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  Nancy finally funned away. "So," she said. "I guess I should have gone back to town with Colonel Ballon." "The local police are on the way," Hood told her.

  "They'll see that we get a ride." "You're still a blockhead," she said with a brave smile.

  "I meant he's single. It was a joke." "Gotcha," Hood said. "Sorry." Nancy took a deep breath. "Not as sorry as I am. About everything." She looked at him again. "Even though this didn't work out the way I wanted, it was good to see you, again. And I'm glad you're happy. I truly am." She started to walk away, swaying as she had when he'd seen her at the hotel, her hair snapping this way, then that. Hood started after her. Without turning around, she held up her hand like a police officer stopping traffic and shook her head.

  Hood watched her go, his own eyes dampening. And when she had disappeared into the crowd of police and medics he smiled sadly.

  The date, at last, had been kept.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  Monday, 9:32 A.M., Washington, D.C.

  Hood, Stoll, and Herbert were welcomed back to Op- Center with a small party in the Tank, the high-security conference room. When they arrived, the senior staffers were already gathered with trays of coffee, croissants, and crullers.

  "We bought out all of the French and German-sounding pastries in the commissary," Ann Farris pointed out as she welcomed Hood with a cheek-to-cheek air kiss.

  Ed Medina and John Benn had spent the weekend building a small tableau of toy soldiers representing NATO, Hood, and Herbert. They were defending a fort labeled "Decency" from a horde of disfigured soldiers pouring from a troop transport labeled "Hate." The bruised but unbowed Herbert was touched. Stoll lapped it all up. Hood was embarrassed. Rodgers stood cross-armed in the corner, out of Hood's limelight, a hint of envy in his expression.

  When prompted to speak, Hood perched himself on the corner of the conference table and said, "All we did was what people like General Rodgers and our Striker personnel do all the time." "Run amok abroad," Lowell Coffey suggested, "and make the diplomats earn their pay?" "No," Stoll countered. "Fight for truth, justice, and the American way!" "Where're my pom-poms?" Ann Farris asked.

  Hood quieted the twenty-odd people gathered in the office. "Like I said, we only followed the example that our Op-Center colleagues have set for us. Speaking of which, Mike— you want to make the announcement?" Rodgers shook his head and extended his hand toward Hood. Hood wanted to drag him over, force him to share in this triumph. But self-promotion was not in Rodgers's lexicon.

  Hood said, "Over the weekend, General Rodgers finalized plans for Colonel Brett A. August to come to Washington to take command of Striker. Colonel August was the man who actually collared Gerard Dominique, and he's going to be a great stragetic and personal asset to our team." There was a smattering of applause and upthrust thumbs.

  "As I'm sure you've all noticed," Hood went on, "this weekend the press was full of the fall of Dominique and the implications of Operation L'Ecouter. I saw a lot of editorials about the way the prejudices and suspicions of otherwise good people were going to be manipulated, used to destroy lives and societies. I hope the warnings don't die with the headlines. Ann, we'll have to talk about that. Let's see if we can work up some kind of educational program for schools." She nodded and smiled proudly at him.

  Hood said, "The evidence Matt dug up on the Demain computers is safe with French prosecutors. Since there were international elements to the crime, representatives of the U.S., Germany, and other nations will be on hand to make sure that Dominique doesn't wriggle away. I would also like to congratulate Matt and his team. Yesterday, they traced the launch site of the hate games here in the U.S. to a bank computer in Montgomery, Alabama. They were planted there over the Internet so they could be launched as close as possible to the place where Rosa Parks refused to give her bus seat to a white man in 1955. Dominque believed in history. Too bad he didn't learn a damn thing from it." Rodgers said solemnly, "As Samuel Taylor Coleridge said, 'If men could learn from history, what lessons it might teach us. But passion and party blind our eyes.' " Hood said, "I think we opened a few eyes in Europe, especially thanks to Bob." "And Jody Thompson," Herbert said. "I'd be under a pile of rocks if it weren't for her." "Yes, and Jody," said Hood. "We've been told that the Chaos Days celebration in Germany fizzled after what happened. A lot of the younger people became disillusioned and went home early." "Poor babies," said Martha. "Wanna bet they'll be back?" "You're right," said Hood. "We didn't put an end to hate. But we did put them on notice. At ten o'clock, I'm meeting with Senator Barbara Fox—" There were scattered boos.

