Rodgers looked from Coffey to Darrell McCaskey. "Assuming that we get what we want from the Finnish government, is there any way Interpol can help us with intelligence from St. Petersburg?"
"That depends. You mean the Hermitage?"
Rodgers nodded.
"Do I tell them about the English agent who was killed there the other day?"
Rodgers looked at Hood. "DI6 lost a man there trying to eavesdrop on the TV studio."
"Are we asking Interpol to do essentially the same kind of reconnaissance?" Hood asked.
Rodgers nodded again.
"Then tell them about the Englishman," Hood said.
"I'm sure there's a hotdog who'll be willing to take them on."
"What about at the border?" Rodgers asked. "If we have to go by land, is there any way the Finns can sneak our team across?"
"I know someone in the Ministry of Defense," McCaskey said, "and I'll see what I can wangle. Just understand, Mike, there are less than four thousand effectives in the border guard. They don't exactly want to go pissing-off the Russians."
"Understood," the Deputy Director said, then turned to Matt Stoll. The portly computer expert was tapping his steepled fingers together.
"Matt," Rodgers said, "I want you to use your computer contacts to find out if the Russians have been ordering or stockpiling anything out of the ordinary. Or if any of their top tech people have relocated to St. Petersburg in the last year."
"Those guys are pretty tight-lipped," Stoll said. "I mean, it's not like they have a lot of options in private industry if the government stops trusting them. But I'll try."
"Don't try— do," Rodgers snapped, Almost at once, he looked down and rolled his lips together. "Sorry," he said after a moment. "It's been a long night. Matt, I may have to send my team into Russia, and that won't be a day at the beach. I want them to know everything they can about their target and who they might encounter. Knowing something about the electronics will help a great deal."
"I understand," Stoll said stiffly. "I'll do some hacking, internetting see what I can find."
"Thank you," Rodgers said.
Ann watched as the Deputy Director turned to Liz Gordon. She reacted with surprise when he spoke. Unlike Hood, who put little faith in psychological profiles of foreign leaders, Rodgers trusted their validity.
"Liz," he said, "I want you to put Russian Interior Minister Dogin through the computer. Factor in his loss of the presidency to Zhanin, as well as the influence of General Mikhail Kosigan. Bob has information on the General if you need it."
"His name rings a bell," Martha says. "I'm sure he's in my file."
Rodgers turned to Environmental Officer Phil Katzen, who had his laptop open and ready. "Phil, I need a workup on the Gulf of Finland into the Neva, and the Neva where it passes the Hermitage. Temperature, speed, wind factor—"
The computer to Hood's right beeped. He hit F6 to answer, then pushed Control to hold the call.
Rodgers continued, "And I want whatever you've got on the composition of the soil under the museum. I want to know how deep the Russians may have dug there."
Katzen nodded as he finished typing.
Hood hit Control again. The face of his Executive Assistant, Stephen "Bugs" Benet, appeared on the screen.
"Sir," said Bugs, "there's an urgent call from Commander Hubbard at DI6. It pertains to this matter, so I thought—"
"Thanks," said Hood. "Put it through."
Hood snapped on the phone's speaker button, then waited. The bloodhound face appeared on the monitor a moment later.
"Good morning, Commander," Hood said. "I'm with the rest of my team, so I took the liberty of putting you on the speakerphone."
"Fine," Hubbard said, his thickly accented voice deep and raspy, "I'll do the same. Mr. Hood, let me get straight to the matter. We have an operative here who would like to be part of the team you've sent to Helsinki."
Rodgers's expression soured. He shook his head.
Hood said, "Commander, ours is a carefully balanced unit—"
"I understand," Hubbard said, "but hear me out. I've lost two agents and a third is hiding. My staff wants me to send our own Bengal unit in, but it wouldn't do to have our two groups stumbling one over the other."
"Could your Bengal unit put me on the phone with the head of this new operation in St. Petersburg?"
"Pardon me?" said Hubbard.
"What I'm saying," said Hood, "is that you're not offering me anything I can't get myself. We'll share what we find out, as always."
"Of course," said Hubbard. "But I disagree. We can offer you one thing. Miss Peggy James."
Hood quickly input Control/F5 on his keyboard to access agent files. He hit DI6, typed James, and her dossier appeared.
Rodgers got up and stood behind Hood as he scanned the file, which was filled with data from DI6 as well as independent information collected by Op-Center, the CIA, and other U.S. agencies.
"She has quite a record," Hood said. "The granddaughter of a lord, three years in the field in South Africa, two in Syria, seven at headquarters. Special forces training, speaks six languages, holds four commendations. Rebuilds and races vintage motorcycles."
He stopped when Mike Rodgers pointed to a crossreference to another file.
"Commander Hubbard, this is Mike Rodgers," he said. "I see that Ms. James also recruited Mr. Fields-Hutton."
"Yes, General," Hubbard admitted. "They were very close."
"Watch out for grudge matches," Liz muttered, shaking her head.
"Did you hear, Commander?" Hood asked. "That was our staff psychologist."
"We heard," a sharp female voice replied, "and I assure you, I'm not in this for revenge. I simply want to see that the job Keith started is finished."
"No one was questioning your abilities, Agent James," Liz said in a strong, unapologetic voice that left no room for debate. "But emotional detachment and objectivity fuel caution, and that's what we want in our—"
"Balls," snapped Peggy. "Either I go with you or I go in alone. But I am going."
"That will be quite enough," Hubbard said firmly.
Coffey cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table. "Commander Hubbard, Agent James— I'm Lowell Coffey II, Op-Center's attorney." He looked at Hood. "Paul, you're probably going to have my head for this, but I think you should consider their offer."
Hood's expression was unchanged, but Rodgers's eyes were wide and angry. Coffey avoided them.
"Martha and I still have a few points to work out with the CIC," Coffey said, "and if I can tell them that this is an international team, there's a much better chance we'll be able to bargain for things like more time, a larger geographical area, that sort of thing."
"You'll want me to fall on my sword too, Mike," McCaskey said, "but having Agent James on the team will help me too. The Finnish Minister of Defense is very close to Admiral Marrow of the Royal Marines. If we need other favors as this unfolds, he's the man we'll have to ask for them."
The General said nothing for a long moment, and the silence from London was provocative. Hood finally looked at Bob Herbert. The Intelligence Chief's lips were pursed and he was drumming the leather armrests of his wheelchair.
"Bob," Hood asked, "what do you say?"
His soft voice tinged with remnants of his Mississippi youth, Herbert said, "I say that we can get the job done just fine, all by ourselves. If the lady wants to go in alone, that's Commander Hubbard's business. I don't see why we need to toss an extra gear into a finely tuned machine."
Martha Mackall said, "I think we're getting dangerously territorial here. Agent James is a professional. She'll fit into your finely tuned machine."
"Thank you," Peggy said, "whoever you are."
"Martha Mackall," she said, "Political Officer. And you're welcome. I know what it's like to be kept out of the boys' club."