Fenwick shook his head sadly. “Sir, mental health is the issue. Mr. Hood has been under a great deal of stress these past two weeks. His teenage daughter is mentally ill. He’s going through a divorce. He needs a long vacation.”
“I don’t think Mr. Hood is the one who needs a leave of absence,” the First Lady said. Her voice was clear and edged with anger. It quieted the room. “Mr. Fenwick, I have watched my husband being misled and misinformed for several weeks now. Mr. Hood looked into the situation at my personal request. His investigation has been methodical, and I believe his findings have merit.” She glared at Fenwick. “Or do you intend to call me a liar as well?”
Fenwick said nothing.
The president looked at his wife. Megan was standing straight and stoic at Hood’s side. There was nothing apologetic in her expression. The president looked tired, but Hood thought he also seemed sad. He could not tell whether it was because Megan had run an operation behind his back or because he felt he had let her down. The couple was silent. It was clearly an issue they would settle some other time, in private.
After a moment, the president’s eyes returned to Hood. The sadness remained. “Your concern is noted and appreciated,” the president said. “But I won’t jeopardize the nation’s interests to protect my own. Especially when you have no evidence that they’re at risk.”
“All I want is a few hours,” Hood said.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have a few hours,” the president replied.
For a moment, Megan looked as though she was going to hug her husband. She did not. She looked at Fenwick and then at the joint chiefs. “Thank you for hearing us out,” she said. “I’m sorry to have interrupted.” She turned and started toward the door.
Hood did not know what else to say. He would have to go back to the Cabinet Room and work with Herbert and Orlov. Try to get the proof the president needed and get it quickly.
He turned to follow the First Lady from the Situation Room. As he did, there was a gentle beep from somewhere in the room. A cell phone. The sound had come from the inside pocket of Fenwick’s suit.
He shouldn’t be able to get a signal in here, Hood thought. The walls of the Situation Room were lined with chips that generated random electrical impulses or impedence webs. The IWs were designed to block bugs from broadcasting to anyone on the White House grounds. They also blocked cell phone calls with one exception: transmissions relayed by the government’s Hephaestus satellite array.
Hood turned back as the NSA chief had slipped a hand into his jacket. Fenwick took out the phone and shut off the ringer.
Bingo.
If it got through IW security, it had to be a Hephaestus call. Highest security. Who wouldn’t Fenwick want to talk to right now?
Hood leaned over the NSA chief and pulled the phone from his hand. Fenwick reached for it, but Hood stepped away.
“What the hell are you doing?” Fenwick demanded. He pushed the chair back and rose. He walked toward Hood.
“I’m betting my career on a hunch,” Hood said. He flipped open the cover and answered the call. “Yes?”
“Who is this?” asked the caller.
“This is Jack Fenwick’s line at the NSA,” Hood said. He walked toward the president. “Who’s calling?”
“My name is David Battat,” said the clear voice on the other end.
Hood felt the world slide off his shoulders. He held the cell phone so the president could listen as well. Fenwick stopped beside them. The NSA head did not reach for the phone. He just stood there. Hood saw just where the weight of the world had shifted.
“Mr. Battat, this is Paul Hood of Op-Center,” said Hood.
“Paul Hood?” Battat said. “Why are you answering this line?”
“It’s a long story,” Hood said. “What is your situation?”
“A helluva lot better than Mr. Fenwick’s,” Battat said. “We just took down the Harpooner and recovered his secure phone. This number was the first one that came up on the Harpooner’s instant-dial menu.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
Paul Hood stepped to a corner of the room to finish speaking with Battat. It was important that he get all the information he could about the Harpooner and what had happened.
While Hood did that, President Lawrence stood. He glanced over at his wife, who was standing by the door. He gave her a little smile. Just a small one to show that he was okay and that she had done the right thing. Then Lawrence turned to Fenwick. The NSA chief was still standing beside him. His arms were stiff at his side and his expression was defiant. The other men remained seated around the table. Everyone was watching Lawrence and Fenwick.
“Why did the Harpooner have your direct number and the Hephaestus access code?” the president asked. There was a new confidence in his voice.
“I can’t answer that,” Fenwick said.
“Were you working with Iran to orchestrate a takeover of Azerbaijani oil deposits?” the president asked.
“I was not.”
“Were you working with anyone to organize a takeover of the Oval Office?” the president asked.
“No, sir,” Fenwick replied. “I’m as puzzled as you are.”
“Do you still believe that Mr. Hood is a liar?”
“I believe that he’s misinformed. I have no explanation for what is going on,” Fenwick said.
The president sat back down. “None at all.”
“No, Mr. President.”
The president looked across the table. “General Burg, I’m going to get the secretary of state and our UN ambassador working on this right away. How would you feel about coordinating a midlevel alert for the region?”
Burg looked at his colleagues in turn. No one voiced a protest. The general looked at the president. “Given the confusion about just who we should be fighting, I’m very comfortable with yellow status.”
The president nodded. He looked at his watch. “We’ll reconvene in the Oval Office at six-thirty. That will give me time to work with the press secretary to get something on the morning news shows. I want to be able to put people at ease about our troops and about the status of our oil supply.” He regarded vice president Cotten and Gable. “I’m going to ask the attorney general to look into the rest of this situation as quietly as possible. I want him to ascertain whether treasonable acts have been committed. Do any of you have any thoughts?”
There was something challenging in the president’s voice. Hood had just finished up with Battat and turned back to the table. He remained in the corner, however. Everyone else was still.
The vice president leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. He said nothing. Gable did not move. Fenwick’s deputy, Don Roedner, was staring at the conference table.
“No suggestions at all?” the president pressed.
The heavy silence lasted a moment longer. Then the vice president said, “There will not be an investigation.”
“Why not?” asked the president.
“Because you will have three letters of resignation on your desk by the end of the morning,” Cotten replied. “Mr. Fenwick‘s, Mr. Gable’s, and Mr. Roedner’s. In exchange for those resignations, there will be no charges, no prosecution, and no explanation other than that members of the administration had a difference of policy opinion.”
Fenwiclc’s forehead flushed. “Three letters, Mr. Vice President?”
“That’s correct, Mr. Fenwick,” Cotten replied. The vice president did not look at the NSA chief. “In exchange for complete amnesty.”
Hood did not miss the subtext. Nor, he was sure, did the president. The vice president was in on this, too. He was asking the others to take a fall for him — though not a big one. Quitting an administration, high-ranking officials often tumbled upward in the private sector.