Call to Treason - Tom Clancy [17]
"It's open," Hood said.
Rodgers went in.
"Good morning," Hood said.
"Morning," Rodgers said.
Hood rose from behind his desk and gestured toward a leather sofa set against the inside wall. Rodgers walked over and sat. Hood shut the door, then joined Rodgers. His expression was curiously neutral. Hood was a diplomat, but he was usually open and empathetic. That helped people trust him, and that made him effective.
"Mind if I help myself to coffee?" Rodgers asked.
"No, of course not, Mike," Hood said. "Sorry I didn't offer. I've been preoccupied."
"I can tell," Rodgers said. He went to the coffeemaker on a small, triangular, teakwood corner table. "Want any?"
"No thanks. I've already had enough to float a horseshoe," Hood told him.
"What's going on?" Rodgers asked as he poured.
"I spoke with Senator Debenport this morning," Hood said. "He wants me to make deep cuts."
"More than the four percent we just gave him?"
"Much more," Hood told him. "Five times more."
"That's ridiculous," Rodgers said. He returned with his mug and took a sip. "You don't trim that kind of money. You amputate."
"I know," Hood said.
"How far from that figure can you move him?"
"He's not going to yield a dime," Hood said.
"Balls. Everything is negotiable."
"Not when you're a politician in the public eye," Hood said.
"I guess you would know."
"I do," Hood said. "People want to feel secure, and CIOC wants to give that to them in as showy a way as possible. That is where the money is needed."
Rodgers was starting to get a very uneasy feeling about the direction of this conversation. Hood was not asking questions; he was making statements, as though he were building a case.
"Anything that has a redundancy somewhere else in the intelligence system has to go," Hood went on.
"My field unit," Rodgers said.
"Yes, Mike."
There was something in Hood's voice that said he was not finished.
"And me?" Rodgers asked.
"They want me to merge the political office and deputy director's post," Hood told him.
"I see." Rodgers took a short swallow of black coffee. Then another.
"Ron Plummer is more qualified for my position than I am for his," he said. "When do you want me to clear out?"
"Mike, we need to talk about this "
"Talk to Liz Gordon. That's what she's here for."
"No, you and I need to work this out," Hood said. "I don't want our friendship to end."
The sentiment made Rodgers squirm. He was not sure why. "Look, don't worry about it. I'm probably overdue for a change. The army will reassign me. Or maybe I'll do something else."
"Maybe we can out source some of our intel or recon activities, work with you on scenarios for the crisis sims," Hood said.
"I'd rather look at other options," Rodgers replied.
"All right. But the offer stands."
"Was there an offer?" Rodgers asked. "I heard a 'maybe."
"It was an offer to try to find projects "
"Busywork, you mean," Rodgers said.
"No," Hood replied. "Assignments for a uniquely skilled intelligence professional."
Rodgers took a swallow of coffee and rose. He did not want to talk to Paul Hood right now. He had no doubt Hood fought to keep him. Perhaps he had even threatened to resign. But in the end, Hood chose to stay on and confront his "friend" with hard facts and cold efficiency. "When does the CIOC want me out of here?"
"Mike, no one wants you out of here," Hood said. "If they did, we would have done this when Striker was officially disbanded."
"Right," Rodgers said. "It's the position that's being eliminated not the man. I'd like to resign rather than being downsized. That has a little more dignity."
"Of course," Hood said.
"How long will Plummer need to take my post?"
"Two weeks?" Hood guessed.
"Fine," Rodgers said and turned to go.
"Mike "
"I'm okay," Rodgers said. "Really."
"I was going to say that it has been a privilege working with you."
Rodgers stopped. Screw this, he thought. He was a soldier, not a diplomat. He turned back. "Would it be a privilege to resign with me?" he asked.
"If I thought that would have changed