Call to Treason - Tom Clancy [82]
What stopped him, when they did meet, was the realization that Hood was finally doing what Rodgers had wished he would do for years: telling the CIOC to screw its own rules and doing what he thought was best for Op-Center. It was only too bad his newly found courage came at Admiral Link's expense.
Hood was talking to Bob Herbert in the intelligence chief's office. The door was open as Rodgers walked by. He offered only a peripheral glance inside. Eyes on the future, he reminded himself. Now that he thought of it, that mantra would make a terrific campaign slogan.
Neither man called after him nor hurried into the hallway. Rodgers felt relieved for a moment. There would be no confrontation with Hood.
He would not have to listen to Herbert explain why he had joined the assault. Then Rodgers felt offended. Who the hell are they to ignore me?
He should have known Pope Paul better than that. The man was a diplomat, and diplomats could not leave situations unresolved. Even without the blessings of their governments, they usually employed back-channel routes to try to defuse crises. Maybe they needed to do good. Maybe they needed to meddle or to be loved. The motives were too complex for Rodgers to fathom. All he understood was soldiering.
Until he came to Op-Center, that was all Rodgers needed to know.
Inevitably, after the talks had broken down or bought only a temporary respite, it took spilled blood to grease the wheels of civilization.
Hood knocked on the open door as Rodgers was taking citations and photographs from the wall.
"I would like to change the date when I'm officially relieved of all responsibilities to Op-Center," Rodgers said. He did not look at Hood.
"When do you want to leave?"
"Today," Rodgers said. "Now." He put the framed pictures and documents on the desk then went and got two shoulder bags from a small closet in back. He stood behind the desk and carefully placed the mementos inside. He did it without sentiment or nostalgia about leaving. A soldier's life should be portable. The only item from his tenure here was a photograph of himself with Lieutenant Colonel Charlie Squires and Striker. It was taken after the team had been assembled, about two months before they went to North Korea.
"Is this how you want it to end, Mike?" Hood asked.
"You mean, without a parade or a twenty-one-gun salute?"
"I mean with this barrier between us," Hood said. "I want to give you that salute, Mike. Not just because you deserve to be honored but because Charlie once told me why it was created. Weapons were discharged to show that the military was granting safe passage to a trusted visitor."
"I told him that," Rodgers said wistfully. He could still see himself and the strapping officer sitting by the pool near the Striker quad when he asked about that. They had just come back from drilling and had heard a volley in the distance. "Twenty-one guns for the number of states in the union when the navy began the tradition. An old military tradition, just like something you reminded me of yesterday. Something I had overlooked for years."
"What was that?"
"We called it 'the faith and bullet rule' in Vietnam," Rodgers told him. "When you meet a politician, only put one of those in him."
"You know, Mike, tactics are easier when the objectives are clear, when you know what hill or town you have to take and what resources are available to do it. Politics is a war without rules of engagement or the immediacy of gunfire. Sometimes you don't realize you've been hit until days later or until you read it in the newspaper."
"I guess I should be grateful my executioner looked me in the eyes when he pulled the trigger," Rodgers replied.
"I did not say that," Hood insisted.
"Then I'm confused," Rodgers told him. "Are we talking specifically about us or are we having a philosophical discussion about what my grandfather used to call 'folly-tics'?"
"I'm trying to apologize,"