'The medical examiner is going to forward her updated report in about ninety minutes,' McCaskey said. 'Fifteen minutes after that, most of Washington will have heard the news.'
Daily sighed audibly. 'You know, it used to be pan em et circensis, bread and circuses, that kept the populace happy.
Now it is cell phones and the Internet. They allow us to savor the blood and pain of others in real time.'
'Not everyone does that,' McCaskey said.
'Indeed we do,' Daily declared. 'Some of us don't enjoy it, I'll grant you, but most do. Recidivism, it seems, is not just for criminals.
Society itself has retreated to barbarism.'
The harshness of the condemnation surprised McCaskey. He did not want to believe that the majority of people were rubber neckers at best and moral savages at worst, that they were no different than killers or molesters who could not be rehabilitated. He had always felt that society was basically sound, that it needed only occasional tweaks from people like himself and Daily to stay on course.
This was not, however, the time to debate philosophy. McCaskey rang Bugs Benet to find out if the boss was free. He was. McCaskey said he would be right over.
As the former FBI agent hurried along the corridor, he realized there was an aspect to foreknowledge that Vic Witherman had missed. Terrorism was easy. All it took was a moment of angry resolve to tear things down. Keeping things together required courage and commitment.
Humanism. That was difficult.
TWELVE
Washington, D.C. Monday, 1:44 p.m.
Paul Hood called around to find out if the department heads in non classified areas needed an intern. They did not. Lowell Coffey said he would be happy to work with a legal trainee. Frankie Hunt did not fit that profile. Kevin Custer in Electronic Communications said he would take on someone with interest in the field. Otherwise, it was a waste of everyone's time. Other division leaders said more or less the same thing. Hood could have pushed them, but he did not. As he made the calls, he had already decided he did not want the kid working at Op-Center. Someone who helped a friend was 'a nice man.' Someone who helped his former wife was 'a man with guilt.' Someone who helped the lover of their former wife was not a man at all.
Working behind the scenes at Op-Center instead of in the light at Los Angeles City Hall had tempered Hood's healthy but modest narcissism somewhat. But it had not quite turned him into a masochist. Sharon, on the other hand, was mossy with fresh self-interest and vanity. She felt her former husband owed her time, effort, and attention, and she was determined to collect.
Hood would wait a few hours before calling Sharon. That would make it seem as if he had made more of an effort than he had. At least he did not have a lot of time to think about it. Hood had spent a lot of time with CFO Ed Colahan working on the budget cuts. There was not a division of Op-Center that would be unaffected. Matt Stoll's computer division would lose six of its twelve employees, Herbert would lose one of his six intel analysts, and the field force Mike Rodgers had assembled would be eliminated. Operatives like David Battat and Aideen Marley would be recruited on a case-by-case basis. Lowell's four-person legal office would be cut to three. Custer would have to release one of his four electronics surveillance people. The night staff would also be reduced. Each time Hood okayed a cut, he knew he was not only affecting an employee but national security. Op-Center had established a singular way of working. Homeland Security could not simply reassign those tasks to the FBI or CIA; Hood and his people had the trust of agents at Interpol, at the Russian Op-Center, at other agencies around the world. Time, personnel, and funds were required to maintain the quid pro quo nature of those valuable relationships. The cuts were going to impact that severely.
Darrell McCaskey walked in just as Colahan was leaving with his laptop.
'How are you holding up, Paul?' McCaskey asked. He shut the door behind him as the CFO left.
'When I was mayor, I had to cut billions from the Los Angeles city budget,' Hood said. 'That was politically painful but faceless. Each stroke of a key today was someone I know.' Hood sat back. McCaskey looked preoccupied. 'You heard about Mike Rodgers?'
'Yeah. Bob was so mad he nearly ran me over.'
'I haven't heard from him yet,' Hood said.
'He's laying low till he cools off,' McCaskey said. 'He should be in to see you some time next week.'
Hood smiled. 'What can I do for you?'
