"I'd like to stay for a while."
"We'll talk about it," Orlov said.
"I'm proud of you, Odette. And I know someone else would be, too."
"Thank you," she said.
"I think Viktor was looking out for me today. So was David Battat. I'm
glad you asked him to come along." Odette gave Orlov additional
information about what had happened. They arranged to talk again in six
hours. If it became necessary for Odette to leave Baku, there was an
Aeroflot flight she could catch at eight p.m. Orlov took a moment to
savor the victory's many rewards. First, having won the battle against a
tenacious enemy. Second, having made the right decision to send Odette
and Battat into the field together. And finally, having been able to
help Paul Hood. Not only did it repay an old debt, but it hopefully
opened the door to future close collaborations. Odette said that Battat
had spoken with Paul Hood. There was nothing Orlov could add to that.
Orlov would call him in a few minutes. First, however, he wanted to
brief the staff members who had been involved in the hunt. He was about
to send for Grosky and Kosov when the men came to his office door. Kosov
was carrying a rolled-up blueprint.
"General," said the outgoing Kosov, "we have some news."
"Good news?" Orlov asked.
"Yes, sir," Kosov said.
"That information the Americans gave us about the Harpooner's Russian
identity has proved very useful."
"In what way?" Orlov asked.
"It suggested to us how he has been able to come to Moscow and disappear
without ever being seen," Kosov said. He stepped forward and unrolled
the blueprint on Orlov's desk.
"This is a map of the old Soviet army railroad routes," he said.
"As you know, they go underground well outside of Moscow and stop at
various points beneath the city."
"It was designed that way so troops could be moved into place
clandestinely, to put down riots or even foreign attacks," Grosky added.
"I know about these," Orlov said.
"I've traveled in them."
"But what you may not know about is this one," Kosov said. The
intelligence analyst used a pen to point to a faint red line. It led
from Kievskaya metro stop to several other stations around the city.
Kosov was right. Orlov did not know what it was.
"This is unmarked, as you can see, even though it links up to the main
trunk," Kosov continued.
"We thought it might be a service tunnel of some kind, but we looked at
an older map from the GRU files just to make certain. It was the old
Stalin tunnel. If the German army had ever reached Moscow during World
War II, Stalin would have been evacuated through this system. Only his
closest military advisers know that it existed." Kosov stepped back and
folded his arms.
"We believe, sir, that all we need to do to catch our rat is to put
video cameras at the entrance and exit. Sooner or later, the Harpooner
is certain to show up there." Orlov looked at the map for a moment, then
sat back.
"You may have solved a very perplexing riddle," he said.
"Excellent work."
"Thank you, sir," Kosov beamed. , "Fortunately," Orlov went on, "the
Harpooner was killed earlier today. The only rats that will be using
the tunnel are the four-legged kind." Grosky's mouth twisted slightly at
one end. Kosov's expression seemed to fall entirely.
"But we could not have taken him without you, and I will say so in my
report to the president's director of intelligence review," Orlov
promised. He rose and extended his hand to each man in turn.
"I am proud of you both and deeply grateful." Kosov's disappointment
evaporated quickly. Grosky's mouth remained bent. But even Grosky's
perpetual sourness couldn't spoil the moment. An inexperienced woman, a
sick man, and two former enemies had joined forces to win a big one. It
Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 5:04 a.m.
After the vice president and his team had been ushered away, the
president asked Hood to wait for him. Hood stepped outside the Situation
Room as the president and Megan stood alone behind the conference table,
talking. The president took his wife's hands in his. He seemed
composed, once again in control. The Joint Chiefs of Staff filed out
quickly after Cotten's group had been led off. They headed quickly
toward the elevator. Before leaving. General Burg paused and turned to
Hood. He shook the intelligence leader's hand.
"What you did in there was good work, smart work," the general said.
"It was also ballsy. My congratulations, Mr. Hood. I'm proud to be
associated with you. Proud to be an American." Coming from anyone else
under almost any other circumstance, that sentiment might have sounded
corny. But the system had worked, despite the formidable forces and
pressures rallied against it. General Burg had every reason to feel
proud. Hood did.
