He started to think about Op-Center's unprecedented two-tiered involvement in the operation. First there was the elimination of Amadori. Then there was the aftermath, helping to manage chaos. With Amadori gone many politicians, businesspeople, and military officers would fight to fill the power vacuum. They would do that by seizing individual regions: Catalonia, Castile, Andalusia, the Basque Country, Galicia. Bob Herbert's office was compiling a list for the White House. So far, there were at least two dozen viable contenders for a piece of the power. Two dozen. At best, what used to be Spain would become a loose confederation of states similar to the former Soviet Union. At worst, those states would turn on each other like the former republics of Yugoslavia.

His eyes were heavy and his thoughts became disjointed and Hood drifted off quickly. But his sleep was troubled. He didn't dream about Spain. He dreamt about his family. They were all driving together and laughing. Then they parked and walked down an anonymous Main Street somewhere. The kids and Sharon were eating ice cream cones. They continued laughing. The ice cream was melting fast and the more it dripped over their fists and clothes the more they laughed. Hood sulked beside them, feeling sad and then angry. Suddenly he stopped behind a parked car and slammed his fists on the trunk. His family continued to laugh, not at him but at the mess the ice cream was making. The three of them were ignoring him and he started to scream. His eyes snapped open-

Hood looked around. Then his eyes settled on the illuminated clock on the coffee table beside the couch. It had been only about twenty minutes since he'd shut his eyes. He lay back down, his head on the cushioned armrest. He closed his eyes again.

There was nothing quite like waking from a bad dream. He always felt a tremendous relief because that world wasn't real. But the emotions it aroused were genuine and that kept the sense of well-being from seeping deep inside. Then there were the people he dreamt about. Dreams always made them more real, more desirable.

Hood had had enough. He needed to talk to Sharon. He got up, turned on the desk light, and sat down. He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes then punched in her cell phone number. She answered quickly.

"Hello?"

Her voice was strong. She hadn't been sleeping.

"Hi," Hood said. "It's me."

"I know," Sharon said. "It's kind of late for anyone else to be calling."

"I guess it is," Hood said. "How are the kids?"

"Good."

"And how are you?"

"Not so good," Sharon told him. "How about you?"

"The same."

"Is it work," she asked pointedly, "or us?"

That pinched. Why did women always assume the worst about men, that they were always preoccupied and upset about their jobs?