War of Eagles (16 page)

“I imagine this is a little strange for you,” the general said.

“Somewhat.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

“Just treat my people well,” Hood replied earnestly.

“I meant, for you,” she said.

“That would help me,” Hood assured her. “Since we never got to do a proper transition, my people—
these
people—work best in a relaxed atmosphere. When the world is falling down, the NCMC can be a haven. For example, Bugs is a great aide. He doesn’t miss a thing.”

“Mr. Benet seems to be a very effective and knowledgeable man,” the general concurred. “He has helped a great deal today. Of course, there is going to be an evaluation process. I may bring in some people from G2. But I would like to keep as many of the current staff as possible. In any case, Paul, I won’t be making any immediate changes.”

“I understand that,” Hood told her. He felt uncomfortable. He had not intended to get into any of this, but here he was. “It’s more a matter of day-to-day efficiency. Take Bugs again. It’s a small thing, but he works best with his sleeves rolled up and his tie open.”

“He’s free to do so,” Carrie replied. “This is not the army. I stand by the civilian dress code.”

Hood looked at her. “Oh. Okay,” he said. He felt stupid. Obviously, Bugs had tied his tie and buttoned his cuffs to try to please her.

The general leaned forward and folded her hands. “Believe me, Paul. I’m aware of my situation here. I’m in a trial period as well. The man who sat in this chair before me did the brutally difficult job of pleasing a president
and
his own staff for years. That’s a hell of an accomplishment. My team at G2 was assigned to me. Like it or not, that was their command. Your people were mostly civilians. They stayed because they wanted to. Op-Center did not always run smoothly, I know. Nothing does. But it ran well and effectively. I would be happy to have that on my résumé.”

Now Hood really felt stupid. And also flattered and proud. He had been expecting Mike Rodgers, someone for whom every meeting, every conversation was a form of combat. That was not General Carrie.

The officer sat back again. “Bugs said that the president asked you to come in and talk with me,” she said with her little half smile. “I do not imagine the subject was shirtsleeves.”

“No,” Hood told her. “I am here because I am about to leave for Beijing. Both Bob Herbert and Mike Rodgers are concerned about the launch of the Unexus satellite. The president is more concerned about the stability of the government. He wants me to assess the situation.”

“It is a dangerous one,” Carrie said.

“Was G2 watching any of the players?” Already, Hood felt himself acting like an outside intelligence operative. He did not say,
“Were you watching General Tam Li?”
He was guarding his information.

“We collected whatever we could on all the major military and intelligence figures,” she replied, equally vague.

“Does anyone stand out?” Hood asked.

“Several,” she replied.

Except for Hood asking,
“Who?”
they had reached the irreducible and in some ways the most absurd level of intelligence conversation. The you-show-me-yours point. It seemed to be a silly game for adults to be playing. Unfortunately, silly as it might be, it was not a game. In a world where knowledge was power, everyone did it. Even when they were supposed to be on the same team.

Carrie picked up the phone. She tapped the intercom button. Hood had always put it on speaker.

“Send them in,” the general said.

The door opened behind Hood, and Bob Herbert wheeled in. He was followed by Darrell McCaskey. Herbert stopped to the right of Hood’s armchair. The men shook hands. Herbert’s smile was tight, his eyes bloodshot. The man was totally shot. McCaskey also looked a little drawn as he shook Hood’s hand and dropped into the other armchair. Herbert’s tie was open at the top. Darrell’s was not.

“I asked Bob and Darrell to join us,” Carrie said. “I thought it might be useful if we were all on the same page.”

The general looked at the men.
At her men,
Hood thought. At the men she had made a point of calling at her discretion. Either General Carrie had wanted to show Hood that he could be isolated or made part of a team. In any case, her point was clear: the call was hers to make.

“Paul is going to Beijing at the request of the president,” Carrie told Herbert and McCaskey. “President Debenport asked him to stop here first. Paul was about to tell me what information he needed.”

