grapeshot and action, not observation and note-taking. The work was essential. It just was not for him. To make things worse, his efforts cut into the jurisdiction of Bob Herbert, Op-Center's chief of Intelligence Operations. The strain on their relationship was subtle, but the impact was not. There was no antagonism; to the contrary, they were extremely cautious around one another, like outfielders going for a high fly ball and stopping short, letting it drop between them.
When an aide to Texas Senator Don Orr had called to say the senator was interested in exploring professional opportunities, Rodgers agreed to come. So far, the three-term, fifty-eight-year-old senator had not said much more than a big, 'Hello, General! Thanks for coming,' before being swallowed by the party. The white-haired rancher- turned-politician said that to virtually everyone as he moved from group to group, shaking hands and kissing cheeks. All of them, Rodgers suspected.
Rodgers did not follow him, as several others were doing. Subtly, of course. They wanted to be noticed and introduced to people. They wanted to be legitimized, like made men at a meeting of the dons.
Rodgers did not know any of these people, and so he stood near the wet bar, chatting with one of the two bartenders. As a grandfather clock tolled the half hour, a woman approached from the side.
'There is only one thing worse than being a Washington outsider,' she said as she asked the bartender for a Coke.
'What's that?' Rodgers asked, glancing at her.
'Being a Washington insider,' she replied.
Rodgers smiled. There was a hint of Vietnamese in her strong, cultured voice, but the rest of her was pure Beltway insider.
'General Rodgers, I'm Kendra Peterson, the senator's executive assistant,' she said, extending a slender hand. 'I'm happy you could make it.'
Rodgers's smile broadened as he shook her hand. The woman was in her mid-thirties and stood about five foot seven, with dark skin, exotic eyes, and straight black hair. She had the cool poise of someone who knew things. She was dressed in a strapless navy blue satin gown with a wide, translucent sash. Her wardrobe was seductive, but her expression said she was not interested, whoever you were.
'I'm pleased to meet you,' Rodgers said. 'I was beginning to wonder why I was here.'
'I knew there wouldn't be much chance for you to talk to the senator, but I wanted you to get a feel for the kind of people we work with.'
'I see. Care to tell me why?'
'The senator is interested in you,' she said.
'But you're not at liberty to tell me more,' Rodgers said.
She shook her head once.
'I've heard rumors the senator plans to make a third-party run for the White House,' Rodgers went on. 'Are they true?'
The woman smiled evasively. 'Would you be available to meet with the senator tomorrow afternoon?'
'I might be if I knew why,' Rodgers said. 'I don't like to go into situations unprepared.'
The woman took a sip of her drink and turned toward the room. 'This town house was built in 1877, four years after Georgetown was incorporated into the District of Columbia. Do you know what it was worth then?'
'Probably less than this party cost,' Rodgers said.
She grinned. 'Somewhat less. Just under five thousand dollars, according to the tax rolls. Seven years ago, at the beginning of his third term, the senator bought it for $2.7 million.'
'Your point being?'
The woman fixed him with those fascinating eyes. 'The house was built by a sea captain who never intended to live in it. He willed it to his granddaughter. He knew it would appreciate far more than anything else he could leave her. That is how the senator feels about his political future. What we start here will increase geometrically over the years to come.'
'With respect, everyone says that,' Rodgers told her.
'The senator has a voting record.'
