"You know what?" said Aideen. "You're right. You're right!" She looked back at Martha. "It's too late. So what I'd like to do now is apologize to you and put this behind us."

"I'm sure you would," Martha replied, "but that's not my style. When I'm unhappy, I let it out."

And out and out, Aideen thought.

"And when I get real unhappy," Martha added, "I shut you out. I can't afford charity."

Aideen didn't agree with that policy of excommunication. You build a good team, you fight hard to keep it; a wise and effective manager understands that passion needs to be nurtured and channeled, not crushed. But this was a side of Martha she'd simply have to get used to. As Op-Center's Deputy Director, General Mike Rodgers, had put it when he hired her, Every job has politics. They just happen to be more pronounced in politics. He went on to point out that in every profession, people have agendas. Often, only dozens or hundreds of people are affected by those agendas. In politics, the ramifications from even tiny ripples are incalculable. And there was only one way to fight that.

Aideen had asked him how.

Rodgers's answer had been simple. With a better agenda.

Aideen was too annoyed to contemplate what Martha's agenda was right now. That was a popular topic of discussion at Op-Center. People were divided as to whether the Political and Economics Liaison worked hard doing what was best for the nation or for Martha Mackall. The truth, most felt, was that she was looking out for both.

Aideen looked around the bus. She could tell that some of the people gathered around her were also unhappy, though that had very little to do with what was going on between the young woman and Martha. The bus was packed with people returning to work after the afternoon lunch break-which lasted from one o'clock to four-as well as camera-carrying tourists. A number of them had seen what the young woman had done at the bus stop. Word had spread very rapidly. The riders nearest Aideen were pressing away from her. A few of them cast disapproving glances at the young woman's hands.

Martha remained silent as the brakes ground noisily. The large red bus stopped on Calle Fernanflor and the two women got off quickly. Dressed as tourists in jeans and windbreakers, and carrying backpacks and cameras, they stood on the curb of the crowded avenue. Behind them, the bus snarled away. Dark faces bobbed in the windows, looking down at the women.

Martha regarded her assistant. Despite the reprimand, Aideen's gray eyes still had a glint of steel beneath her lightly freckled lids.

"Look," Martha said, "you're new in this arena. I brought you along because you're a helluva linguist and you're smart. You have a lot of potential in foreign affairs."

"I'm not exactly new at it," Aideen replied defensively.