Hood, Lanning was temperate by nature and an optimist. As she sat down beside Herbert, the intelligence chief found it extremely unsettling to see Lanning’s bright eyes bloodshot and her thin, straight mouth pulled into a deep frown.
Mike Rodgers was the last to arrive. He strode through the door quickly, his eyes alert and his chest expanded. His uniform was smartly pressed, as always, and his shoes were brightly polished.
Hood went back to his desk and sat down. Everyone else took seats except for Rodgers. The general folded his arms, squared his shoulders, and stood behind Carol Lanning’s chair.
“As you all know,” Hood began, “Martha Mackall was murdered in Madrid at approximately six P.M. local time.”
Although Hood was addressing everyone in the room, he was looking down at the desk. Herbert understood. Eye contact could do him in. And he had to get through this.
“The shooting happened as Martha and Aideen Marley were standing at a guard booth outside the Palacio de las Cortes in Madrid,” Hood went on. “The lone gunman fired several shots from the street and then escaped in a waiting car. Martha died at the scene. Aideen was not hurt. Darrell met her at the palace. They headed back to their hotel with a police escort.”
Hood stopped and swallowed hard.
“The police escort was made of handpicked operatives attached to Interpol,” Herbert continued for him, “and Interpol will continue to look over their shoulders for as long as they remain in Spain. The laxness of palace security has got us wondering if at least some of the guards weren’t in on the plot — which is why we turned to Darrell’s friends at Interpol for security, rather than relying on government-appointed police. We’ve got a lot of background data on the Interpol crew, due to the time agent Maria Corneja spent working with Darrell here in Washington,” Herbert added. “We’re very comfortable with how Darrell and Aideen will be looked after from this point forward.”
“Thank you, Bob,” Hood said. He looked up. His eyes were glistening. “Martha’s body is en route to the embassy. It will be flown back as soon as possible. At the moment, we have a service scheduled at the Baptist Evangelical Church in Arlington for Wednesday morning, ten A.M.”
Carol Lanning looked away and shut her eyes. Herbert’s hands were still folded on his waist and he glanced down at his thumbs. Before Herbert had attended Op-Center’s annual sensitivity training seminar, he would have thought nothing about leaning over and putting his arms around the Deputy Assistant Secretary of State. Now if he wanted to comfort her, all he was supposed to do was ask if she wanted anything.
Hood beat him to it. “Ms. Lanning,” he asked, “would you care for some water?”
The woman opened her eyes. “No, thank you. I’ll be all right. I want to get on with this.”
There was a surprising edge in her voice. Herbert snuck a glance at her. Carol’s lips were straight now, her eyes narrow. To him, it didn’t look like she wanted water. What Carol Lanning seemed to crave was blood. Herbert knew exactly how she felt. After the Beirut embassy bombing, he would have had no trouble nuking the entire city just to get the bastards who killed his wife. Grief was not a merciful emotion.
Hood looked at his watch. He sat back in his chair. “Darrell will be calling in five minutes.” He looked at Plummer. “Ron, what do we do about the mission? Is Aideen qualified to continue?”
Plummer leaned forward and Herbert looked at him. Plummer was a short man with thinning brown hair and wide eyes. He wore thick, black-framed glasses on a large hooked nose. He had on a dark gray suit badly in need of dry cleaning and scuffed black shoes. The tops of his socks were falling over his ankles. Herbert hadn’t had many dealings with the former CIA intelligence analyst for Western Europe. But Plummer had to be good. No one who dressed so carelessly could get by on anything but talent. Besides, Herbert had had a look at the psych workup Liz Gordon had done of Plummer before he was hired. Herbert and Plummer had both detested the CIA director Plummer had worked under. That was enough of a character endorsement for Herbert.
“I can’t answer for Aideen’s state of mind,” Plummer said, with a nod to Liz Gordon. “But apart from that I’d say that Aideen is very capable of continuing the mission.”
“According to her file,” Carol said, “she hasn’t had a great deal of diplomatic experience.”
“That’s very true,” Plummer said. “Ms. Marley’s methods are rather less diplomatic than Martha’s were. But you know what? That just may be what’s needed now.”
“I like the sound of that,” Herbert said. He looked at Paul. “Have you decided to continue the mission?”
“I won’t decide that until I talk to Darrell,” Hood said. “But my inclination is to keep them over there.”
“Why?” Liz Gordon asked.
Herbert couldn’t decide whether it was a question or a challenge. Liz’s manner could be intimidating.
“Because we may not have a choice,” Hood said. “If the shooting was random — and we can’t dismiss that possibility, since Aideen is alive and a Madrid postal worker was the other victim — then the killing was tragic but not directed at the discussions. If that’s the case, there’s no reason not to keep the talks on-line. But even if the shooting was directed at us we can’t afford to back down.”
“Not back down,” Liz said, “but wouldn’t it be wise to step back until we’re sure?”
“American foreign policy is determined by the Administration, not by the barrel of a gun,” Lanning said. “I agree with Mr. Hood.”
“Darrell can arrange for security with his people at Interpol,” Hood said. “This won’t happen again.”
“Paul,” Liz pressed, “the reason I mention this has nothing to do with logistics. There’s one thing you need to consider before deciding whether Aideen should be a part of this process.”
“What’s that?” asked Hood.
“Right about now she’s probably coming out of the first stage of alarm reaction, which is shock,” Liz told him. “That’s going to be followed almost immediately by countershock, a quick increase in the adrenocortical hormones — steroid hormones. She’s going to be pumped.”
“That’s good, no?” Herbert asked.
“No, it isn’t,” Liz replied. “After countershock, a resistance phase settles in. Emotional recuperation. Aideen’s going to be looking for someplace to turn that energy loose. If she was not too diplomatic before, she may become an unguided missile now. But even that’s not the worst of it.”
“How so?” Hood asked.
Liz rolled her broad shoulders forward. She leaned toward the group, her elbows on her knees. “Aideen survived a shooting in which her partner died. A lot of guilt comes along with that. Guilt and a responsibility to see the job through at any cost. She won’t sleep and she probably won’t eat. A person can’t maintain those countershock and resistance levels for long.”
“What’s ‘long’?” Herbert asked.
“Two or three days, depending on the person,” Liz said. “After that, the person enters a state of clinical exhaustion. That brings on a mental and physical breakdown. If countershock is left untreated for that long, there’s a good chance our girl’s in for a long, long stay in a very quiet rest home.”
“How good a chance?” Herbert asked.
“I’d say sixty-forty in favor of a crash,” Liz said.
Hood’s phone beeped as Liz was speaking. As soon as she was finished Hood picked it up. His executive assistant, “Bugs” Benet, said that Darrell McCaskey was on the line. Hood put McCaskey on the speakerphone.
Herbert settled back into his wheelchair. Until recently, a call like this wouldn’t have been possible over an unsecured line. But Matt Stoll, Op-Center’s Operations Support Officer and resident computer genius, had designed a digital scrambler that plugged into the data port of public telephones. Anyone listening in over the line would hear only static. A small speaker attached to the scrambler on McCaskey’s end filtered out the noise and enabled him to hear the conversation clearly.
“Darrell, good evening,” Hood said softly. “I’ve got you on speaker.”
“Who’s there?” he asked.
Hood told him.
“I’ve gotta tell you,” McCaskey said, choking, “you can’t imagine what it means to have a team like you back there. Thanks.”
