"It's the former," Liz said. "It would be the same as saying that your skills with hardware ipso facto make you a man."

"Thank you again," Stoll said.

"My God," Ann said, "I move that we all cut back on the morning caffeine and sugar intake."

"It's not that," Stoll said as Liz left. "It's just the Monday after an international blow. We decided we're all a little testy because nobody thought to preprograrn their VCRs for the week we're going to be living here."

Katzen tucked his laptop under his arm and rose. "I've got some material to get for the meeting," he said. "See you folks in fifteen."

"And then every quarter hour after that," Stoll said, following him out, "until we're all old and gray."

Alone now, the Press Officer sipped her espresso and contemplated the primary Op-Center team. They were a bunch of characters, with Matt Stoll the biggest kid and Liz Gordon the biggest bully. But the best people in any field usually were eccentric. And getting them to work together in close quarters like this was a thankless job. The best Paul Hood could ever hope for among his eclectic officers was peaceful coexistence, shared purpose, and some degree of mutual, professional respect. He got that through high-maintenance, hands-on management-- though she knew the toll that took on his private life.

Leaving the cafeteria to go to the meeting, Ann ran into Martha Mackall. The forty-nine-year-old Political Officer and linguistics expert was also hurrying to the meeting, though she never seemed to be in a hurry. The daughter of the late soul singer Mack Mackall, she had his cheek-splitting smile, smoky voice, and easy manner-- layered atop her own core of steel. She always appeared cool, the result of having grown up on the road with her father, where she learned that drunks, rednecks, and bigots were more intimidated by a sharp mind and wit than by a sharp knife. When Mack was killed in a car crash, Martha went to live with an aunt who made her study hard, put her through college, and lived to see her make the move from her father's "Soul to Go" days to the State Department.

"Morning, glory," Martha said as Ann increased her speed to keep up with the taller woman.

"Morning, Martha," Ann said. "I understand you had a busy night."

"Lowell and I did the Dance of the Seven Veils up on the Hill," she said. "Those Congresspeople take a bit of persuading."

The two walked the rest of the way in silence. Martha was not one for small talk in any language, unless it was with the high and mighty. Increasingly, Ann had the feeling that if there was anyone who coveted Hood's job, it wasn't Mike Rodgers.