Herbert asked Bugs Benet to send Matt Stoll up to parking spot 710.
Stoll was upstairs in five minutes. He was grateful for the fresh air.
'The smell of fried copper wire is still pretty thick down in the sulfur pit,' the portly scientist complained.
Stoll accessed the United States Coast Guard secure personnel files in ten minutes. Shortly after that, he pulled up an eyes-only file for Lieutenant Robert Howell. It was from 1989, a formal report by a hearing officer regarding an incident on the newly commissioned cutter Orcas stationed in Coos Bay, Oregon.
'Holy Christmas,' Herbert said as he read the file.
'What have we got?' Stoll asked.
'A Get Out of Jail Free card for the McCaskeys, for one thing,' Herbert replied.
The intelligence chief thanked Stoll and sent the reluctant wunderkind back to the sulfur pit. He immediately got on the phone with Mike Rodgers. The 'suspicious' Mike Rodgers. The big-leap-taking Mike Rodgers.
The correct Mike Rodgers.
FORTY-FOUR
San Diego, California Wednesday, 1:00 p.m.
Eric Stone had told the reception desk to let him know when Mike Rodgers arrived. Stone had not met Rodgers. But Kat had called to say she was concerned about his loyalties. That amplified the discomfort Stone felt over the fact that the general was still working with the people who were investigating the USF. Rodgers was a patriot, but not of the extremist mold like Senator Orr. Stone wanted to have a talk with him. More importantly, he wanted to look into Rodgers's eyes and see where his loyalties lay. Stone was very good at reading expressions. It was a talent he discovered while working as a waiter.
He knew the exact moment there was an opportunistic break in a conversation so he could offer a tray of hors d'oeuvres. He knew from partygoers' expressions, from the way their eyes moved, who liked their egg rolls crispy, their meat skewers rare, and who did not like sushi.
He could tell from the vaguely embarrassed manner who was going to take more than one or two cocktail wieners. He evolved those skills working for Admiral Link, watching the fearful or indignant or occasionally dangerous expressions of the servicemen and dignitaries, politicians and civilians who came to visit. Mike Rodgers was an unknown quantity to him.
Until Stone saw him in the corridor of the hotel. The general was just leaving his room. Stone wanted to get a quick sense of what he was about. From appearances, Rodgers was one hundred percent military.
Admiral Link was that way, too. But the admiral was offense, and this man was defense. Stone could tell from the set of his head. It was not upright but tilted back slightly, presenting the chin. He was expecting a blow, yet the square set of his shoulder said he was ready for it.
'General Rodgers?' Stone asked as he approached.
'Yes?'
'Eric Stone,' said the young man.
'Pleased to meet you, Eric,' Rodgers said.
Stone offered his hand. The general shook it firmly though not too hard. He was a man who did not have to prove his strength.
'Did you have a good trip?' Stone asked.
'Yes, thank you.'
Rodgers is formal, guarded, Stone thought. He wondered why. 'You know, General, I have a bunch of steaks on the grill right now, so I can only stay a minute. But I hope we will have a chance to talk before things get under way.'
'I look forward to that,' Rodgers replied.
'I also hope all of this will be a positive experience for you, a welcome distraction,' Stone went on. 'I heard what happened at Op-Center. Just terrible. How long before operations can be resumed?'
