Her stride confident, posture ramrod-straight, the handsome, forty-nine-year-old daughter of legendary soul singer Mack Mackall walked through the hub of Op-Center-- the bullpen, with its maze of cubicles and operatives hurrying here and there. Since Hood's code hadn't been posted on the computer duty roster where she checked in upstairs, on ground level, she knew she'd be sitting in for him until he arrived. Passing through the bullpen to the action level offices that ringed the hub of Op-Center, she heard her name on the intercom: there was a call from Korea for Hood. She paused, snatched a phone from the wall, and told the operator she would take the call for the Director in his office.

Hood's office was just a few steps away, in the southwestern corner. Located beside the Tank, it was the largest office in the building: he hadn't taken it for that reason, however, or for the view, since there were no windows anywhere. The fact was, no one else wanted it. The Tank was surrounded by walls of electronic waves that generated static to anyone trying to listen in with bugs or external dishes. There was some concern among the younger members of the team that the waves might affect their reproductive systems; Hood said that for all the use he got from his equipment anymore, he might as well have the leg room.

Unknown to him, Liz Gordon had noted the comment in his psych profile. Sexual frustration could impair his effectiveness on the job.

Martha entered her access code on the keypad of his office door.

Poor Pope Paul, she thought, reflecting on the latest nickname Ann Farris had given him. Martha wondered if the Director realized that all he had to do was crook his finger at his sexy Press Officer, and she'd do more to him than shower him with epithets. And he would have a reason to change office.

The door clicked open and Martha walked into the wood-paneled office. She perched herself on the corner of the desk and snatched up one of the two phones on the desk, the secure line; the LED ID at the bottom of the unit read 07-029-77, telling her that the caller was in the U.S. Embassy in Seoul. The prefix "1" instead of "0" would have indicated that the call was from the Ambassador. A third line, for teleconferencing, also secure, was integrated in the computer system.

Before she spoke, she switched on the digital tape recorder that translated words to type with amazing speed and accuracy. An almost simultaneous transcript of their talk appeared on a monitor on the desk beside the phone.

"Director Hood is unavailable. This is Martha Mackall."

"Hello, Martha. Gregory Donald."

At first she didn't recognize the slow, soft voice on the other end. "Sir, yes-- Director Hood isn't in yet, but he's been anxious to hear from you."

There was a short silence. "I was there, of course. Then we were looking at the blast site, Kim and I."