Sitting back in his wheelchair. Bob Herbert reflected on the fact that there was nothing quite like this feeling. Waiting in Paul Hood's office with Hood, Mike Rodgers, and Op-Center's international legal expert, Lowell Coffey II, Herbert contemplated the mood that settles onto a room in which officials are waiting for news of a covert operation.

They're very much aware of the world going on around them, as usual. And they're envious of the people in that world, where the problems don't usually involve life and death and the fate of millions. They're also slightly condescending toward those people.

If they only knew what real responsibility was…

Then there's the personal side of the situation. There's extreme tension over the fate of people everyone works withand cares about. It's not unlike waiting for a loved one to come out of life-threatening surgery. But it is worse in one key way. This is something you ordered them to do. And being good soldiers, they accepted the assignment with courage and poise.

Add to that the possibility that those heroic souls might have to be disavowed if captured, left to twist in the wind. That was good for a healthy helping of guilt. And there was more guilt over the fact that while their butts were on the firing line, yours was safe and secure. There was also envy-ironically for the same reason. There's no high quite like risking your life. Throw exhaustion into the mix, with eyes that fight to shut and minds too tired to process thoughts or emotions, and the mood was unlike any other.

Yet Herbert cherished that mood every time it came around. He cherished it without gloom and without pessimism. Occasionally their worst fears were realized. Occasionally there was death. A Bass Moore like in North Korea or a Lt. Col. Charlie Squires. But because of everything that was at risk in operations like these, Herbert never felt more alive.