepted it. There was surprising warmth in Hood's handshake.

"If you need anything, let me know," Hood said. "Or you can talk to Bob, if you prefer."

"I'll talk to you," Rodgers said.

"Good." Hood held on to Rodgers's hand. "Mike, I need you to believe something. This place cost me my family. If it costs me your friendship, I'm going to have to live with that. If it costs me your respect, I'm going to have to live with that, too. But I want you to know that leaving here would have been easier than what I just did. You talked about loyalty. I did what I believe was right for Op-Center, not what was convenient or comfortable or even best for me."

"I believe you, Paul," Rodgers said. "I just don't agree with you."

"Fair enough," Hood said. "But you need to know this, too. If there were a resistance movement fighting the CIOC, I would join it."

"We can start one," Rodgers said. "I'll have some free time."