jokingly referred to herself and Battat as 'paladins for religious freedom.' Hood liked the name. Paladins became the code name for Rodgers's new team.
After the short but intense briefings, Battat and Aideen returned to New York. There, they caught an early evening South African Airways 747 bound for Gaborone via Johannesburg.
Hood headed to his apartment. He wanted to be in bed relatively early so he could get back to Op-Center by six-thirty. That was when Bishop Max was due to arrive in Gaborone, Washington time. Hood walked in and opened the window. The night air was refreshing. Then he opened a can of pasta with tiny meatballs and dumped it on a plate. While it warmed in the microwave, Hood went to the small desk near the window. He decided not to call the kids. Instead, Hood booted his laptop and made a web-cam call to the house. That was one of the advantages of working with Matt Stoll. Op-Center's computer genius could wire anyone to anyone else.
The line was free, and twelve-year-old Alexander got on. Hood was surprised to see the first signs of what looked like
facial hair. Maybe the lighting was throwing shadows under his nose and along his cheekbones. Or it could be dirt. Alexander was still wearing his soccer clothes. Whatever it was, Hood suddenly missed him very much. He wanted to hug the boy's neck, which did not look as scrawny as he remembered it.
They talked about the soccer game the school had played. Alexander's team had won. He had not scored any goals, but he had assisted in a key one. Sometimes, Hood said, that was all you got. They talked about school and about a new video game system that Alexander had seen. But they did not talk about girls. Maybe the boy had not grown up that much.
Not yet.
As usual, fourteen-year-old Harleigh was much less talkative than her younger brother. She seemed to have put on a little weight over the last week or so, which was good. Her long blond hair had a few fashionable green streaks in it. That was her mother's doing, no doubt. The idea of streaking it might have come from Harleigh, but not the color. Green was also the opposite of the blood red that other kids were using to streak their hair. But Harleigh had trouble making eye contact. Liz had said that this was typical of people who had been in hostage situations. By not looking at the people who were holding them prisoner, hostages somehow felt invisible and safe. Because the trauma leaves victims feeling impotent and extremely vulnerable, they avoid eye contact even after being rescued.
Hood and his daughter exchanged a few terse words of greeting.
'Hey, I like your hair, hon,' Hood said at last.
'You do?' she asked, without looking up.
'Very much,' he replied.
'Mom thought green was a good color,' said the girl.
'What do you think?' Hood asked.
'It reminds me of that hill I used to roll down when I was little,' Harleigh replied.
'The one near Grandma's house in Silver Spring?' Hood said. • '*
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Harleigh nodded.
'I remember that place,' Hood said. 'Didn't we put Alexander in a cardboard box and roll him down that hill?'
'I think so,' Harleigh said.
'You did!' Alexander yelled from offscreen. 'You traumatized me. I can't go in small places now!'
'Alex, shut up,' Harleigh snapped. 'You didn't even know what a trauma was before Ms. Gordon told you.'
'That doesn't mean I couldn't be traumatized, Harleigh,' Alexander barked back.
'All right, kids. Stop,' Hood said. He did not want his daughter pursuing this topic of conversation. 'Harl, what's been happening at school?'
Harleigh returned to her one-word answers.
Classes were 'fine.' Other kids were 'okay.' Even the novel she was reading for English class had a one-word title: Emma. But Hood was grateful his daughter was talking at all. In the first few weeks after the UN crisis, Harleigh had barely said a word.
'How about Mom?' Hood asked. 'How is she?' He was not sure he wanted to know. But Liz Gordon had told him it was important the kids think he was still interested in the family members.
'She's okay,' Harleigh said.
The teenager was hiding something. He could hear the catch in her voice. Probably the fact that she had a boyfriend. But that was all right. If that were the case, it would come out when it was time.
Hood told Harleigh to take care of herself. He kissed his index finger and blew it toward her. He made certain he put his fingertip close to the tiny fiber-optic lens. That got a flash of eye contact from the girl and a tiny smile. The master screen returned as Harleigh clicked off.
Sharon had not come to the computer talk. Nor had Hood asked to chat with his estranged wife. They had gone from being emotionally and intellectually involved in whatever the other was doing to a state of aggressive neutrality. It felt strange and unnatural. What's more, Hood still had to deal
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with the guilt of not spending time with his kids. Only now it had been formalized. It was not, 'Daddy is working
