they might not find the radioactive bread crumbs they were looking for. Already, one boat had been destroyed and another had vanished. For all they knew, they could be dealing with submarines or aircraft as well. Perhaps the materials had been dropped somewhere else for pickup at some later date. The canvas of possibilities was huge.
'No,' he said. 'Lowell had the right idea.'
They had to go after Jervis Darling himself. Directly and quietly. If he had been in a movie, Herbert would have put on thick glasses and pretended to be a paleontologist with a rare fossil to sell. FNO Loh would be his assistant. Darling would be suspicious, of course, and quiz them about dinosaur genera. Herbert would have boned up on his prehistoric animals, and what he did not know, his erudite aide would. They would win Darling's confidence.
But this was real, and they needed a quick, comprehensive solution. One that would identify Darling as a participant. It would also, he hoped, stop the trafficking itself.
As the TR-1 banked into the light of the new day, Herbert saw a flash of orange on his computer monitor. A moment later he felt the delightful heat of the sun on the back of his neck.
And he got an idea. One that would not require him to pronounce
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Paul Hood stepped into the parking lot. It was a dreary and overcast evening, but the cool air tasted sweet. It always did after he spent a day in Op-Center's windowless, forced-air underground offices. He walked to his new Toyota Maxim for the forty-five-minute drive to his apartment. An apartment that was as empty as hell without the sounds of video games and ringing phones and the distinctive thumping of Alexander holding the handrail and wall and leaping down half a flight of stairs. But it was feeling a little more like home now. As much as leaving dirty shirts on the couch or renting the DVDs you wanted to see or eating chicken salad directly from Styrofoam take-out trays could make a place feel like home.
Hood was just getting into the car when his cell phone beeped. It was Mike Rodgers. The two men had not spoken since Rodgers met with Senator Debenport. The general had spent the day interviewing potential field operatives as well as intelligence personnel who might be able to help him put together his new HUMINT unit. Rodgers had wanted to see all four candidates in public instead of in his office. It was important to see how they blended in with crowds, how anonymous they could appear when they were not part of a group.
'How did the interviews go?' Hood asked.
'They were informative,' Rodgers replied.
'Hold that thought,' Hood said. Rodgers would know what that meant. As Hood sat behind the wheel he put his headset on. At the same time he tucked the cell phone into a scrambler built into the dashboard. It looked like a typical hands-free setup. However, the frame contained a chip that sent a loud screech along with the conversation. Only a phone with a complementary chip could filter out the sound. The chip in the car only worked with numbers that had been specifically keyed into the cell phone's memory. 'Ready,' Hood said. He started the car and drove toward the sentry post.
'I just want to say up front that this is not like putting together a military special ops team, where someone can demonstrate marksmanship on a firing range or hand-to-hand combat in the gym,' Rodgers told him. 'The entire process is a bit of a boondoggle.'
'How so?'
'Because good intelligence people, by nature, don't talk. They observe and listen,' Rodgers said. 'As I sat there, I kept wondering if the silent interviewee was more suitable than the one who volunteered information.'
'Interesting,' Hood said. 'Guess you go by your gut.'
'Pretty much,' Rodgers admitted. 'Silence and disinterest have pretty much the same sound. On the other hand, David Battat talks a lot. Maria Corneja doesn't. Aideen Marley is somewhere in the middle. Falah Shibli speaks five languages but says less than Maria. It is all in what your gut tells you.'
'How is Shibli?' Hood asked.
'Very well,' Rodgers replied. 'He's agreed to serve as needed, though he's decided he would prefer to remain in the Middle East. I got the sense that he's doing undercover work for the Mossad.'
Falah Shibli was a twenty-nine-year-old Israeli of Arabic descent. He had spent seven years in Israel's tough Druze Reconnaissance unit, the Sayeret Ha'Druzim, before joining the police in the northern town of Kiryat Shmona. Shibli had worked with Op-Center in the Middle East. He would be a valuable resource for Israeli intelligence, since he could move freely among Arab populations.
Hood waved at Sergeant Ridpath in the booth. The non-com waved back and pushed the button that raised the heavy wooden bar. Hood drove from the lot. 'So how did the new people impress you?'
'There's one guy I really liked,' Rodgers said. 'Sprague West. Fifty-five-year-old former Marine, Vietnam vet. He put in a quarter century with the NYPD, the first ten of those undercover. He infiltrated the Black Panthers, drug rings, broke up prostitution. My kind of guy. And cool, Paul.'
'Silent?'
'Yeah,' Rodgers admitted with a chuckle.
'Where is he based?'
'Here,' Rodgers said. 'He moved to D.C. when he left the force to be near his mother.'
'Does he have other family?' Hood asked.
'Two grown daughters and three ex-wives,' Rodgers said. 'They weren't happy with what he did for a living.'
'Great. We can start a support group,' Hood said.
'The nontalker and the man who loves to listen,' Rodgers said. 'It could be interesting.'
'Incredibly dull, more likely,' Hood said. 'What's your game plan with Mr. West?'
'I've invited West to come to the office on Monday,' Rodgers said. 'We'll talk more about specific assignments. His mom died last year, and he would like to get back in the field.'
'Sounds perfect,' Hood admitted.
'Meanwhile, what's happening with Lowell?' Rodgers asked.
Hood brought Rodgers up to date. When he was finished, the general was silent for a moment.
'Any thoughts?' Hood asked.
'Only about the Aussies and Singapore,' Rodgers said. 'They're tough nuts. Good partners to have in a big game.'
'How big a game do you think this is?' Hood asked.
'I don't think there's a global conspiracy with Darling at the head, if that's what you mean,' Rodgers assured him.
'Why not?'
'Men like Darling are autocrats, not oligarchs,' Rodgers said. 'Defenders band together for mutual protection. Aggression is a solitary activity. Even during World War II, Germany and Japan stayed a world away from each other. And they would have gone toe to toe eventually.'
'So what's the scenario you envision?'
'Apart from the perverse challenge?' Rodgers said. 'I see world capitals being attacked and crippled, economies paralyzed. You want to see where the targets may be? Look at where Darling has the fewest investments.'
'I have,' Hood said. 'He's still invested heavily at home and in South America. But he's shifted a lot of his assets from Europe and the United States to the Pacific Rim.'
'There you go,' Rodgers said. 'He's looking to rough up a London or Washington, Paris or Bonn. Change the financial and geopolitical dynamic. Does he have any children?'
'A young daughter.'
'The heir to his efforts,' Rodgers said. 'What father doesn't want to give his daughter the world? You were
