Free War of Eagles by Tom Clancy, Steve Pieczenik, Jeff Rovin Page A

Twisted barstools, along with broken bottles and glasses, were hurled toward the exterior wall. Most of the window frames were bent and dislocated, hanging at odd angles over the street. Some were still dropping larger pieces of glass to the pavement as dark gray smoke churned through them. The winds carried it over the harbor, an added pall on the already steamy night. People who were caught in the lethal rain were knocked to the pavement, some writhing with minor wounds and others utterly still, impaled by the larger pieces of debris.
    The maelstrom lasted for less than five seconds. Sirens broke the muffled silence that followed, wailing nearer from all directions as scraps of paper and clouds of powdered pasteboard and brick continued to drift earthward. Some of the debris ended up in the harbor.
    Including, fittingly, the paper boat Lo Tek had made.
    It sank quickly.

TWELVE
    Washington, D.C. Monday, 1:01 P.M.
    After Paul Hood was shown to his office, a young female intern who did not look much older than his daughter came in and cheerfully showed him how to work his computer. The lady—Mindy, from Texas money, he knew from her accent and her Armani suit—dutifully looked away after telling him how to program his personal password.
    “A master program maintains a record of all your Web stops, Mr. Hood,” the slender young woman informed him. “The president has asked us all to be circumspect about where we go.”
    Hood could actually hear the Southern-born president using a word like that, imbuing it with the proper balance of danger and piety. The young intern sounded very mature indeed, carrying forth that word from the commander in chief. At Op-Center, Hood used to tell people the same thing. It took him two words, though: “ No porn .”
    Mindy showed Hood how to work the telephone and gave him a swipe card for the men’s room. She was very professional about that, too. After the young woman left, Hood sat alone, with the door shut. Chief of Staff Sanders said she would come by at three. She wanted to review her thoughts with Hood on how the new office might work. She assured him, however, that the decision would be his, and he would have full autonomy on the final setup.
    As long as you agree, Hood thought. Otherwise, the new special envoy would be removed, and someone else would get the job. That was how things worked in the nation’s capital.
    It was difficult to process everything that had just happened. Hood looked around and smiled mirthlessly. About the only thing today had in common with yesterday was that Hood still did not have a window.
    Just an exit, if he needed it.
    Hood felt alone, despite the people he knew were just a few feet away. He was at the seat of power, yet he felt strangely powerless. It would be odd not to receive hourly intelligence reports from the research rooms upstairs. It was frustrating not to have anyone of a Bob Herbert or Darrell McCaskey caliber to consult.
    That is not entirely true, he reminded himself. Hood owed Bob Herbert a phone call.
    It took a moment for Hood to remember how to work the telephone. He had to press nine, enter his department code, then punch in the number he wanted. At Op-Center it was the other way around.
    “Paul, what the hell is going on?” Herbert asked after Hood had said hello.
    “More changes,” Hood replied.
    “That’s obvious. The phone ID says you’re calling from the White House.”
    “I’m the new special envoy to the president,” Hood replied.
    “Special envoy to where?” Herbert asked.
    “Everywhere. I am still an international crisis manager,” Hood replied.
    “Did you know that this was coming? Any of it, including the changing of the guard over here?”
    “No,” Hood said.
    “Neither did I. And we’re intelligence professionals.”
    “An attack always comes from somewhere you’re not expecting it,” Hood pointed out.
    “Is that what this was?” Herbert asked.
    “What do you mean?”
    “An attack?” Herbert