“There are two things in our favor,” FNO Loh observed. “All the scarring on the sampan was from small arms fire. Our adversaries may not be equipped with anything stronger. Even if they were, they are apparently out here trying to sink the evidence. That would include weapons.”

Herbert nodded. That cinched it. He was in love with this woman.

The intelligence chief sat back and called Op-Center. He did not think Stephen Viens would be able to get useful satellite data in the next few minutes. However, he wanted Paul Hood to know what was going on. He also wanted to tell Hood exactly where they were.

Just in case they were wrong about the heavy artillery.

SIXTY-ONE - Washington, D.C. Saturday, 1:00 P.M.

SIXTY-ONE

Washington, D.C. Saturday, 1:00 P.M.

There was a point, about three years ago, when Paul Hood had identified a third component to his job. There was the quarterback role, there was the cheerleader function, and there was also the color commentator in the booth. The guy whose job was really to play devil’s advocate.

Hood had assembled a team of professionals. Military experts. Intelligence strategists. Psychologists, diplomats, surveillance professionals. He was here to listen to what Mike Rodgers or Darrell McCaskey or Bob Herbert had to say. Whether he agreed or not, his answer had to be, “Yeah, but . . .”

He did that when Bob Herbert called from the Bell. After sitting at his desk and listening to the intelligence chief’s description of the scene, Hood went into his, “Yeah, but . . .” routine. Only in this case his concern was genuine.

“How confident are you that the boat is not a decoy?” Hood asked.

“There wasn’t time to pull that together,” Herbert insisted.

“He had enough time to call the president’s special assistant for democratic elections and get him to gnaw on me,” Hood said.

“Bruce Perry?” Herbert asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he do, give you the ‘Why are you bothering this wonderful philanthropist’ routine?” Herbert asked.

“Pretty much,” Hood said. “There was nothing specific. I wouldn’t be surprised if Perry didn’t know about the smuggling.”

“I agree. Though it’s interesting,” Herbert replied.

“What is?”

“On a scale of executive influence, Perry is what? Two out of a possible ten?” Herbert asked.

“If you’re breaking things down that way, I guess so,” Hood agreed.

“Darling is used to dealing with the top levels of government,” Herbert went on. “Perry is not as high as he could have gone if he had been prepared. He wasn’t. This was the best he could do on short notice. Paul, I think we caught Darling with his trousers around his ankles.”

Hood considered that for a moment. “That’s not the conclusion I would draw,” he replied.

“What then?” Herbert asked.