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"Protect your guests and your assets," Hood said.

"Exactamundo," said the waiter.

Hood signed the bill and thanked the waiter as his phone chirped. He answered quickly.

"How are you, Mike?" he asked. He picked up the phone and began walking toward a shady corner, where there were no other guests.

"Same as everyone," Rodgers said. "Sick and mad."

"What can you tell me?" Hood asked.

"I'm heading to the office after meeting with the boss," he said. "A lot's happened. For one thing, the perpetrator called. Gave up. We've got him."

"Just like that?" Hood asked.

"There were some strings attached," Rodgers said. "We have to stay out of some business he says is going down overseas. Old Red zone. Otherwise, we get more of the same."

"Is this big business?" Hood asked.

"We're not sure. Army business, it appears.

"From the new President?" Hood asked.

"We don't think so," Rodgers said. "It appears to be a reaction to him and not necessarily his doing."

"I see," said Hood.

"In fact, we think the okay for all this came from that TV studio we've been tuned in to. Got a pretty solid paper trail. The boss has authorized us to have a look see, pending all the paperwork. I've put Lowell on it."

Hood stopped walking under a palm tree. The President had authorized a Striker excursion into St. Petersburg, and Op-Center attorney Lowell Coffey II was going to seek approval from the Congressional Oversight Intelligence Committee. That was heavy-duty.

Hood looked at his watch. "Mike, I'm going to try and catch a red-eye back there."

"Don't," said Rodgers. "We've got some time on this. When things start to hop, I can chopper you up to Sacramento and you can hitch a ride from March."

Hood looked back at the kids. They were all supposed to take the Magna Studio tour in the morning. And Rodgers had a point. It would be a half-hour hop up to the Air Force base, then less than a five-hour ride back to D.C. But he had taken an oath to do a job, and it was a job-- more accurately, a burden, a responsibility, which he didn't want to put on anyone else's shoulders.

His heart was beating fast. Hood knew what it wanted to do. It was already getting the blood to his legs so he could make the plane.

"Let me talk to Sharon," he said to Rodgers.

She's going to kill you," Rodgers said. "Take a deep breath and a jog around the parking lot. We can handle this."

"Thanks," Hood said, "but I'll let you know what I'm doing. I appreciate the update. I'll talk to you later."

"Sure," Rodgers said glumly.

Hood clicked off and folded up the phone. He swatted it gently in his open palm.

Sharon would kill him, and the kids would be crushed. Alexander had been looking forward to doing the virtual reality Teknophage attraction with him.

Jesus, why can't anything ever be simple? he asked himself as he walked toward the pool. "Because then there would be no dynamics between people," he said under his breath, "and life would be boring."

Though he had to admit that a little boredom would be good right now. It was what he'd come back to Los Angeles in the hopes of finding.

"Dad, you comin' in?" his daughter, Harleigh, yelled as he approached.

"No, cheesehead," said Alexander. "Can't you see he's got his phone?"

"I can't see that far without my glasses, dorko," she replied.

Sharon had stopped squirt-gunning their son and was swimming in place. From her expression, he could tell that she knew what was coming.

"Gather round," Sharon said as her husband squatted by the side of the pool. "I think Dad's got something to tell us."

Hood said simply, "I have to go back. What happened today-- we have to respond."

"They need Dad to kick ass," Alexander said.

"Hush," Hood said. "Remember, loose lips--"

"Sink ships," said the ten-year-old. "Ex-squeeze me," he said as he went under.

His twelve-year-old sister went to hold him there, but Alexander darted away.

Sharon just glared at her husband. "This response," she asked quietly. "It can't possibly be made