THIRTY-ONE
Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 2:37 p.m.
It sounded as though someone had popped a very large balloon. Hood's first thought was that one of Op- Center's emergency generators had exploded.
Paul Hood was sitting at his desk, his office door closed. He had been looking absently at the computer wallpaper, a crayon drawing of Los Angeles City Hall that Harleigh had done when she was four. He had been replaying the argument with Mike Rodgers, wondering if it could have gone differently, when he heard the burst from down the hall. It was loud enough to make him wince and to clog his ears for several seconds. A moment later the fluorescent lights above began to glow brightly. In front of Hood, the computer wallpaper was replaced by a strange, milky luminescence.
Hood rose slowly. As his ears began to clear, he heard coughing and shouts from beyond his closed door. He heard the people but nothing else. Not the hum of his computer nor the whir of the air conditioner or even the faint electric buzz of the coffee machine. Hood's left wrist felt warm. He glanced at his watch. The LCD was blank. So was the screen on his cell phone. He removed the watch. Faint ribbons of smoke curled from the battery compartment and also from the cell phone.
'No,' Hood said. He suspected that what had hit Op-Center was not just a burned-out generator or a simple power failure.
He hurried to the door and opened it. The corridor be yond Bugs's cubicle was filled with wispy, yellowish smoke. The air was rich with the pungent aroma of ozone mixed with the foul smell of melted plastic.
He later learned that these were from charred outlet plates, electric wires, and telephone lines.
Bugs was standing in the corridor, fanning away smoke, trying to see.
He looked back when Hood emerged.
'What happened?' Hood asked.
'Something blew up in the lounge, I think,' Bugs said. 'I tried to call the gate to seal the perimeter, but the phones are fried.'
'Emergency power is gone?' Hood asked.
'Everything.'
'Do we know about casualties?'
'No.'
'Are you okay?' Hood asked.
'Yes.'
'Start getting people toward the stairwell,' Hood said.
'Mike is doing that,' Bugs said.
'Help him,' Hood said.
'Sure,' Bugs said. 'Be careful.'
Rodgers and Ron Plummer were the heads of the emergency evac team. The thought of them working together did not fill him with hope but with pride and respect. Differences among Americans always vanished when it mattered.
Hood gave Bugs a reassuring pat on the back just as Matt Stoll appeared from the mist. He was heading in the direction of the blast. Hood went with him.
'Can you tell me what happened?' Hood asked.
'We got kilned,' Stoll said angrily.
'Sorry?'
