'Against Azerbaijan,' said Herbert.
'It's possible,' Rodgers said.
'The Iranians have two potential areas of conflict with Azerbaijan. The Caspian oil reserves and the bordering Nagorno-Karabakh region.'
'But why would Fenwick want to be involved in something like that?' Herbert said.
'Just to prove the Pentagon wrong? Then what?'
'I don't know,' Hood said. He looked at Rodgers.
'Get to him and make him open up. Not only about Iran but about why he lied to the president.'
'Tell him you've got information you can only tell him face-to-face,' Herbert said.
'Right,' Hood said.
'Have Liz work out a psych profile of the president. One based on firsthand observations, including my own, that makes it look as though Lawrence is losing his grip. Bring that to Fenwick, ostensibly on the Q.T. Ask if he's heard anything about this.' Rodgers nodded and left. Hood looked at Herbert.
'If Iran has any military adventures on the drawing board, they may have moved troops or materiel. The NRO may have noticed something. Has Stephen Viens gone back to work there?'
'Last week,' Herbert said. The NRO was the National Reconnaissance Office, the top-secret facility that manages most of America's spy satellites. An agency of the Department of Defense, the NRO is staffed by personnel from the CIA, the military, and civilian DOD personnel. The existence of the NRO was declassified in September of 1992, twenty years after it was first established. Stephen Viens was an old college buddy of Op- Center's computer chief Matt Stoll. He had been extremely helpful getting information to Op-Center when more established groups like military intelligence, the CIA, and the NSA were fighting for satellite time. Viens had been accused of hiding money in a black ops situation but was later vindicated.
'Good,' Hood said.
'See if Viens can find anything. The NRO may have spotted activity in Iran without perceiving any immediate danger.'
'I'm on it,' Herbert said. The intelligence chief wheeled his chair from the office. Hood sat back. He looked at the phone. He wanted to hear from Oriov. He wanted to hear that the Russian had someone in place and that Battat would be all right. He wanted to hear that they had managed to put the brakes on the bad news and could start turning this situation around. We have to. Hood thought. There was something out there. Something big and dangerous. He did not know what it was or who was behind it. He did not know if the pieces Op-Center had collected would fit together. He only knew one thing for certain: Whatever it was, it had to be stopped.
Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 5:01 a.m.
David Battat felt frigidly cold and light-headed. He could hear his heart in his ears, feel it in his throat. He was aware of being wheeled somewhere. There were faces over him. Lights flashed by. Then he felt himself being lifted. He was placed on a bed, still experiencing a sense of forward motion. He was not strapped down, but there were raised metal gates on the side of the bed. Battat shut his eyes. He did not know what had happened to him. He remembered waking up at the embassy, perspiring and shaking. Moore and Thomas brought him to the car, and then he must have slept. The next thing he knew, he woke up on a gurney. He heard people moving around him. He coughed and opened his eyes. There was a white-haired man looking down at him.
'Mr. Battat, can you hear me?' the man shouted. Battat nodded.
'We are going to undress you and put you in a gown,' the man said to him.
'Then we need to get an-IV into you. Do you understand?' Battat nodded.
'What... happened?'
'You're ill,' the doctor told him as a pair of male nurses came over. They began lifting and undressing him.
'You have a very high fever. We have to bring it down.'
'Okay,' Battat said. What else could he say? He could not have resisted if he wanted to. But he did not understand how he could have gotten sick. He had felt fine before. The medical team worked on him for several minutes. Battat was not entirely aware of what they were doing. He only knew that he was being shifted and turned and poked. He felt a pinch in his right arm, at the elbow, and then there was no further pain. He was also shivering, and he felt cold. Sweat had soaked into Battat's pillow. His fever warmed it quickly. His head sank into the down, muffling the sounds of the people and whatever it was they were doing. He shut his eyes again and allowed his mind to go wherever it wanted. Soon it was quiet and dark. Battat began to feel a little warmer, more comfortable. He no longer heard drumming in his ears. He was awake, but his thoughts were dreamlike. His mind went back over the days. He saw short, blurry visions of the embassy in Moscow, the trip to Baku, the seashore, the sudden pain of the attack. A pinch in his neck. He was unaware of time passing or the hospital room. There was just a strange, not unpleasant sense of drifting. There must be something in the IV. Something that was relaxing him. Then Battat heard something click. It sounded like a gun hammer cocking. He opened his eyes. There was a window to the left of the bed, but it was shut. He glanced toward the foot of the bed. The last time he had looked, the door was ajar. Now it was shut. A doctor or nurse must have closed it. The room was even quieter than before. It was nice. He shut his eyes again. There were no more visions, only darkness. Battat slipped quickly into a dreamless sleep. There was another click. The sound woke Battat, and he opened his eyes. The door was still closed. But now there was someone in the room. He could see a dark figure standing in front of the door. The figure was black against the darkness behind it. Battat was not sure he was awake.
'Hi,' he said. He heard his own voice. He was definitely awake. Slowly, the shadow moved toward him. Someone must have come to check on him.
'It's all right,' Battat said in a soft slur.
'You can turn on the light. I'm awake.' The figure did not speak. Battat could not make out whether it was a man or a woman. It appeared to be wearing a medical robe of some kind. And it was holding something long and slender. Battat could see the silhouette low at its side. It looked like a knife.
'Do you speak English?' Battat asked. There was a monitor on the wall behind Battat. The green glow threw a faint light on the figure as it stopped beside the bed. It was a man. And he was definitely holding a knife. The long
