“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.”