'I want to see where it happened.'
'I understand,' Hood told him. Herbert smiled. His eyes were damp.
'I knew you would.' His voice cracked.
'Look at me. You're the one who's had his ass on the firing line twice in the past two weeks. But I'm the one cracking up.'
'You've been carrying this pain and frustration for nearly twenty years,' Hood said.
'It's got to come out.' He snickered humorlessly.
'I'll break, too. Bob. One day the UN thing, the White House--it's all going to hit me and I'll come apart big time.' Herbert smiled.
'Just hold on till I'm back from vacation so I can pick up all the cogs and wheels.'
'It's a deal,' Hood said. Herbert wheeled around the desk and hugged Hood warmly. Then he turned his chair around and left the office. Hood put in a quick call to General Orlov, thanking him for everything he had done and suggesting that they work out a way to integrate their two systems on some level. Create an Interpol for crisis management. Orlov was all for the idea. They agreed to talk about it the following day. After hanging up with Orlov, Hood looked at the computer clock. It was still too early to call home. He decided to go to the hotel and phone Sharon and the kids from his room. There would be no other calls, no distractions. Hood left his office and headed back upstairs. He greeted members of the day team as they arrived: Darrell McCaskey, Matt Stoll, and Liz Gordon. He told them each to go see Bob Herbert for an update. Hood said he would brief them more fully later in the day. By the time he reached the parking lot, he was starting to crash. The caffeine had made its way through his system. Hood's body was definitely winding down. As he neared his car, he saw Ann Fan-is. She was just pulling through the gate. The press liaison saw him, waved, and drove over. She rolled down the window.
'Is everything all right?' she asked. Hood nodded.
'Just tired,' he said.
'Bob is still there. He'll brief you. There's nothing we have to press release, though. Not yet.'
'Where are you headed?' she asked.
'Back to the hotel,' he said.
'I've got to get some rest.'
'Hop in and I'll run you over,' she said.
'You don't look like you should be driving.'
'I don't know when I'll be coming back,' Hood told her.
'I need the car.'
'You'll be coming back this afternoon,' Ann said.
'I know you. A two- or three-hour power nap, and then you'll be back. Just call when you wake up, and I'll come and get you.' The offer sounded inviting. He did not feel like driving anymore.
'All right,' Hood said. Hood went to the passenger's side and slid in. He shut his eyes and had to be nudged awake when they arrived. He was groggy. Ann left her car out front and walked him to his room. She returned a few minutes later, climbed behind the wheel, and sat there for a moment.
'Screw this,' she said. Instead of driving off, she moved the car to the main lot. Then she went back inside. Hood had just finished his short chat with Sharon. His wife had said that there had been no change in anything. Hood removed his shoes and tie and was unbuttoning his shirt when there was a knock on the door. It had to be a bellboy with a fax from the office or his attorney. No one else knew he was here. He fished a dollar from his wallet and opened the door. He was surprised to see Ann.
'Thanks,' she said, 'but I didn't come back for my tip.' He smiled and let her in. Ann was still wearing her jacket, but she looked different. There was something more accessible about her. It was in the eyes, he decided. Hood shut the door behind her. As he did, he was surprised by something else. He was glad that she had come back.
EPILOGUE.
Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 3:00 p.m.
Throughout the late morning and early afternoon, the surprises kept coming for Ron Friday, each one more startling than the last. First, Friday was surprised to find David Battat at the embassy. The CIA operative was being nursed to health by the embassy medic. He looked in remarkably good health and even better spirits. Next, Friday was even more surprised to hear that a local policewoman had been responsible for killing the Harpooner. Friday himself would not have known how to find him or what he looked like. He could not imagine how a policewoman had gotten to him. Maybe it was an accident or they were mistaken. Perhaps someone else had been mistaken for the Harpooner. In any case, authorities were speculating that he had been the man behind the attack on the Iranian oil rig. Prodded by the United States, military mobilization was being delayed while an investigation was under way. But the biggest surprise was the call from Jack Fenwick's executive secretary, Don. Her boss, Don Roedner. Red Gable, and the vice president were all resigning later that morning. Don did not know anything about the operation Fenwick had been running and was stunned by the announcement. Friday was stunned, too. He could not imagine how everything had come unraveled. He could not imagine what his old mentor must be feeling. He wished he could speak with him, say something reassuring. But Friday had not been able to reach Fenwick on his cell phone. Someone else answered, and he quickly hung up. He did not know whether the NSA chief would be investigated and whether that investigation would ever get to him. Friday did not generally report to Fenwick directly. He reported to T. Perry Gord, assistant deputy director of South Asian affairs. There was no reason it should reach him. Gord knew nothing about Fenwick's other activities. Still, after weighing whether or not to remain in Baku, Friday decided it would be best to leave. He would go somewhere that was a little bit off the radar. Someplace the international press would not be paying so much attention to over the next few weeks. Fortunately, there was a situation developing on the India-Pakistan border that fell within Gord's jurisdiction. Rather than send someone over from Washington, Friday arranged to have himself transferred to the embassy in Islamabad in order to do on-site intelligence gathering. There was a Pakistan International Airlines flight leaving Moscow the following morning. He would fly from Baku tonight and make certain that he was on it. It would have been nice, he thought, if it had all worked out for Fenwick. With Cotten in the White House, Fenwick would have had unprecedented
