Martha wiggled her foot. That was an indication that she was pissed off but wasn't going to get into a spitting contest. Martha got pissed off a lot at Hood and others in government who did anything that might jeopardize her own career. Still, ambition didn't necessarily make her wrong.
"Who's our best friend on the committee investigating this?" Hood asked Martha.
"That depends," she said, still irritated. "Do you consider Senator Fox our friend?"
Senator Barbara Fox had led the charge to gut the budget for Op-Center. She'd done an about-face when Hood, on business in Germany, had found the man who had murdered the senator's daughter decades before.
"For the moment Senator Fox is our friend," Hood said. "But like Matt said, one is a target while two is power. If we have to go in there swinging, who else've we got?"
"No one," Martha said. "Five of the other eight committee members are up for re-election, and Chairman Landwehr is on a crusade. They'll do whatever it takes to look good. Meaning protect the taxpayer by punishing the squanderer. The two senators who aren't up for re-election are Boyd and Griffith. And they're tight with Larry Rachlin."
Hood frowned. CIA Director Rachlin was not a friend of Op-Center. He perceived the crisis management group as having stolen a great deal of his overseas thunder — and with only seventy-eight full-time employees. Barbara Fox was the only one they could even hope to count on. And there was no telling which way she'd go if the other members of the SIC and the press leaned on her. It might toughen her or cause her to back-paddle.
"You've both made strong cases," Hood said, "but there's one thing we can't ignore. We're in this whether we want to be or not. It makes sense to me that we take the offensive."
Matt brightened. Martha shook her foot and drummed her fingers on the armrest.
"Martha, how well do you know Senator Landwehr?"
"Not very. We've bumped into one another at a couple of dinners, a few parties. He's quiet, conservative, like it says in the papers. Why?"
"If there are any subpoenas," Hood said, "they'll probably go to me, to Mike Rodgers, and to Matt. But if you get in there first, we can spin this our way."
"Me?" she said. "As in 'They won't dare to attack a black woman?' "
"No," Hood replied. "You're the only one of us who was in the loop but didn't deal directly with the NRO. You don't have friends there. That makes you qualified in the eyes of the committee. Equally as important, it makes you the least-biased high-ranking official in the eyes of the public."
Martha's foot stopped wiggling and her fingers stopped tapping. Hood knew she was interested. She was a woman in her late forties who didn't want to stay at Op-Center forever. Voluntary, impassioned testimony would give her valuable national exposure. That would be her motivation for taking the stand. Hood's was that while their cause was just, Congressional hearings were also high drama. If the exits, entrances, and players were carefully selected and stage-managed, defeat could be made into triumph.
"What would I be saying up there?" Martha asked.
"The truth," Hood said, "which is what makes this very sweet. You would tell the committee that yes, we've occasionally and for very short periods monopolized the NRO for national security. You'd tell them that Stephen Viens is a hero who helped us protect human rights and lives. Senator Landwehr won't be able to attack us for telling the truth. If we get him and Senator Fox behind us, and portray Viens as a patriot, that robs the committee of some of its power to grandstand. Then it'll just be a matter of the NRO giving the money back, which is pretty boring stuff. Not even CNN will give it much coverage."
Martha sat still for a moment, then said, "I'll think about it."
Hood wanted to say, "You'll do it." But Martha was a thorny woman who also had to be handled with care. He said, "Can you let me know by this afternoon?"
She nodded, then left.
Stoll regarded Hood. "Thanks, Chief. I really mean that."
Hood drained the last cold drop from his mug. "Your friend screwed up over there, Matt. But if you can't go to bat for a good man who's been a loyal ally, then what the hell good are you?"
Stoll made a zero with his thumb and index finger, thanked Hood again, then left.
Alone again, Hood pressed his palms into his eyes. He had been a big-city mayor and a banker. When his father was his age, forty-three, he was a CPA struggling to keep his own small accounting firm afloat. How did Frank Hood's son come to this place in life where careers could live or die, where people could live or die, based on decisions he made here?
He knew the answer, of course. He loved government and he believed in the system. And he did it because he believed that he could make these decisions compassionately and intelligently.
But Lord, he thought, it's difficult.
With that, the self-pity ended. Rising with his mug, Hood left the office to start on his next cup of coffee.
EIGHT
Mary Rose Mohalley finished running the last of the local systems checks. The software for the ALQ-157 infrared jammer was on-line and functioning. So was the hardware of the three-foot-by-two-foot-by-two-foot X-poser, which was designed to detect the residue of nitroglycerin, C-4, Semtex, TNT, and other explosives. Then she checked to make sure the ROC's batteries and solar panels were working at full capacity. They were. Two dozen batteries were dedicated to the ROC's internal systems. Another four batteries were devoted to powering the van's engine when, unlike now, gasoline wasn't readily available. The latter four batteries consisted of a pair of low-rate-energy storage batteries and two high-rate-energy flywheel batteries. Together the four batteries provided a total of eight hundred extra miles of travel capacity without recharging. All of the nickel metal-hydride batteries were stored in two fifty-eight-by-fourteen-inch compartments that were built into the raised floor. The solar panels that powered the van's air-conditioning and water were also working perfectly.
The twenty-nine-year-old got up. She had intended to go out and stretch, maybe catch a few minutes of sun, when Mike Rodgers spoke.
"Mary Rose, would you mind getting Matt's OLM program up and running before you do anything else?"
The young woman's shoes squeaked as she stopped suddenly on the smooth, black rubberized floor covering. Rodgers hadn't turned around or he would have seen her shoulders slump.
"No, I wouldn't mind at all," Mary Rose replied lightly. She plopped back down. Back at Op-Center, psychologist Liz Gordon had warned her that the only rays she'd get working with Mike Rodgers were whatever low-level radiation leaked from her computer monitor.
After giving his associate her assignment, Rodgers arched his back and stretched in silence. Then he continued going through his own checklist.
There it was, Mary Rose grumbled to herself. General Rodgers just took his break.
She looked at the screen and began moving the mouse around. The OLM was Matt Stoll's On-Line Mole. Though they had both been eager to try it, the OLM was part of the second wave of software installations. It was scheduled to be up and running by four p.m. However, with General Rodgers, a request was as imperative as a command.
The young woman rubbed her tired eyes, but that didn't make them feel any better. She was still jet-lagged from the flight over, and the fatigue went deep. Thanks to her doctorate in advanced computer applications, she had the luxury of using tireless machines to help her exhausted human brain. But she wondered how many bad deals American statesmen had made in this part of the world because they were just too tired to think clearly.