“It’s a place. The legendary northern cradle of European civilization.” McCaskey laughed. “When I was a kid, I read a lot of fantasy novels, and a whole bunch of barbarian-type adventure stories were set there. Ursus of Ultima Thule, that sort of thing.” “Manliness and European purity,” Rodgers said. “That’s an irresistible symbol.” “Yeah,” said McCaskey, “though I’d never have believed that a place which seemed so wondrous could come to stand for something so corrupt.” Rodgers asked, “I take it this Thule Network has made inroads to America?” “Not per se,” said McCaskey. “We’ve got our own homegrown demons. For about two years now, the Feds, the Southern Poverty Law Center in Alabama, and the Simon Wiesenthal Center have been closely monitoring the inroads hate groups have been making on the information highway.
The problem is, like in Germany, the bad guys usually obey the law. Plus, they’re fully protected by the First Amendment.” “The First Amendment doesn’t give them the right to incite violence,” Rodgers said.
“They don’t. They may stink to the bone, but these people are careful.” “They’ll slip up somewhere,” Rodgers said confidently.
“And when they do, I want to be there to nail them.” “So far, they haven’t,” McCaskey said, “and the FBI has been watching all the neo-Nazi Web sites— their five Internet playgrounds as well as the eight national computer bulletin boards. We’ve also got a reciprocal agreement with Germany to trade any information they pick up on-line.” “Only Germany?” Rodgers asked.
“Germany, England, Canada, and Israel,” said McCaskey. “No one else wants to shake things up. So far, there’s been nothing illegal.” “Only immoral,” Rodgers said.
“Sure,” said McCaskey, “but you know better than anyone that we’ve fought a whole lot of wars to give free speech to all Americans, including WHOA.” “We also fought a war to prove that Hitler was wrong,” Rodgers said. “He was and he still is. As far as I’m concerned, we’re still at war with these dirtbags.” “Speaking of war,” McCaskey said, “I got a call from Bob Herbert before I left home. Coincidentally, he needs information on a German terrorist group named Feuer. Did you hear about the attack this morning?” Rodgers said that he hadn’t watched the news, and McCaskey briefed him. The murders reminded him that neo- Nazis were as cold as the monsters who inspired them, from Hitler to Heydrich to Mengele. And he could not believe, would not believe, that people like these were on the minds of the Founding Fathers when they drafted the Constitution.
“Have we got anybody looking into what Bob needs?” Rodgers asked.
“Liz has more info on Feuer,” McCaskey said. “I’m going to meet with her when I get to the office. I’ll go over it and get the essentials right over to Bob, the CIA, and Interpol. They’re looking for the perpetrators as well as the missing girl.” “Okay,” Rodgers said. “When you’re done with that, bring the data and let’s you and Liz and me have a talk. I don’t think my meeting with Senator Fox will last very long.” “Ouch,” said McCaskey. “I’ve got to meet you after you see her?” “I’ll be okay,” Rodgers said.
“If you say so,” McCaskey said.
“You don’t believe that.” “Paul’s a diplomat,” McCaskey said. “You’re an asskicker.
I’ve never seen a senator who responded to anything other than lips on their butts.” “Paul and I talked about that,” Rodgers said. “He felt that since we’ve proven ourselves in Korea and Russia we should take a harder line with Congress. We feel that because of Striker’s performance and sacrifices, Senator Fox will have a tougher time saying no to me on the budget increase we’ve requested.” “An increase?” McCaskey said. “General, Deputy Director Clayton at the Bureau tells me he’s got to whack nine percent from his budget. And he got off lucky. Rumor is, Congress is talking a twelve-to-fifteen-percent cut for the CIA.” “The Senator and I will talk,” Rodgers said. “We need more HUMINT out there. With all the changes going on in Europe and the Middle East and especially Turkey, we need more assets in the field. I think I can make her see that.” “General,” McCaskey said, “I hope you’re right. I don’t think the lady has had a reasonable day since her daughter was murdered and her husband put a gun in his mouth.” “She’s still on a committee whose job is to help safeguard the country,” Rodgers said. “That has to come before anything.” “She also has taxpaying constituents to answer to,” McCaskey said. “Anyway, I wish you luck.” “Thanks,” Rodgers said. He did not actually feel as confident as he’d sounded, nor did he bother to tell McCaskey what A. E. Housman said about luck: “Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure.” And whenever the thorny Fox was involved with a project, trouble was sure.
