Games of State - Tom Clancy [3]
"That's all you did for eight hours? Listened to music?"
"Had to," Stoll said. "At thirty-eight minutes in, you get Cream followed by the Cowsills and Steppenwolf. It's like Quasimodo's beautiful ugliness-- 'Indian Lake' sandwiched between 'Sunshine of Your Love' and 'Born to Be Wild.' "
Hood just smiled. He didn't want to admit that he'd liked the Cowsills when he was growing up.
"Anyway," Stoll said, "those earplugs Bob gave me melted right out of my head. You forget, we heavy people sweat more than you skinny people do."
Hood glanced past Stoll. Across the aisle, the gray-haired Intelligence Officer was still asleep.
Hood said, "Maybe it would've been better if I'd listened to music too. I was having this dream and then "
"You lost it."
Hood nodded.
"I know the feeling," Stoll said. "It's like a power failure which takes your computer data with it. You know what I do when that happens?"
"Listen to music?" Hood guessed.
Stoll looked at him with surprise. "That's why you're the boss and I'm not. Yeah, I listen to music. Something I associate with good times. That takes me right to a better place."
From across the aisle, Bob Herbert said in his high Southern drawl, "Me? I rely on earplugs for peace of mind. They're worth stayin' skinny for. How'd they work for you, Chief?"
"Fantastic," said Hood. "I was asleep before we passed Halifax."
"Didn't I tell you?" Herbert asked. "You oughta try 'em in the office. Next time General Rodgers is in a funk or Martha goes into one of her bootlick rants, just slip 'em in and pretend to listen."
Stoll said, "Somehow, I don't think that'd work. Mike says more with silence than he does with words, and Martha's been E-mailing.her screeds all around town."
"Gentlemen, cool it on Martha," Hood cautioned. "She's good at what she does--"
"Sure," Herbert said. "And she'll haul our asses into court for racial and sexual discrimination if we suggest otherwise."
Hood didn't bother to object. The first aspect of leadership he'd learned during his years as Mayor of Los Angeles was that you didn't change people's minds by arguing with them. You just shut up. That put you above the fray and gave you an aura of dignity. The only way your opponent could reach that high ground was by surrendering some of the low ground, which meant compromise. Sooner or later, they all came around to that. Even Bob, though it took him longer than most.
As the jet came to a stop and the passenger bridge was swung over, Herbert said, "Hell, it's a new world. I guess what we need are electronic earplugs. If we don't hear what we don't like, we don't run the risk of being politically incorrect."
"The information highway is supposed to open minds, not close them," Stoll said.
"Yeah, well, I'm from Philadelphia, Mississippi, and we didn't have highways back there. We had dirt roads that flooded in the spring, an' everyone pitched in to clean 'em up."
The seatbelt sign was turned off and everyone rose except Herbert. As people collected their carry-on luggage, he leaned his head back, his eyes fixed on the overhead reading light. It had been fifteen years since he'd lost the use of his legs in the Beirut Embassy bombing, and Hood knew he was still self-conscious about not being able to walk. Though no one who worked with Herbert gave his handicap a thought, Herbert didn't like to make eye contact with strangers. Of all the things Herbert disliked, pity was at the head of the list.
"Y'know," Herbert said wistfully, "back home, everyone started from the same end of the road and worked together. Differences of opinion were settled by trying it one way. If that didn't work you tried it another way and the job got done. Now," he said, "you disagree with someone and you're accused of hating whatever minority they happen to belong to."
Stoll said, "Opportunism knocks. It's the new American dream."
"Among some," Hood pointed out. "Only among some."
After