Call to Treason (18 page)

    "What about Mike?" Hood asked. "Would you involve him?"

    "I'm not sure," McCaskey said.

    Neither man said what was obviously on both of their minds. Would Mike give his loyalty to the old team or the new? Was it even fair to put him in that position?

    A chess game with multiple levels, Hood thought.

    Hood called Liz Gordon's office. She was not in yet, and he left a message for her to see him when she arrived. He wanted her to whip up a quick-sketch profile of Link. Then he turned to his computer and brought up the Senate's secure home page. The staff directory was accessible only to government officials. Hood looked up Orr's office staff. Admiral Link was not there, of course, since he was only involved in the United States First Party.

    "Do we know anything about Katherine Lockley and Kendra Peterson?" Hood asked.

    "A little," McCaskey said. He leaned over Hood, typed his password on the keyboard, and opened the file he had collected on Senator Orr's staff.

    "Lockley was a journalist before joining Orr," McCaskey said, looking at his notes. "I checked her bylines, her college records. She checks out. Peterson was a Vietnam war baby, Marine dad, came to live here when she was a kid. She's a gymnast, a national champion in her early teens who missed out on the Olympics because of tendonitis in her fingers. She joined the Marines and managed to pass the physical, though the tendonitis returned, and she ended up working in Camp Pendleton on the DANTES program."

    "Which is?"

    "Not as ominous at it sounds," McCaskey told him. "It's the Defense Activity for Non-Traditional Education Support certification program.

    She pushed paper to make sure qualified Marines got a good shot at civilian jobs."

    "Is that all she did?"

    "It's the only job on record," McCaskey said. "When her enlistment was up, Ms. Peterson used her DANTES connections to get herself a job as a clerk in the U.S. embassy in Japan. That often means a spook."

    "Did she pick Japan?"

    "That was what the Military Outplacement Specialty Office came up with," McCaskey said.

    "No obvious red flags there," Hood said. "Who else is on the senator's staff?"

    McCaskey went through the remainder of the list and what he had gathered about each individual. No one stood out.

    Hood sighed as McCaskey walked back around the desk. "I don't know, Darrell. You've shown me how Link is qualified to mastermind this but not a single reason why he would."

    "Why was Wilson at that party?"

    "According to the news reports, so that Orr's friends could make a connection, try to temper his plans," Hood said.

    "Is that easier to believe than the fact that Wilson was being set up?"

    McCaskey asked.

    "Frankly, yes. I don't see the trail of bread crumbs that leads from Wilson to Link. Senator Orr is wealthy, and he has extremely wealthy friends. They could have set up a program to challenge Wilson. In fact, that would have made a very strong campaign plank. Even if Link wanted to sabotage Orr's campaign for some reason, make it appear that he was behind the murder, why kill a second businessman? No," Hood said, "I don't see how they connect."

    "Okay. Here's a reason Link might have wanted Wilson dead," McCaskey said. "Publicity for Orr. Guilty by innuendo, then exonerated by the second murder."

    "Possibly."

    "Or maybe Link is a sociopath who misses the thrill of undercover operations," McCaskey said. "I know I do."

    "You were stopping transgressions, not instigating them," Hood pointed out.

    "Whether you snort, smoke, or inject, danger is a tonic," McCaskey said. "Look, Paul. I don't know why he would do this. I only have a feeling that there's something here."

    "How much time will you need to explore this feeling?"

    "Forty-eight hours?"

    Hood frowned. "Take a day and see where it leads. I can't promise you more than that."

    "All right."

    "You also have to decide about Mike," Hood went on. "Until I have his resignation, he's still working with us."

    "What do you think?"

    "Tough call. If he finds out, he'll think we couldn't trust him. But he'd also feel obligated to tell Link. Best to give him plausible deniability for now."

    "Good call. Speaking of calls, I'm going to let Maria know what's up.

    She might have some ideas."

