"And while we do, I'll make sure that every paper on earth knows that Secretary-General Chatterjee did nothing while India prepared to launch nuclear missiles at Pakistan. We'll see whose blood the world wants then. Hers or Striker's."

I wouldn't bet the farm on that plan," Coffey warned.

Give me an option," Hood countered.

Coffey and Herbert agreed to have a look at the United Nations charter and brief Hood. Hood agreed to hold off contacting Chatterjee. Herbert left to follow up on the intel reports. Only Liz stayed behind with Hood. Her hands were folded on the table and she was staring hard at them.

"Problem, Liz?" Hood asked.

She looked at him.

"You've had some run-ins with Mala Chatterjee." "True," Hood said.

"But forcing her hand or embarrassing her is not on the agenda. I'm only interested in protecting Striker."

"That isn't where I was going with this," she said.

"You fought with Chatterjee, you fought with Sharon, and you've shut Ann Farris out." Her expression softened.

"She told me about what happened between you."

"Okay," Hood said with a trace of annoyance.

"What's your point?"

"I know what you think about psychobabble, Paul, but I want you to make sure you keep all of this on an issues level," Liz said.

"You're under a lot of pressure from women.

Don't let that frustration get transferred from one woman to another to another."

Hood rose.

"I won't. I promise."

"I want to believe that," Liz said. She smiled.

"But right now you're pissed at me, too."

Hood stood there. Liz was right. His back was ramrod straight, his mouth was a tight line, and his fingers were curled into fists. He let his shoulders relax. He opened his hands. He looked down.

"Paul, it's my job to watch the people here and point out possible problem spots," Liz said.

"That's all I'm doing. I'm not judging you. But you have been under a lot of pressure since the UN situation. You're also tired. All I'm trying to do is keep you the fair, even-handed guy I just saw working things out between Bob Herbert and Lowell Coffey."

Hood smiled slightly.

"Thanks, Liz. I don't believe the secretary-general was in danger, but I appreciate the headsup."

Liz gave him a reassuring pat on the arm and left the room.

Hood looked across the room at the crisis clock.

It was still blank. But inside, his own clock was ticking.

And the mainspring was wound every bit as tight as Liz had said.

Even so, he reminded himself that he was safe in Washington while Mike Rodgers and Striker were heading into a region where their actions could save or doom millions of lives-including their own.

Next to that, whatever pressure he was feeling was nothing-Nothing at all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

New Delhi, India Thursday, 2:06 p. m.