Hood parked and entered the upper lobby. The guard knew him, too, but still had to call ahead to let Bugs know that Hood was there. Hood was handed a pass that would work the elevator for just one day. Bugs met him downstairs. The men shook hands. It was no longer just formal. It was damned awkward.
“It’s good to see you,” Hood said.
“Same. The general is waiting.”
Bugs was wearing a smile, but there was no joy in it. There was something else. He looked different. Hood noticed then that his long sleeves were rolled down, and his tie was tightly knotted. Hood had always allowed him to wear it loose with the top button opened. Perhaps Bugs was waiting to be told that was okay. Perhaps he had already been told it was not. It was not a big thing, but a mosaic like Op-Center was built on details like that. One tessera did not change without affecting all the others. A knotted tie might induce formality in Bugs that was passed to others, from their appearance to their work. It had always been Hood’s contention that someone who was bundled too tight would be less inclined to look for — and deliver — fresh insights.
Employees were surprised to see their former boss. There were Bugs-like smiles and a few big hellos, but no one stopped to talk. No one had information for him or a question. Some people might find that liberating. Hood found it disturbing. More and more he felt as he did when he left Sharon and the kids. As though he had not just relocated, he had been dislocated. He needed someone to pop him back in his socket, and it was not happening.
Hood was shown to his office. Or rather, what used to be his office. It looked different. It smelled different. Carrie was a tea drinker. It sounded different. Carrie kept the door closed. Hood did not even have time to thank Bugs before he was shut inside with the general. She stood and shook his hand across the desk. General Carrie did not look like Hood had imagined. She had sharply defined features and a disarming smile that pulled up slightly to the right. Her eyes were soft. So was her voice, though it was not weak.
Nor was her handshake.
The general gestured to one of the armchairs that Hood himself had picked out. She offered him a beverage, which he declined. He sat after she did. That might be politically incorrect, but Hood did not care. Morgan Carrie was still a woman, and women sat first. That was how it went.
“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.”