Martha had been one of Op-Center's keystones since the organization's inception. Regardless of her motivation, Martha had never given less than her utmost. Herbert was going to miss her intelligence, her insights, and her justified self-confidence. In government, it didn't always matter whether a person was right or wrong. What mattered was that they led, that they roused passions. From the day she arrived in Washington Martha certainly did that.

Yet in the nearly two years that he had known Martha Mackall, Herbert had found her to be abrasive and condescending. She often took credit for work done by her staff-a common enough sin in Washington, though a rare occurrence at Op-Center. But then, Martha wasn't devoted solely to Op-Center. Since he'd first encountered her when she worked at State, she had always applied herself to the advancement of the cause that seemed most important to her: Martha Mackall. For at least the last five or six months she'd had her eyes on several ambassadorial positions and had made no secret of the fact that her position at Op-Center was simply a stepping stone.

On the other hand, Herbert thought, when patriotism isn't enough to drive you to do your best, ambition is a workable substitute. As long as the job got done, Herbert wasn't one to throw stones.

Herbert's cynicism burned off quickly, though, as he crossed the threshold into Hood's small, wood-paneled office. "Pope" Paul had that effect on people. Hood believed in the goodness of humankind and his conviction as well as his even temper could be contagious.

Hood finished pouring himself a glass of tap water from a carafe on his desk. Then he rose and walked toward the door. Herbert had been the first to arrive, and Hood greeted him with a handshake and tight-lipped solemnity. Herbert wasn't surprised to see the director's dark eyes lacking their usual spirit and vigor. It was one thing to get bad news about an operative on a covert mission. Reports like that were statistical inevitabilities and a part of you was always braced for that kind of loss. Each time the private phone or fax line beeped, you half-expected a coded communique with a heart-stopping phrase like "The stock market is down one" or "Lost a charge card-cancel account."

But to hear about the death of a team member who was on a quiet diplomatic mission to a friendly nation during peacetime-that was another matter. It was disturbing regardless of what you thought about the person.

Hood sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms. "What's the latest from Spain?"

"You read my e-mail about the explosion off the coast of San Sebastián, up north?"

Hood nodded.