That, too, was very smooth. She was a natural at the wielding of authority. McCaskey and Herbert looked at Hood. Now he had to tell them something.

“Actually, I’m here to find out why a contingent of marines is being dispatched to the embassy under the auspices of Op-Center,” Hood said.

Carrie seemed surprised by the question. “They are going to gather intel,” she replied.

“In Beijing?” Hood asked.

“In Beijing and elsewhere,” the general told him. “They’re all of Chinese-American heritage. G2 has been training them for years to infiltrate Chinese society, get jobs in and around the seats of government.”

“That’s a good idea,” Herbert said. “We need HUMINT resources who can blend in.”

“Individuals who are not local with variable allegiance that could compromise missions, the integrity of intelligence, and the safety of other operatives,” Carrie replied. “We have been training groups like that for service in dozens of ethnic regions.” She regarded Hood suspiciously. “The Joint Chiefs were aware of that. The president could have asked them.”

“I suppose he could have, but he asked me,” Hood replied innocently.

“It would be unfortunate if the president did not trust his own advisers,” she said incredulously.

“I’ve been a White House crisis manager for less than twelve hours. I cannot say who President Debenport does or does not trust.” Hood replied. He tried to lighten the mood, which had suddenly turned heavy and suspicious. “Maybe my visit here is the equivalent of a West Wing hazing. Toss the new guy into a maelstrom and see what he can do.”

“That’s possible,” Carrie agreed. “Though to me it’s more of a street gang mentality, where you have to pull off a crime before they accept you. Usually it’s against a friend or high-visibility target to prove your loyalty.”

“Did I just miss something?” McCaskey asked uncomfortably. “Are we no longer playing nice?”

“We’re not playing anything, Darrell,” Herbert replied. “I think a second front just got opened.”

Herbert may be tired, but he was not oblivious. Nor anyone’s fool. It was an unsettling thought but, like China, these men were in fact a battleground. Hood had assumed he had been sent here to get inside information about the marines and also to show G2 that there were outside eyes on Op-Center. But what if he was sent not to anchor the White House in the marine operation but to provide a wedge? Perhaps Debenport saw Hood as someone who could divide the loyalties of those who worked at Op-Center, forcing Carrie to keep a balance between the White House and the military—or risk alienating Hood and his people, and having to replace the rest of the battle-seasoned team that was loyal to them. It was a new level of intrigue, one that gave a fresh definition to domestic intelligence.

He was spying on the home team.

“Surely we have larger issues to deal with,” McCaskey said.

The FBI liaison was correct. Unfortunately, the situations were not mutually exclusive. Hood and Carrie locked eyes. He was not sure how he got into yet another conflict with a woman he did not know, but here he was. And here she was. Now they had to see it through.

“Getting back on topic so I don’t miss my flight, will the marines be reporting to G2 or to Op-Center?” Hood asked. That was something the Joint Chiefs would not necessarily have shared with the president.

“Op-Center is chartered to run military and paramilitary operations,” Carrie replied carefully. “G2 is not. As you know, the funding for Striker was rolled back but not the commission itself.”

“They’ll have to report directly to you,” Hood said.

“Of course,” she replied. “I’m the only military officer on staff.”

What the president obviously feared became clearer: that G2 would strip-mine Op-Center for use in its own operations. That would shift the control of intelligence from the federal sector to the military.

Unfortunately, Hood was forced to put all of that aside for the moment. There was still a crisis bubbling abroad. And whether it served the needs of G2 or not, Hood had to admit that the infiltration was a good idea and, just as important, a timely one. Everyone on the inside would be on guard, and people on the outside—from news vendors to bicycle salesmen—would be more inclined to comment on that unrest. In such an environment, the alternately inquisitive or inherently tentative actions of spies would not stand out.

“Will I have access to your team when I’m in Beijing?” Hood asked.

“They have several targets,” Carrie said. “What are yours?”

“I won’t know until I get there,” Hood said.

