War of Eagles

The general leaned forward and folded her hands. “Believe me, Paul. I’m aware of my situation here. I’m in a trial period as well. The man who sat in this chair before me did the brutally difficult job of pleasing a president and his own staff for years. That’s a hell of an accomplishment. My team at G2 was assigned to me. Like it or not, that was their command. Your people were mostly civilians. They stayed because they wanted to. Op-Center did not always run smoothly, I know. Nothing does. But it ran well and effectively. I would be happy to have that on my resume.”

Now Hood really felt stupid. And also flattered and proud. He had been expecting Mike Rodgers, someone for whom every meeting, every conversation was a form of combat. That was not General Carrie.

The officer sat back again. “Bugs said that the president asked you to come in and talk with me,” she said with her little half smile. “I do not imagine the subject was shirtsleeves.”

“No,” Hood told her. “I am here because I am about to leave for Beijing. Both Bob Herbert and Mike Rodgers are concerned about the launch of the Unexus satellite. The president is more concerned about the stability of the government. He wants me to assess the situation.”

“It is a dangerous one,” Carrie said.

“Was G2 watching any of the players?” Already, Hood felt himself acting like an outside intelligence operative. He did not say, “Were you watching General Tam Li?” He was guarding his information.

“We collected whatever we could on all the major military and intelligence figures,” she replied, equally vague.

“Does anyone stand out?” Hood asked.

“Several,” she replied.

Except for Hood asking, “Who?” they had reached the irreducible and in some ways the most absurd level of intelligence conversation. The you-show-me-yours point. It seemed to be a silly game for adults to be playing. Unfortunately, silly as it might be, it was not a game. In a world where knowledge was power, everyone did it. Even when they were supposed to be on the same team.

Carrie picked up the phone. She tapped the intercom button. Hood had always put it on speaker.

“Send them in,” the general said.

The door opened behind Hood, and Bob Herbert wheeled in. He was followed by Darrell McCaskey. Herbert stopped to the right of Hood’s armchair. The men shook hands. Herbert’s smile was tight, his eyes bloodshot. The man was totally shot. McCaskey also looked a little drawn as he shook Hood’s hand and dropped into the other armchair. Herbert’s tie was open at the top. Darrell’s was not.

“I asked Bob and Darrell to join us,” Carrie said. “I thought it might be useful if we were all on the same page.”

The general looked at the men. At her men, Hood thought. At the men she had made a point of calling at her discretion. Either General Carrie had wanted to show Hood that he could be isolated or made part of a team. In any case, her point was clear: the call was hers to make.

“Paul is going to Beijing at the request of the president,” Carrie told Herbert and McCaskey. “President Debenport asked him to stop here first. Paul was about to tell me what information he needed.”

That, too, was very smooth. She was a natural at the wielding of authority. McCaskey and Herbert looked at Hood. Now he had to tell them something.

“Actually, I’m here to find out why a contingent of marines is being dispatched to the embassy under the auspices of Op-Center,” Hood said.

Carrie seemed surprised by the question. “They are going to gather intel,” she replied.

“In Beijing?” Hood asked.

“In Beijing and elsewhere,” the general told him. “They’re all of Chinese-American heritage. G2 has been training them for years to infiltrate Chinese society, get jobs in and around the seats of government.”

“That’s a good idea,” Herbert said. “We need HUMINT resources who can blend in.”

“Individuals who are not local with variable allegiance that could compromise missions, the integrity of intelligence, and the safety of other operatives,” Carrie replied. “We have been training groups like that for service in dozens of ethnic regions.” She regarded Hood suspiciously. “The Joint Chiefs were aware of that. The president could have asked them.”

“I suppose he could have, but he asked me,” Hood replied innocently.

“It would be unfortunate if the president did not trust his own advisers,” she said incredulously.

“I’ve been a White House crisis manager for less than twelve hours. I cannot say who President Debenport does or does not trust.” Hood replied. He tried to lighten the mood, which had suddenly turned heavy and suspicious. “Maybe my visit here is the equivalent of a West Wing hazing. Toss the new guy into a maelstrom and see what he can do.”

“That’s possible,” Carrie agreed. “Though to me it’s more of a street gang mentality, where you have to pull off a crime before they accept you. Usually it’s against a friend or high-visibility target to prove your loyalty.”

“Did I just miss something?” McCaskey asked uncomfortably. “Are we no longer playing nice?”

“We’re not playing anything, Darrell,” Herbert replied. “I think a second front just got opened.”

Herbert may be tired, but he was not oblivious. Nor anyone’s fool. It was an unsettling thought but, like China, these men were in fact a battleground. Hood had assumed he had been sent here to get inside information about the marines and also to show G2 that there were outside eyes on Op-Center. But what if he was sent not to anchor the White House in the marine operation but to provide a wedge? Perhaps Debenport saw Hood as someone who could divide the loyalties of those who worked at Op-Center, forcing Carrie to keep a balance between the White House and the military — or risk alienating Hood and his people, and having to replace the rest of the battle- seasoned team that was loyal to them. It was a new level of intrigue, one that gave a fresh definition to domestic intelligence.

He was spying on the home team.

“Surely we have larger issues to deal with,” McCaskey said.

The FBI liaison was correct. Unfortunately, the situations were not mutually exclusive. Hood and Carrie locked eyes. He was not sure how he got into yet another conflict with a woman he did not know, but here he was. And here she was. Now they had to see it through.

“Getting back on topic so I don’t miss my flight, will the marines be reporting to G2 or to Op-Center?” Hood asked. That was something the Joint Chiefs would not necessarily have shared with the president.

“Op-Center is chartered to run military and paramilitary operations,” Carrie replied carefully. “G2 is not. As you know, the funding for Striker was rolled back but not the commission itself.”

“They’ll have to report directly to you,” Hood said.

“Of course,” she replied. “I’m the only military officer on staff.”

What the president obviously feared became clearer: that G2 would strip-mine Op-Center for use in its own operations. That would shift the control of intelligence from the federal sector to the military.

Unfortunately, Hood was forced to put all of that aside for the moment. There was still a crisis bubbling abroad. And whether it served the needs of G2 or not, Hood had to admit that the infiltration was a good idea and, just as important, a timely one. Everyone on the inside would be on guard, and people on the outside — from news vendors to bicycle salesmen — would be more inclined to comment on that unrest. In such an environment, the alternately inquisitive or inherently tentative actions of spies would not stand out.

“Will I have access to your team when I’m in Beijing?” Hood asked.

“They have several targets,” Carrie said. “What are yours?”

“I won’t know until I get there,” Hood said.

“That would be the time to discuss it, then,” General Carrie said. “You will, of course, have whatever support and cooperation I can provide, as I’m sure our team can count on yours.”

“Naturally.”

“Bob tells me that General Rodgers hoped you could tap into resources the prime minister may have,” Carrie said. “He assumed, correctly, the president would have better access.”

“That is true,” Hood replied. This had to be awful for Herbert. The intelligence chief was looking down. He was playing with a loose thread on the armrest of his wheelchair.

“You’ll make a connection through our ambassador?” Carrie asked.

“That’s the plan,” Hood said. “I won’t know for certain until I get there.”