    "Good idea," Hood said. He thought for a moment. "Mike is an honorable man. He may not like what we're doing, but if he smells something wrong, he'll act."

    McCaskey smiled.

    "Did I miss something?" Hood asked.

    "The smile, you mean? Yeah. You never leave us out to dry."

    "You lost me," Hood said.

    "You said that Mike may not like what we're doing," McCaskey told him as he turned to go. "You don't pass the buck, Paul."

    Hood did not realize he had done that.

    When McCaskey had gone, Hood went to his E-mail. He just stared at the monitor. He had just received another pat on the shoulder for being a good and responsible man. If Paul Hood was so good and responsible, how did he get to this place in life? Rationing McCaskey's hours like they were water in the desert, working as cabin boy on the Good Ship Sharon and Jim, playing defense instead of offense with the CIOC and the William Wilson investigation. When Hood was the mayor of Los Angeles, he used to feel that fighting the city council or one of his commissioners to a draw was unsatisfactory. Right now, a stalemate sounded sweet.

    "Knock, knock."

    Hood looked up. Liz Gordon was standing in the doorway. Her dark eyes were large and owl wise, framed on three sides by short brown hair.

    They were set in a wide, open face that invited trust.

    "Come in," Hood said.

    Liz entered.

    "Have you ever heard of Admiral Kenneth Link, former head of covert ops for the CIA?" Hood asked.

    "No," Liz said. "Former head? So what is he doing now?"

    "Helping Senator Donald Orr launch the new USF Party."

    "That's the one Mike is going to work for, correct?"

    Hood snickered. "I'm glad to see the Op-Center grapevine hasn't been affected by cutbacks."

    "There are cheap, unlimited minutes on that network," Liz joked.

    "I saw an online news flash that Orr should be holding a press conference now," Hood said, looking at his watch. "The word is that Link will serve as Orr's vice presidential candidate. Darrell believes Link may be connected to the deaths of William Wilson and this other gentleman, Robert Lawless. I need a quick, rough profile."

    "Sure, but I can tell you what it will probably look like," Liz said.

    "How long did he run covert ops?"

    Hood looked up his file. "Twelve years."

    "That's a long time," she said. "Did he go right from that job to this one?"

    "Within a few months."

    "Classic. How often do you hear about former presidents, generals, quarterbacks, and CEOs retiring and playing golf?"

    "I don't know though right now that sounds like a damn fine idea," Hood admitted.

    "Precisely. People who run high-performance teams in pressure cooker situations get fried over time," Liz told him. "They rarely go back to that kind of operation. Chances are good that if Admiral Link got out, he did not jump back in. Would the killings have had an elective quality for him?"

    "You mean, did it have to be Wilson and did it have to be now?"

    Liz nodded.

    "We're not sure. What about Link leaving intelligence work and missing the risk factor? Darrell seems to think that might be significant."

    "Moving from behind a curtain at the CIA to center stage in a national political campaign is a pretty big risk," Liz said. "Which brings us to the X factor."

    "Which is?"

    "A political ticket would be subjected to scrutiny by the press and public," Liz said. "Orr and Link have no control over where those eyes and fingers go probing. A man used to being in charge of things might want to set up a few sidelines that he could control, just to enjoy some familiar ground."

    "Including something this bold?"

    "Well that's the unknown quantity," Liz explained. "I'll have a look at Link's file, but I'm not optimistic. A dual murder seems a little extreme for someone who just moved from an organization where that kind of activity was at least acceptable, if not encouraged."

    Hood said he would E-mail the file to Liz. Before leaving, she asked if he was all right.

    "Sure, why?" he asked, though he knew the answer.

    "The situation with Mike," she replied.

    "That wasn't easy," Hood admitted. "But hiring and firing are part of the job description."

    "Does he know you're investigating his new colleague?"

    "No. At least, no one told him. I don't know what he might surmise or suspect."

    "So everything's under control here," she said.