  Hood held up his hands. "I promise you that she won't leave here without rescinding the budget cuts she's threatened. Actually, over the weekend I was thinking about how we could use additional money for a new division operating either as part of Op-Center or independently. A Web Patrol or Net Force to watch over the information highway." "Why not call it Computer CHiPs?" Stoll asked. "Or how about Information Highway Patrol?" There were several loud groans.

  "What?" he said: "Net Force is better?" "It'll get taken seriously by Congress and the press," John Benn said, "and that's what counts." "Speaking of Congress," Hood said, "I don't want to keep Senator Fox waiting. I want to thank everyone for this welcome home, and I especially want to thank General Rodgers for the support you gave us overseas." Hood left then, followed by respectful applause and a few cheers. On the way out, he patted Rodgers's shoulder and asked him to join him. They left the Tank together.

  "Is there anything we can do to make Colonel August feel welcome?" Hood asked as they walked back toward his office.

  "Only one thing I can think of," Rodgers said. "I'm going to head into D.C. at lunchtime to see if I can find a model of Revell's Messerschmitt Bf 109. We used to build kits as kids and that was the big one we missed." "Expense-account it," Hood said.

  Rodgers shook his head. "This one's on me. I owe it to Brett." Hood said he understood, then asked Rodgers if he wanted to attend the meeting with Senator Fox.

  Rodgers declined. "Once a week is enough. Besides, you've always handled her better than I have. I just don't have the touch." Hood said, "I just tried doing what you do for a living, Mike. You've got the touch all right." "Then it's settled," Rodgers said. "If we can't persuade her, we put her in a helicopter in cuffs." "It works for me," Hood said as his assistant, "Bugs" Benet, poked his head from his office down the hall. He informed the director that the Senator had just arrived.

  With Rodgers's good wishes following him down the hall, Hood hurried to meet Senator Fox at the elevator.

  The woman arrived with her two assistants and a sly expression.

  "Good morning, Paul," the Senator said as she stepped out. "Have a restful weekend?" "When my wife wasn't yelling at me for nearly getting killed, yes." "Good." They began walking down the hall. The Senator said, "As for me, I wasn't resting. I was trying to figure out how I'm going to lop off heads working for the man who just saved the free world. Did you plan that, Paul? Just to make my life difficult?" "I can't sneak anything past you, can I?" he replied.

  "It'll sure play on Larry King Live," Senator Fox said.

  "Especially a man in a wheelchair saving Ms. Thompson.

  That was not only miraculous, it was a PR dream. And the press is positively loving her. Especially since she's been turning down offers to sell movie rights to her ordeal unless she can direct it. Smart cookie." The group reached Hood's office. They stopped outside.

  "Helping Ms. Thompson was Bob's and Mike's doing," Hood said. "Not mine." "That's right," she responded. "Preserving the melting pot, stopping our cities from being torn apart by riots, ending the career of the world's next great despot. That was all you did. Well, I'm still determined to make cuts, Paul. I owe that to the taxpayer." Hood said, "We should talk about this in my office. But we should really talk about it alone. There's something I want to tell you." Fox said, "I have no secrets from my associates. They may not be high-maintenance like your team, bu
t they're mine." "I understand that," Hood said. "Still, I'd like to have a moment or two alone with you." Senior Fox said without looking at her aides, ""Would you mind waiting here? I'll be right back." Neil Lippes and Bobby Winter declined Hood's offer to wait in an office. After Senator Fox stepped inside, Hood shut the door.

  "Have a seat," Hood said as he walked to his desk.

  "I'll stand, thank you," she replied. "This won't take long." Hood decided to remain in front of the desk, not behind it. He had a personal loathing for theatrics and wanted to make this as clean and direct as possible. But he knew he had better be close to her.

  He picked up a manila envelope from the desk. He held it toward her but didn't let go.

  "This was delivered over the weekend via the German diplomatic pouch," Hood said. "It's from Deputy Foreign Minister Hausen." Hood waited. He'd gone to Matt's condo on Sunday and had him run a computer analysis to make sure. There was no doubt. Though he'd been dreading this moment since the package arrived, he had to go through with it.