"Thank you. General," Hood said sincerely. After the Joint Chiefs left,
the hall was quiet, save for the whispered conversation of the president
and First Lady. Hood was relieved but still a little shell-shocked by
everything that had just happened. He did not believe that the press
would accept the given explanations for a mass resignation of the vice
president and top administration officials. But that was a battle for
other warriors and another day. Hood and his team had saved the
presidency and defeated the Harpooner. Right now, all he wanted to do
was hear what the president wanted to say, get back to the hotel, and go
to sleep. The president and First Lady emerged a few minutes later. They
looked tired but content.
"Did your man in Baku have anything else to say?"
the president asked as he walked toward Hood.
"Not really, sir," Hood said.
"He's at the American embassy now. We'll talk again. If there's any
other intel, I'll let you know at once." The president nodded as he
stopped next to Hood. Megan was standing beside him.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, but Mrs. Lawrence and I wanted to
thank you together," the president said.
"She told me you've been working on this nonstop since Sunday night."
"It's been a long day and a half," Hood admitted.
"You're more than welcome to sleep upstairs, if you'd like," the
president said.
"Or a driver will take you home."
"Thank you, sir," Hood said. He looked at his watch.
"Rush hour doesn't start until six, so I should be all right. I'll just
roll down the window and enjoy the fresh air."
"If you're certain," the president said. He offered his hand.
"I've got work to do. Megan will make sure you get back upstairs. And
thank you again. For everything." Hood accepted the president's hand.
"It's been an honor, sir." After the president left, Megan faced Hood.
There were tears in her eyes.
"You saved him, Paul. While I stood there, I watched him pull back from
wherever they had taken him."
"He did that by himself," Hood said.
"And without your heads-up, I wouldn't
have acted on any of this."
"For once in your life, Paul, give the self-effacement a rest," Megan
said.
"You took all the risks in there. If things had gone the other way, you
would have been ruined." Hood shrugged. Megan grimaced.
"You're exasperating. Michael is right about one thing, though. You're
tired. Are you sure you won't rest awhile before you head back?"
"I'm sure," Hood said.
"There are still a few things we have to tie up, and I want to call
Sharon."
"How's that going?" Megan asked.
"As good as could be expected," Hood said.
"Harleigh's in the hospital so we're focused on that." Megan touched his
arm.
"If you want to talk, I'm here." Hood thanked her with a smile. They
left together, and then Hood headed for his car. A plane rumbled in the
distance. Hood looked up as he unlocked his car door. The first hint
of daylight was appearing on the other side of the White House grounds.
Somehow, that seemed fitting.
Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 6:46 a.m.
Hood was surprisingly alert when he reached his office. Mike Rodgers was
gone. He had left a voice mail message two hours before about a
military situation that was developing along the Pakistan-India border.
Rodgers said he had gone home to get some rest before going off to a
meeting at the Pentagon. Although General Rodgers was officially
attached to Op-Center, he was called upon to assess flash points in
different corners of the world. Bob Herbert was still awake and "at the
switch," as he described it. He came to Hood's office and quickly
brought Hood up to speed on the little additional intelligence that
Orlov had on the Harpooner and his movements. Then Herbert asked Hood
how things had gone at the White House. Herbert listened intently to his
chief's matter-of-fact recitation of the facts. When Hood was finished,
the intelligence head sighed.
"I've been sitting here collecting intelligence while you were out
there, in the field, saving America and the Constitution from a
demagogue."
"Some guys have all the luck," Hood said dryly.
"Yeah," Herbert said.
"But you're not the one I envy."
"Oh?" Hood thought for a moment. Then, just before Herbert said it.
Hood knew what was coming.
"I wish I had been the one who pulled the plug on the Harpooner,"
Herbert said. His voice was a low monotone. His eyes were staring. His
mind was somewhere else.
"I'd have done it slowly. Very slowly. I would have made him suffer
the way I've suffered without my wife." Hood did not know what to say,
so he said nothing. Herbert looked at him.
"I've got a lot of vacation time coming, Paul. I'm going to take it."
"You should," Hood said.
"I want to go to Baku and meet this woman Odette," Herbert said.
"I want to see where it happened."
"I understand," Hood told him. Herbert smiled. His eyes were damp.
"I knew you would." His voice cracked.
"Look at me. You're the one who's had his ass on the firing line twice
in the past two weeks. But I'm the one cracking up."
"You've been carrying this pain and frustration for nearly twenty
years," Hood said.
