War of Eagles

his China belongs to another century. We evolve, Mr. Prime Minister. We always have. With our diversity of people and cultures and even climates, we have no choice. If we don’t, we will fracture.” He smiled. “What kind of love can exist without a big and enlightened embrace?”

Tam Li left, his shoes squeaking as he crossed the blue carpet. New shoes. The prime minister looked down. His own shoes were not new.

And his ideas? the prime minister wondered.

Le went back to his office. He looked out the window at the soft arrival of dawn. He did not know what he had accomplished by bringing everyone together, other than to confirm what the two men were thinking, feeling, and in some cases doing. His desire to separate them and then reason with the one he hoped was the more tractable had not worked. He had not even neutralized a potential threat from the foreign minister. De Ming had been driven, slightly, toward the side of Director Chou. The general was a closet capitalist, someone who still performed his job and was a danger to no one who did not get in his way. Chou was an idealist, someone with the means and allies to attack anyone who did not share his vision.

That could include the prime minister. It could include a scientific project that enriched foreign corporations.

But the night was not a complete loss. Le had realized something. His problem might be bigger than he imagined. General Tam Li stood to lose something, too, with the successful launch of the Red Eagle. What the PLA gained in efficiency it surrendered in manpower. And as Tam Li had suggested, a general without troops is not a general. He is a retiree.

Tam Li and Chou Shin both had something to gain by the destruction of the satellite. Unfortunately, this was also true:

If either of them won, Le Kwan Po lost.

TWENTY

Washington, D.C. Monday, 7:00 P.M.

Paul Hood was baffled by the president’s comments about marines being seconded to Op-Center. For one thing, the ambassador would have told the president if he had requested additional security for the embassy. For another, that was an expansion of the NCMC, not a scaling down. Perhaps it represented a honeymoon period for General Carrie, a chance to let her reorganize according to her own vision. But Maryland Senator Luke Murray, the new head of the Congressional Intelligence Oversight Committee, was even more frugal than his predecessor Debenport. Hood did not see anyone convincing the senator to spend money, let alone to revive a military contingent that had recently been abandoned.

Unless there was something going on that Hood knew nothing about. That was certainly a possibility. It was also possible that the president had not been informed. Not every intelligence operation was written up and placed on his desk. Hood hoped to find out more by seeing General Carrie. He called before leaving the White House. Bugs Benet had been happy to schedule the appointment, but there was a new formality in his voice. That was understandable. Bugs had a different boss now. Each man asked how the other was doing. There was something guarded and unnatural about their responses. Perhaps Carrie discouraged familiarity in her team.

The drive to Op-Center was also both familiar and strange. Hood knew the roads, the nuances of the traffic, the colors of the trees under the streetlamps, and the moods of the early evening sky. He recognized the homeless man who stood by the highway and peddled coffee-cup sculptures from a makeshift stand. Hood had once stopped and bought one because he felt bad for the guy. The man, Joe, had used three cups to make a replica of the Capitol. It was not bad. The problems Hood pondered while driving were the same he always contemplated: what to do about an evolving situation overseas that impacted the homeland.

But the drive was not the same. Going to Op-Center was like visiting Harleigh and Alexander. He was going to a house that used to be home. Rules were not made, they were followed.

Upon reaching Andrews AFB, Hood had to stop at the gate. He knew the sergeant who talked to him from the bulletproof guard booth. They had just seen each other that morning. Hood still had to wait while a digital picture was taken by a driver’s-side camera. He had to wait for the guard to check his name on the computer list. He had to wait while the security gate was rolled open. The identity card that was still in his wallet would not have worked in the slot.

Hood parked and entered the upper lobby. The guard knew him, too, but still had to call ahead to let Bugs know that Hood was there. Hood was handed a pass that would work the elevator for just one day. Bugs met him downstairs. The men shook hands. It was no longer just formal. It was damned awkward.

“It’s good to see you,” Hood said.

“Same. The general is waiting.”

Bugs was wearing a smile, but there was no joy in it. There was something else. He looked different. Hood noticed then that his long sleeves were rolled down, and his tie was tightly knotted. Hood had always allowed him to wear it loose with the top button opened. Perhaps Bugs was waiting to be told that was okay. Perhaps he had already been told it was not. It was not a big thing, but a mosaic like Op-Center was built on details like that. One tessera did not change without affecting all the others. A knotted tie might induce formality in Bugs that was passed to others, from their appearance to their work. It had always been Hood’s contention that someone who was bundled too tight would be less inclined to look for — and deliver — fresh insights.

Employees were surprised to see their former boss. There were Bugs-like smiles and a few big hellos, but no one stopped to talk. No one had information for him or a question. Some people might find that liberating. Hood found it disturbing. More and more he felt as he did when he left Sharon and the kids. As though he had not just relocated, he had been dislocated. He needed someone to pop him back in his socket, and it was not happening.

Hood was shown to his office. Or rather, what used to be his office. It looked different. It smelled different. Carrie was a tea drinker. It sounded different. Carrie kept the door closed. Hood did not even have time to thank Bugs before he was shut inside with the general. She stood and shook his hand across the desk. General Carrie did not look like Hood had imagined. She had sharply defined features and a disarming smile that pulled up slightly to the right. Her eyes were soft. So was her voice, though it was not weak.

Nor was her handshake.

The general gestured to one of the armchairs that Hood himself had picked out. She offered him a beverage, which he declined. He sat after she did. That might be politically incorrect, but Hood did not care. Morgan Carrie was still a woman, and women sat first. That was how it went.

“I imagine this is a little strange for you,” the general said.

“Somewhat.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

“Just treat my people well,” Hood replied earnestly.

“I meant, for you,” she said.

“That would help me,” Hood assured her. “Since we never got to do a proper transition, my people— these people — work best in a relaxed atmosphere. When the world is falling down, the NCMC can be a haven. For example, Bugs is a great aide. He doesn’t miss a thing.”

“Mr. Benet seems to be a very effective and knowledgeable man,” the general concurred. “He has helped a great deal today. Of course, there is going to be an evaluation process. I may bring in some people from G2. But I would like to keep as many of the current staff as possible. In any case, Paul, I won’t be making any immediate changes.”

“I understand that,” Hood told her. He felt uncomfortable. He had not intended to get into any of this, but here he was. “It’s more a matter of day-to-day efficiency. Take Bugs again. It’s a small thing, but he works best with his sleeves rolled up and his tie open.”

“He’s free to do so,” Carrie replied. “This is not the army. I stand by the civilian dress code.”

Hood looked at her. “Oh. Okay,” he said. He felt stupid. Obviously, Bugs had tied his tie and buttoned his cuffs to try to please her.