  "I'm listening," Fox said.

  Hood said, "Years ago, Gerard Dominique and Richard Hausen were students together in Paris. They were out one night. They'd been drinking." Fox's naturally ruddy cheeks lost some of their color.

  Her dark eyes fell to the package.

  "May I?" she asked, holding out her hand.

  Hood gave it to her. She brought it toward her, holding it in both hands. She pressed it between her thumbs and index fingers, moved them from side to side trying to feel what was inside.

  "Photographs," she said.

  Hood came closer. He said gently, "Senator, please sit down." She shook her head and put a hand into the envelope.

  She selected a photograph without looking. She looked at it.

  The color snapshot showed a girl standing on the top of the Eiffel Tower, hazy Paris spread behind her.

  "Lucy," the Senator said. Her voice was choked, barely audible. She put it back and then hugged the envelope to her breast. "What happened, Paul?" Hood watched as tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away and crushed the envelope tighter.

  "Dominique attacked them," Hood said. "Hausen tried to stop him. We found these photographs in Dominique's office at Demain." The Senator's eyes were shut. Her breath was shallow.

  "My baby," she said. "My Lucy." Hood wanted to put his arms around her. Instead he just watched her, aware of the inadequacy of any words or gestures he might offer. He was also aware of the political icon becoming flesh. And he knew then that whatever might come between them in the future, she could never entirely retreat from him. Not after what they'd just shared.

  The Senator obviously knew it too. She relaxed her arms and looked at Hood. Then she took a cleansing breath and returned the envelope to Hood. "Would you mind keeping these for a time? After twenty-five years, you've given me— well, it's the buzzword of the nineties," the Senator said, "but you've given me closure. I'm just not ready yet to deal with the grief again. I suspect there will be a lot of that in Dominique's trial." "I understand," Hood said. He laid the envelope behind him on the desk. He remained standing so she wouldn't have to see it.

  The public Senator began to return almost at once. Her eyes cleared, her shoulders straightened, her voice became stronger.

  "So. You know that now I can't make cutbacks," she said.

  Hood said, "Senator, I didn't do this for political favors." "I know. Which is even more of a reason why I have to fight for you. I was being snippy when I arrived, but Op- Center has proven its worth. So have you. Coming from most of the people I know, this moment would have reeked of manipulation. Washington isn't a training ground for real intimacy but you created it here today. And I do believe, Paul, with all my soul, that we have to get behind our worthy people as well as our worthy institutions." She offered her hand. Hood shook it.

  "Thank you for today," she said. "I'll call later so we can arrange another meeting. Let's figure out how we can satisfy the budget watchdogs and you." "I warn you," Hood smiled, "I may need more money.

  I've got an idea for a new agency." "That may be the way to get more money," the Senator said. "Cut from Op-Center, give it back with extra for a different agency. It's smoke and mirrors but everyone's happy." Senator Fox showed herself out, ignoring her aides' questioning looks as she marched them toward the elevator.

  Hood went around the desk and sat down. He put the envelope in a drawer. Then he took his wallet from his jacket pocket, removed the ticket stubs, and tore them up.

  He put them in an envelope and tucked them in the drawer.

  After twenty-five years, Hood felt that he had closure as well.

  ABOUT THE CREATORS

  Tom Clancy is the author of The Hunt for Red October, Red Storm Rising, Patriot Games, The Cardinal of the Kremlin, Clear and Present Danger, The Sum of All Fears, Without Remorse, and Debt of Honor. He is also the author of the nonfiction books Submarine, Armored Cav, and Fighter Wing. He lives in Maryland.

  Steve Pieczenik is a Harvard-trained psychiatrist with an M.D. from Cornell University Medical College. He has a Ph.D. in International Relations from M.I.T. and served as principal hostage negotiator and international crisis manager while Deputy Assistant Secretary of State under Henry Kissinger, Cyrus Vance, and James Baker. He is also the bestselling novelist of the psycho-political thrillers The Mind Palace, Blood Heat, Maximum Vigilance, and Pax Pacifica.

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