Hood pushed his chair back from the desk and stood. He put his hands on his hips, shook his head, then went to the shelf near the TV and got himself a cup of coffee.

Rodgers was right. Chances were good that the Spanish prime minister and possibly even the king wouldn't survive this debacle. They weren't acting in their own self-interest. They were trying to preserve Spain. And in the long run, that helped Europe and the United States. There wasn't a polarized nation on earth that would benefit if yet another country collapsed into smaller republics.

Yet it wasn't their actions that bothered him. It was their we'll-take-it-from-here attitude, now that the difficult work had been done. What about the lives that had been sacrificed to correct what had occurred during their watch?

"Paul," Rodgers said, "the Spanish government probably doesn't even know about Darrell's role in the action. They probably assume that Striker got in and out as planned."

"They didn't bother to ask."

"And if they did, nothing would be different," Rodgers said. "Nothing could be different. The government can't give us time to figure something out because they can't afford to give the rebels time."

Hood took his coffee back to the desk.

"I've faced these things before," Herbert said. "They suck. But Darrell isn't green. He'll probably pick up on what's happening. Maybe he'll be able to get himself and the others to safety until the shooting's over."

"I also informed Interpol about the situation," Rodgers said. "I didn't tell them about Darrell's actions. That can come out later, when-with luck-we'll have him back here."

"Yeah," Herbert said. "Then we can at least have some fun denying that he was ever even there."

"I told them where Darrell, María, and Luis are," Rodgers continued, "and that they need medical attention. Hopefully, the message will make its way through the bureaucracy."

Hood sat. "Probably, maybe, and hopefully. I guess there are worse words."

"A whole lot of them," Herbert said. "Like never, impossible, and dead."

Hood looked at him and then at the others. He was going to miss these people when he submitted his resignation-these good patriots and dedicated professionals. But he wasn't going to miss the waiting and the grief. There had been enough of that to last him a lifetime.

He also wouldn't miss the loneliness and the guilt. Wanting Nancy Bosworth in Germany and Ann Farris in Washington. That kind of empty flirtation was never what he'd wanted his life to be about.

Hood found himself hoping that Sharon had had a change of heart-that maybe she'd decided to come back. And he had to admit that Herbert was right. Hope was a lot more satisfying than never.

FORTY-NINE

Tuesday, 12:57 p.m.

Madrid, Spain