Chapters (79)
- Games of State
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
- CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
- GAMES OF TOMORROW
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FORTY
- CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
- CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
- CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
- CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FIFTY
- CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
- CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
- CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
- CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
- CHAPTER SIXTY
- CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
- CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
- CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
- CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
- CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
- CHAPTER SEVENTY
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
- THE END
- ABOUT THE CREATORS
Rodgers looked down. "I think this has gotten way out of hand. We have other problems. Some jerks are about to go on-line with video games about whites lynching blacks. I'm meeting with Darrell and Liz later to see if we can derail them. I'd like your input."
Martha nodded.
Rodgers looked at her. He felt like hell. "Listen," he said, "I don't like when anyone gets a bunker mentality. Especially me. I guess it comes with the territory. Army looks after Army, Marines after Marines--"
"Women after women," Martha said softly.
Rodgers smiled. "Touché. I guess, at heart, we're all still territorial carnivores."
"That's one way to spin-doctor it," she replied.
"Then here's another," Rodgers said, " 'I shall be an autocrat: that's my trade. And the good Lord will forgive me: that's his.' A woman said that. Catherine the Great. Well, Martha, sometimes I can be an autocrat. And when I am, I can only hope that you'll forgive me."
Martha's eyes narrowed. She looked as if she wanted to stay angry, but couldn't.
"Touché right back." She grinned.
Rodgers smiled again, then looked at his watch. "I've got to make a call. Why don't you check with Liz and Darrell to get up to speed, and I'll see you later."
Martha relaxed at the shoulders and stepped aside.
"Mike?" she said as he passed.
He stopped. "Yes?"
"That was still a pretty hard blow you gave the Senator," she said. "Do me a favor and call her later, just to make sure she's okay."
"I plan to," Rodgers said as he opened the door. "I too, can be forgiving."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Thursday, 2:55 P.M.,
Hamburg, Germany
Bob Herbert spent a frustrating hour-plus on the phone.
Sitting in his wheelchair and using his private line, Herbert spent part of the time talking with his assistant at Op-Center, Alberto Grimotes. Alberto was fresh out of Johns Hopkins, a clever Ph.D. psychologist with good ideas. He was still very young and without a great deal of life experience, but he was a hard worker whom Herbert regarded as a kid brother.
Question one, Herbert said, was trying to figure out which of their intelligence allies they could tap for up-to-the-minute information about German terrorists. The men suspected that the Israelis, the British, and the Poles would be the only ones who followed those groups closely. No other nations had quite the same visceral, enduring fear of the Germans.
Herbert held on while Alberto checked their HUMINT, Human Intelligence, database. This information from agents in the field was contained in what Herbert referred to as Op-Center's "pelt," the FUR file-- Foreign Undercover Resources.