charge from Curt Hardaway and Bill Abram. Policy prohibited Hardaway and Abram from remaining in command after their shift: important decisions were best made by fresh minds, and at rare times when neither Hood nor Rodgers was available, duties were pre-assigned to different members of the prime day team.
Political Officer Martha Mackall had arrived minutes before and, after passing through the keycard and keypad entry and greeting the somber armed guards behind the Lexan, she replaced her own evening team counterpart, Bob Sodaro. Sodaro briefed her on what had happened since 4:11 that morning, when Op-Center first became involved in the Korean crisis.
Her stride confident, posture ramrod-straight, the handsome, forty-nine-year-old daughter of legendary soul singer Mack Mackall walked through the hub of Op-Center— the bullpen, with its maze of cubicles and operatives hurrying here and there. Since Hood's code hadn't been posted on the computer duty roster where she checked in upstairs, on ground level, she knew she'd be sitting in for him until he arrived. Passing through the bullpen to the action level offices that ringed the hub of Op-Center, she heard her name on the intercom: there was a call from Korea for Hood. She paused, snatched a phone from the wall, and told the operator she would take the call for the Director in his office.
Hood's office was just a few steps away, in the southwestern corner. Located beside the Tank, it was the largest office in the building: he hadn't taken it for that reason, however, or for the view, since there were no windows anywhere. The fact was, no one else wanted it. The Tank was surrounded by walls of electronic waves that generated static to anyone trying to listen in with bugs or external dishes. There was some concern among the younger members of the team that the waves might affect their reproductive systems; Hood said that for all the use he got from his equipment anymore, he might as well have the leg room.
Unknown to him, Liz Gordon had noted the comment in his psych profile. Sexual frustration could impair his effectiveness on the job.
Martha entered her access code on the keypad of his office door.
Poor Pope Paul, she thought, reflecting on the latest nickname Ann Farris had given him. Martha wondered if the Director realized that all he had to do was crook his finger at his sexy Press Officer, and she'd do more to him than shower him with epithets. And he would have a reason to change office.
The door clicked open and Martha walked into the wood-paneled office. She perched herself on the corner of the desk and snatched up one of the two phones on the desk, the secure line; the LED ID at the bottom of the unit read 07-029-77, telling her that the caller was in the U.S. Embassy in Seoul. The prefix '1' instead of '0' would have indicated that the call was from the Ambassador. A third line, for teleconferencing, also secure, was integrated in the computer system.
Before she spoke, she switched on the digital tape recorder that translated words to type with amazing speed and accuracy. An almost simultaneous transcript of their talk appeared on a monitor on the desk beside the phone.
'Director Hood is unavailable. This is Martha Mackall.'
'Hello, Martha. Gregory Donald.'
At first she didn't recognize the slow, soft voice on the other end. 'Sir, yes— Director Hood isn't in yet, but he's been anxious to hear from you.'
There was a short silence. 'I was? there, of course. Then we were looking at the blast site, Kim and I.'
'Kim—?'
'Hwan. Deputy Director of the KCIA.'
'Did you find anything?'
'A water bottle. Some boot prints, North Korean military issue.' His voice cracked. 'Excuse me.'
There was a much longer silence. 'Sir, are you all right? You weren't injured, were you?'
'I fell— nothing broken. It was my wife? she was the one that was hurt.'
'Not seriously, I hope.'
His voice broke again as he said, 'They murdered her, Martha.'
Martha's hand shot to her mouth. She had only met Soonji once, at Op-Center's first Christmas party, but her charm and quick mind had made an impression.
'I'm so sorry, Mr. Donald. Why don't we talk later—'
'No. They're taking her to the army base, and I'm going over when I finish here. It's best we talk now.'
'I understand.'
He took a moment to collect himself and then continued, his voice stronger. 'There? were footprints in an alley, made by a North Korean army boot or boots. But neither Kim nor I believe that North Koreans were wearing them. Or if they were, that they were operating with the sanction of their government.'
'Why do you think that?'
'The clues were out in the open, no effort made to conceal them. A professional wouldn't have done that. And the North Koreans have never attacked blindly like this.'
As he was speaking, Hood walked into his office; Martha touched a button on the screen, scrolled the transcription back several lines, and pointed for Hood to see. After he read the passage about Soonji, he nodded gravely, then sat quietly behind the desk and rubbed two fingers against his forehead.
'Then you feel that someone wants to make this look like a North Korean attack,' Martha said. 'They've denied having had a hand in it.'
'I'm saying it's an option we must explore before rattling any sabers at Pyongyang. For once, they may be telling the truth.'
'Thank you, sir. Is— is there anything we can do for you?'
'I know General Norbom at the base, and Ambassador Hall has promised to do? whatever she can here. I appear to be in good hands.'
'All right. But if you need help—'
'I'll call.' His voice became stronger as he said, 'Give Paul my best, and tell him— tell him that however Op- Center becomes involved in this, I want a part of it. I want to find the animals who did this.'
'I'll tell him,' she said as Donald hung up.
As soon as it heard the dial tone, the computer filed the conversation, marked the time, and cleared itself for the next call.
Martha placed the receiver in the cradle and slid off the desk. 'Shall I call Ambassador Hall and make sure they give Donald whatever he needs?'
Hood nodded.
'You've got eye bags. Rough night?'
'Alex had a bad asthma attack. He's in the hospital.'
'Ooo— sorry to hear that.' She took a step forward. 'You want to go to him? I'll watch things here.'
'No. The President wants us to prepare the Options Paper on this thing, and I need you to get me the latest data on North Korea's financial ties to Japan, China, and Russia— black market as well as legitimate. If we've got a real situation, my feeling is that the President may want a military solution, but let's see what we can do with sanctions.'
'Will do. And don't worry about Alex. He'll be fine. Kids are tough.'
'They've got to be to survive us,' Hood said, reaching for the intercom. Buzzing his aide Bugs, he told him to have Liz Gordon report to the Tank.
As she left, Martha hoped that she hadn't been too forward by offering to sit in for Hood. She felt bad for the way she jumped on Alexander's misfortune to improve her resume, and made a mental note to have her secretary send him some balloons; but while Ann Farris had her heart set on the Director, Martha had her heart set on the directorship. She liked and respected Hood, but she didn't want to be Op-Center's Political Officer forever. Her fluency in ten languages and understanding of world economies made her more valuable than that. Co-managing an international crisis like this would have been a major notch in her portfolio, setting her up for advancement here or, if she were lucky, a move to the State Department.
There's always tomorrow, she told herself as she traversed the narrow corridor between the bullpen and the executive offices, passing Liz Gordon who looked like she had a serious head of steam and was in desperate need of a place to vent it
