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"I'll be doing the Magna Studio tour on Monday," Hood continued, "and Wallace World Amusement Park on Tuesday. The kids want to surf, so Wednesday's a beach day-- and so on. If you need me, I'll have the cellular with me. It won't be a problem getting to the nearest police station or FBI office in case you need me on a secure line in a hurry."

"It should be a quiet week," Ann said. She had dumped Intelligence Officer Bob Herbert's morning update into her powerbook before coming to the meeting, and now she flipped up the lid. "The borders in Eastern Europe and the Middle East are relatively cool. The CIA was able to help Mexican authorities close down the rebel base in Jalapa without incident. Things are calm in Asia after the near war in Korea. And the Ukrainians and Russians are at least talking again about who owns what in the Crimea."

"Mike, will the outcome of the Russian elections affect that?" Hood asked.

"We don't think so," Rodgers said. "The new Russian President, Kiril Zhanin, has crossed swords with Ukrainian leader Vesnik in the past, but Zhanin's a pro. He'll extend an olive branch. In any case, our projection is for no Code Reds during the coming week."

Hood nodded. Ann knew he put little faith in what he called the three Ps-- projections, polls, and psycho-babble-- but at least he was pretending to listen to them now. When he first came to Op-Center, Paul and staff psychologist Liz Gordon got along like Clarence Darrow and William Jennings Bryan.

"I hope you're right," Hood said, "but if Op-Center is called in on anything over a Code Blue, I want to be the one who signs off on our activities."

Rodgers's leg stopped moving. The light brown eyes that usually seemed golden appeared dark. "I can handle it, Paul."

"Never said you couldn't. You showed everyone what you could do when you stopped those missiles in North Korea."

"So what's the problem?"

"None," said Hood. "This isn't about ability, Mike. It's about accountability."

"I understand," Rodgers insisted in his courtly way. "But the regulations allow for this. The Deputy Director is allowed to okay operations when the Director is away."

"The word is 'indisposed,' not 'away,"' Hood pointed out. "I won't be indisposed, and you know how Congress gets about foreign adventures. If anything goes wrong, I'm the one who'll be hauled in front of a Senate committee and asked to explain why. I want to be able to tell them because I was there, not because I read about it in your report."

Rodgers's high-ridged nose, broken four times in college basketball, dropped slightly. "I understand."

"But you still don't agree," said Hood.

"No. Frankly, I'd welcome the chance to take on Congress. I'd give those seat-warmers a lesson in government by action, not consensus."

Hood said, "That's why I'd like to be the one to handle them, Mike. They still pay the bills around here."

"Which is the reason men like Ollie North do what they do," Rodgers said. "To get around all the Deputy Directors' Coordinating Committees. The milksops who take proposals under advisement and sit on them for months and finally give them back too diluted and too late to matter worth a damn."

Hood looked like he wanted to say something and Rodgers looked like he wanted to hear it and lob it right back. Instead, both men regarded each other in silence.

"Well," Ann said jauntily, "that gives us control over those tense, single-hostage Code Greens and multiple-domestic-hostage Blues, and puts the easy, overseas-hostage Yellows, and state-of-war Reds on your shoulders." She closed the lid of her powerbook, looked at her watch, and rose. "Paul, you'll send your schedule to our computers?"

Hood looked at the computer. He touched Alt/F6 on his keyboard, then hit PB/Enter and MR/Enter. "Done," he said.

"Great. Will you try to have a wonderful and relaxing trip?"

Hood nodded. Then he regarded Rodgers again. "Thanks for your help," he said, rising and shaking Rodgers's hand across the desk. "If I knew how to make this better for