Call to Treason - Tom Clancy [100]
Hood had written Frankie's cell phone number on a leather-bound notepad he carried in his shirt pocket. It had been a Father's Day gift from Harleigh several years before. Hood had not bothered to transfer the data to his computer. Another irony. Hood would have trouble digging the home number of his Russian counterpart Sergei Orlov from the data dump Matt Stoll had created in the Tank. But he possessed the number of intern Frankie Hunt.
Then again, Hood thought, the way you've been handling crises lately, maybe you should give the kid your keys to the kingdom. He could not do a worse job. He wondered what would happen if they turned over every aspect of government to newcomers for just a day or two. Would that bring their best or worst instincts to the fore? Would power destroy their innocence, or would they know, intuitively, to handle it with extreme care? Would they crush lives and careers simply because they could, because it was more convenient, more expedient than open debate, or would their angel natures guide them to higher ground?
Hood called Frankie, who said he could be available that night. Hood said the next morning would be fine. Frankie Hunt sounded wildly enthusiastic. He did not ask if there was any danger. He even addressed his new boss as "sir." Maybe Hood would not have to work as hard as he anticipated not to hold the "sins" of the father against the young man.
McCaskey came to see Hood while he was still on the phone with Frankie.
Hood motioned him in. The FBI liaison had obviously taken a tour of the facility. He had been putting a lot of hours into the case and looked drawn. Now he looked a rung above beaten.
"By my soul, Paul, I do not want to find out that Americans did this to Americans," McCaskey said. "We don't make war on one another. Not anymore."
"Sure we do. We chew each other up with politics every day of every week," Hood said.
"Someone died here," McCaskey said. "That's different."
"I know, and I don't want to minimize that," Hood said. "But I've just been sitting here thinking how everyone in this town is a killer. Every damn one of us. We just don't use that word. We call it politics."
"Forgive me, Paul, but nuts to that," McCaskey said. "I believe that we're the good guys, Op-Center and most Americans. Our response mechanisms get triggered when something is wrong."
"Wrong by what yardstick?"
"This one," McCaskey replied, touching the left side of his chest.
Hood looked wistfully at McCaskey. He had not intended to discuss the new situation with his staff just yet. But maybe it was time. He shut the door of the Tank and returned to the conference table. He sat beside McCaskey.
"What if I told you that Op-Center's triggers had changed?" Hood asked.
"Changed how?"
"What if the only way the National Crisis Management Center can survive is by catering to partisan interests? By handling crises as before, but also by executing domestic black-ops activities?"
"Paul, what the hell are you talking about?" McCaskey asked. "What else happened that I don't know about?"
"We were hit with a different kind of bombshell," Hood told him. "It seems the president and Senator Debenport have decided that the USF represents a threat to this nation. They have requested that we use Op-Center and this investigation to stop Senator Orr."
"Are they insane?" McCaskey yelled. "This isn't the 1950s. I'd rather shut the door than "
"Than do what, Darrell?" Hood asked. "Spy on Americans? The FBI and CIA do it all the time."
"With one difference," McCaskey said. "Reasonable suspicion. We cannot use the investigation to impede a Constitutionally protected process."
"The problem is, we can," Hood replied. "It's a legitimate investigation "
"Of a homicide. What you are suggesting is a completely different beast. It isn't ethical, Paul."
"Tell me which is the greater morality," Hood asked. "Do we let ourselves get squeezed a little so we can continue doing good in other areas? Or do we put up a Going Out