    Hood picked up a paperweight Alexander had made in the first grade. It was a blue and white glazed lump of clay that was supposed to be Earth.

    He held it in his fist. "I've got the whole world in my hand, Liz," he said.

    "Like Atlas," she said.

    "He had it on his shoulders," Hood pointed out.

    "Like Atlas," she repeated.

    Hood thought about that, then smiled. She got him. He put the paperweight down. "What do you do when you feel like your life and career are on a parallel course in the wrong direction?"

    "That depends," Liz replied. She shut the door. "If you're patient, it's like moving around that globe. Learn what you can on the journey, enjoy the scenery, and eventually, you come back around."

    "What if you feel like you're running out of fuel?"

    "Ride the winds."

    "I have been," Hood told her.

    "And?" The psychologist moved toward the desk. "Talk to me, Paul."

    Hood hesitated. He was not good at this. He did not like to complain or to seek help. But Liz must have sensed that something was wrong.

    The woman was responsible for keeping psychological files of the staff, and her antennae were always extended. Decisions made in these offices could affect millions of people. If Liz felt that someone were under too much stress, either personal or professional, she could order them to take time off. She had done that with Mike Rodgers after his Striker military unit was decimated in India.

    "Truthfully, Liz?" Hood said. "I feel like those winds have been blowing me all over the damn place, mostly away from where I need to be."

    "Do you know where you need to be?"

    "Not doing this," he said. "Not cutting personnel and pulling back from missions. Not kowtowing."

    "That's negative space," she said in a careful, nonjudgmental voice.

    "You can't define what you should be doing by what you're not doing."

    She leaned on the desk so their eyes were level. "First tell me this, Paul. Are we talking about home or about Op-Center?"

    "Both," he admitted.

    "So you feel like your backsliding in two areas."

    "Yeah. At the same speed and gaining momentum."

    "Do you wish you were back with Sharon?"

    "No," he said without hesitation.

    "Are you upset that she's getting her life together?"

    Liz was Harleigh's therapist, so Hood was not surprised that she knew this.

    "No," he answered truthfully.

    "You said you were kowtowing. To Sharon?"

    Hood nodded. "To her, to the CIOC, to Scotland Yard, and when you leave I'll probably feel like I was kowtowing to you."

    "Then tell me to go."

    Hood hesitated.

    "The only way to stop backsliding is to dig down with your heels." She stood. "Do it, Paul."

    "Okay. We're done," he said.

    "Not good enough. That isn't an end. It's neutral."

    "I don't see the difference," he confessed.

    "I'm still here. I'm still talking, aren't I?"

    Hood grinned. "Get out," he said sharply. "Now," he added.

    Liz smiled. "One more thing?" she asked.

    Hood could not tell whether or not this was a trap. "One," he said firmly.

    "Everyone is disoriented and retrenching," Liz said. "Sharon, the intelligence community, the nation. You're being pushed, but it isn't personal it's partly fear, partly a sense of renewal."

    The intercom beeped. It was Bugs Benet's line.

    Liz turned to go. "Don't be afraid to push back," she said.

    "Aggression externalized is preferable to aggression internalized."

    "Isn't that how wars start?" Hood asked as the intercom beeped again.

    "No," Liz said. "Was the American Revolution about tea? Was the Civil War about slavery?"

    "In part "

    "Bingo. War is never about one thing," Liz said. "It's about one thing that was never addressed and became two things, then three, and finally exploded and consumed everything."

    She was right. "Thanks, Liz," Hood said as he picked up the phone.

    "Anytime," she said.

    Hood nodded gratefully as he took the call. "What is it, Bugs?"

    "Chief, the White House just called," Bugs said. "The president wants to see you in two hours."

    "Did he say why?"

    "No," Bugs said.

    Being asked to see the president was not unprecedented. However, if Hood had any doubt about the wisdom of Liz's advice, it evaporated when he asked who else was going to be there.