taking calls from officials and from friends. The president had called, followed by a chat with Senator Debenport. The senator asked if Hood thought the USF was responsible. Hood told him that possibility was being investigated. Debenport informed him that the CIOC was going to provide him with emergency reconstruction funds. Hood was appreciative, even though he knew why Debenport was getting him the money.
He spoke briefly with a reporter from the Washington Post, the only interview he gave, and with his occasional date Daphne Connors. Now Hood was talking with Sharon. His former wife had heard about an explosion from a friend at the Pentagon. She called to make sure Paul was all right.
'We lost one man and most of our electronics,' Hood said.
'I'm sorry. Will you be able to get the facility running again?'
'That's being assessed now,' Hood told her. 'With enough money, though, anything can be fixed.' He hesitated. Except our marriage, he thought. He wondered if Sharon noticed the pause and thought the same thing. Probably. She still knew him better than anyone.
'Is there anything I can do?' Sharon asked.
'Just let the kids know what happened,' he said. 'I'll try to call later.' That, too, was probably the wrong thing to say. He used to say that all the time when they were married. The time they had been apart seemed to evaporate. It did not feel good. 'I think the worst thing about this is that I've also seen the future, and it scares me,' he went on quickly. 'I can't imagine the fears our kids will have to live with.'
'It sounds like you'll have to, if you're going to try to minimize them,' Sharon replied.
Now that was different. A turnabout. Hood had expressed reservations about his job, and Sharon had encouraged him to work harder. It was as though the world itself had been rewired.
'I'll let the kids know you weren't hurt,' Sharon went on. 'I'll also tell Frankie that there may be a change of plans.'
It took Hood a moment to remember who Frankie was. The intern. The son of his replacement.
'Don't tell him that,' Hood said. 'If he has a car that works and won't mind running errands, we can probably use him sooner rather than later.'
'I'm sure he wouldn't mind,' Sharon replied.
Hood thanked Sharon for the call and said he would get in touch with Frankie as soon as possible. In the midst of electronic chaos it was nice to be grounded by humanity. Ironically, that fact reflected something Mike Rodgers and Bob Herbert had been saying for years. Life, like intelligence operations, relies too much on electronics and too little on people.
Hood had written Frankie's cell phone number on a leather-bound notepad he carried in his shirt pocket. It had been a Father's Day gift from Harleigh several years before. Hood had not bothered to transfer the data to his computer. Another irony. Hood would have trouble digging the home number of his Russian counterpart Sergei Orlov from the data dump Matt Stoll had created in the Tank. But he possessed the number of intern Frankie Hunt.
Then again, Hood thought, the way you've been handling crises lately, maybe you should give the kid your keys to the kingdom. He could not do a worse job. He wondered what would happen if they turned over every aspect of government to newcomers for just a day or two. Would that bring their best or worst instincts to the fore? Would power destroy their innocence, or would they know, intuitively, to handle it with extreme care? Would they crush lives and careers simply because they could, because it was more convenient, more expedient than open debate, or would their angel natures guide them to higher ground?
Hood called Frankie, who said he could be available that night. Hood said the next morning would be fine. Frankie Hunt sounded wildly enthusiastic. He did not ask if there was any danger. He even addressed his new boss as 'sir.' Maybe Hood would not have to work as hard as he anticipated not to hold the 'sins' of the father against the young man.
McCaskey came to see Hood while he was still on the phone with Frankie.
Hood motioned him in. The FBI liaison had obviously taken a tour of the facility. He had been putting a lot of hours into the case and looked drawn. Now he looked a rung above beaten.
'By my soul, Paul, I do not want to find out that Americans did this to Americans,' McCaskey said. 'We don't make war on one another. Not anymore.'
'Sure we do. We chew each other up with politics every day of every week,' Hood said.
'Someone died here,' McCaskey said. 'That's different.'
'I know, and I don't want to minimize that,' Hood said. 'But I've just been sitting here thinking how everyone in this town is a killer. Every damn one of us. We just don't use that word. We call it politics.'