"It's got to come out." He snickered humorlessly.
"I'll break, too. Bob. One day the UN thing, the White House--it's all
going to hit me and I'll come apart big time." Herbert smiled.
"Just hold on till I'm back from vacation so I can pick up all the cogs
and wheels."
"It's a deal," Hood said. Herbert wheeled around the desk and hugged
Hood warmly. Then he turned his chair around and left the office. Hood
put in a quick call to General Orlov, thanking him for everything he had
done and suggesting that they work out a way to integrate their two
systems on some level. Create an Interpol for crisis management. Orlov
was all for the idea. They agreed to talk about it the following day.
After hanging up with Orlov, Hood looked at the computer clock. It was
still too early to call home. He decided to go to the hotel and phone
Sharon and the kids from his room. There would be no other calls, no
distractions. Hood left his office and headed back upstairs. He greeted
members of the day team as they arrived: Darrell McCaskey, Matt Stoll,
and Liz Gordon. He told them each to go see Bob Herbert for an update.
Hood said he would brief them more fully later in the day. By the time
he reached the parking lot, he was starting to crash. The caffeine had
made its way through his system. Hood's body was definitely winding
down. As he neared his car, he saw Ann Fan-is. She was just pulling
through the gate. The press liaison saw him, waved, and drove over. She
rolled down the window.
"Is everything all right?" she asked. Hood nodded.
"Just tired," he said.
"Bob is still there. He'll brief you. There's nothing we have to press
release, though. Not yet."
"Where are you headed?" she asked.
"Back to the hotel," he said.
"I've got to get some rest."
"Hop in and I'll run you over," she said.
"You don't look like you should be driving."
"I don't know when I'll be coming back," Hood told her.
"I need the car."
"You'll be coming back this afternoon," Ann said.
"I know you. A two- or three-hour power nap, and then you'll be back.
Just call when you wake up, and I'll come and get you." The offer
sounded inviting. He did not feel like driving anymore.
"All right," Hood said. Hood went to the passenger's side and slid in.
He shut his eyes and had to be nudged awake when they arrived. He was
groggy. Ann left her car out front and walked him to his room. She
returned a few minutes later, climbed behind the wheel, and sat there
for a moment.
"Screw this," she said. Instead of driving off, she moved the car to
the main lot. Then she went back inside. Hood had just finished his
short chat with Sharon. His wife had said that there had been no change
in anything. Hood removed his shoes and tie and was unbuttoning his
shirt when there was a knock on the door. It had to be a bellboy with a
fax from the office or his attorney. No one else knew he was here. He
fished a dollar from his wallet and opened the door. He was surprised
to see Ann.
"Thanks," she said, "but I didn't come back for my tip." He smiled and
let her in. Ann was still wearing her jacket, but she looked different.
There was something more accessible about her. It was in the eyes, he
decided. Hood shut the door behind her. As he did, he was surprised by
something else. He was glad that she had come back.
EPILOGUE.
Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 3:00 p.m.
Throughout the late morning and early afternoon, the surprises kept
coming for Ron Friday, each one more startling than the last. First,
Friday was surprised to find David Battat at the embassy. The CIA
operative was being nursed to health by the embassy medic. He looked in
remarkably good health and even better spirits. Next, Friday was even
more surprised
to hear that a local policewoman had been responsible for
killing the Harpooner. Friday himself would not have known how to find
him or what he looked like. He could not imagine how a policewoman had
gotten to him. Maybe it was an accident or they were mistaken. Perhaps
someone else had been mistaken for the Harpooner. In any case,
authorities were speculating that he had been the man behind the attack
on the Iranian oil rig. Prodded by the United States, military
mobilization was being delayed while an investigation was under way. But
the biggest surprise was the call from Jack Fenwick's executive
secretary, Don. Her boss, Don Roedner. Red Gable, and the vice
president were all resigning later that morning. Don did not know
anything about the operation Fenwick had been running and was stunned by
the announcement. Friday was stunned, too. He could not imagine how
everything had come unraveled. He could not imagine what his old mentor
must be feeling. He wished he could speak with him, say something
reassuring. But Friday had not been able to reach Fenwick on his cell
phone. Someone else answered, and he quickly hung up. He did not know
whether the NSA chief would be investigated and whether that