“That would be the time to discuss it, then,” General Carrie said. “You will, of course, have whatever support and cooperation I can provide, as I’m sure our team can count on yours.”

“Naturally.”

“Bob tells me that General Rodgers hoped you could tap into resources the prime minister may have,” Carrie said. “He assumed, correctly, the president would have better access.”

“That is true,” Hood replied. This had to be awful for Herbert. The intelligence chief was looking down. He was playing with a loose thread on the armrest of his wheelchair.

“You’ll make a connection through our ambassador?” Carrie asked.

“That’s the plan,” Hood said. “I won’t know for certain until I get there.”

“We still don’t know why the prime minister is suddenly worried about the launch,” McCaskey said.

“Or even
if
he is,” Herbert added. “In a politically tense situation, keeping the Guoanbu out of the loop on a major project may be the prime minister’s way of putting them in their place.”

Like the Joint Chiefs or G2 not giving the president the full story about a marine group seconded to Op-Center
, Hood thought. He knew Bob Herbert well enough to detect a subtext in anything the intelligence chief said. From her expression, Carrie did as well. It struck Hood—after just half a day—that this was no different than being a wife or adviser to Henry VIII. Inevitably, your head was vulnerable to wide swings of the ax, whatever you did. The positions to which men and women naturally aspired required an exhausting combination of brawn and diplomacy. If American children knew the truth about being president or anything close to the Oval Office, they would cling to their sane, youthful dreams of being a firefighter or an astronaut.

“Well, I suggest we talk again when you get to Beijing,” Carrie said. “We’ll have a better idea then about how the various scenarios might play out. Bob, do you want to be point man on that?”

“Sure,” he said.

“Very good.” Carrie looked at Hood. “Was there anything else?”

“At some point I’d like to get my photographs and mementos back,” he replied, gesturing toward the desk and wall.

“I’ve asked Bugs to see to that,” she said. “Would you like the items sent to your apartment or office?”

“Office, please,” Hood replied. It was another small thing, but he wanted her to know he intended to be there for a while.

Carrie rose. McCaskey did as well. The general shook Hood’s hand across the desk. “Have a safe and productive trip,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“Ditto,” McCaskey said, offering his hand.

“Yeah, good luck,” Herbert added. “I’ll see you out.”

The men left together, followed by McCaskey, who shut the door behind him. The three moved along the narrow corridor toward the elevator.

“What the hell was all that about?” Herbert asked.

“Which part?” Hood replied.

“For starters, the stuff about the Joint Chiefs. Are we worried about a military coup?”

“Not per se,” Hood replied.

“What does that mean?” Herbert asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“For ‘not sure’ there was a lot of thrust and parry going on back there,” Herbert said, cocking his head toward Carrie’s office.

“I think the general is more ‘sure’ than I am,” Hood said.

“Paul, she was appointed by the president,” McCaskey noted.

“Who was yielding to pressure from the Joint Chiefs,” Hood said, his voice low. “I get the sense there is a realignment taking place,” Hood went on. “Administration changes affect the top levels of the executive branch, but the military is unchanged.”

“Except for the figurehead positions like the secretaries of the different forces,” Herbert said.

“Right. This is a realignment that may have been going on for a while. Debenport probably saw it coming as senator. Now he’s making his own moves to ensure the White House isn’t entirely dependent on the military for intelligence.”

“Which could be self-serving,” Herbert said. “Report instability somewhere, predict a war, get a budget increase.”

“Right again.”

“But the president still has the CIA, the FBI, and the NSA,” Herbert said.

“For now,” McCaskey said. “I didn’t think anything of it before, but over the past two or three years, the Bureau has been recruiting heavily from the ranks of the mustered-out. The HR people say they value the fitness and discipline of the modern American soldier.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Herbert asked. “I think you’re both being a little paranoid. When I was in Beirut for the Company, I had military advisers and contacts.”

“You were reporting to a civilian then,” Hood said. “You’re reporting to a three-star general now.”

“Mike was a general.”