Two minutes later, Rodgers was off the expressway and headed toward the gate at Andrews AFB. As he drove the familiar roads, he phoned Hood on his cellular phone for the short morning check-in. He briefed him on what had happened with Billy, and told him that he was putting Darrell on the case to find out who was behind the game. Hood agreed completely.
After hanging up, Rodgers thought about the hate groups and wondered if they were more pervasive than ever, or if the instant media coverage simply made people more aware of them.
Or maybe it’s both, he thought as he passed the sentry at the gate. The media coverage of these groups inspired like-minded racists to form their own groups, causing the media to report on the “phenomenon” of hate groups. One dirty hand washes the other.
Rodgers parked and walked briskly toward the front door. The meeting with Senator Fox was scheduled for 8:30.
It was already 8:25. The Senator was usually early. She was also usually pissed if whoever she came to see wasn’t early.
That will probably be strike one against me, Rodgers thought as he rode the elevator down. Strike two if she’s in an unusually bad mood.
When the General exited in the lower level, the sympathetic look on the face of Anita Mui, the lower-level sentry, confirmed that the count was 0-and-2.
Well, he thought as he headed down the corridor, I’ll have to find a way to deal with that. Commanders do, and Rodgers loved being a commander. He loved overseeing Striker and he loved running Op-Center when Hood was away. He loved the process of making things happen for America. Being even a small cog in that great machine filled him with indescribable pride.
And part of being that cog is dealing with other cogs, he told himself. Including politicians.
He stopped short as he passed Martha Mackall’s office.
The door was open and Senator Fox was sitting inside. He saw from the Senator’s grim expression that he had struck out, even before he’d stepped to the plate.
He looked at his watch. It was 8:32. “Sorry,” he said.
“Come in, General Rodgers,” she said. Her voice was tight, clipped. “Ms. Mackall has been telling me about her father. My daughter was a tremendous fan of his music.” Rodgers entered. “We all liked Mack’s stuff,” he said as he shut the door. “Back in ‘Nam, we called him the Soul of Saigon.” Martha was wearing her serious professional face.
Rodgers knew it well. Martha had a habit of adopting the attitudes of people who could advance her career. And if Senator Fox was down on Rodgers, then Martha would be too. Even more so than usual.
Rodgers sat on the edge of Martha’s desk. Since Senator Fox wanted the home court advantage, she was going to have to look up at him.
“Unfortunately,” Senator Fox said, “I didn’t come here to discuss music, General Rodgers. I came to discuss your budget. I was disappointed when Director Hood’s assistant telephoned yesterday to say that Mr. Hood had a more pressing engagement— spending money he won’t have. But I decided to come here anyway.” “Paul and I worked closely together preparing the budget,” Rodgers said. “I can answer any questions you have.” “I have only one question,” the Senator said. “When did the Government Printing Office begin publishing fiction?” Rodgers’s stomach began to burn. McCaskey was right: Paul should have handled this.
Senator Fox placed the briefcase in her lap and popped the latches. “You asked for an increase of eighteen percent at a time when government agencies are making across-theboard cuts.” She handed Rodgers his own three-hundredpage document. “This is the budget I will present to the finance committee. It contains my blue-pencil reductions totaling thirty-two percent.” Rodgers’s eyes snapped from the budget to the Senator. “Reductions?” “We can talk about how the remaining seventy percent is to be apportioned,” Fox continued, “but the cut will be made.” Rodgers wanted to throw the budget back at the Senator. He waited a moment until the urge had passed. He turned and placed it on Martha’s desk. “You’ve got nerve, Senator.” “So do you, General,” Fox said, unfazed.