"'Cuz we didn't - I mean we couldn't, because there was still a bunch of others inside with guns on them, and we'd just got there, and we weren't ready to hit the bastards yet, and they wanted to show us how serious and dedicated they were - and that's how people like that show their resolve, I suppose. They kill a hostage so we'll know how tough they are." Ding set his paper down, thinking about it. He'd been brought up with a particular code of honor even before the United States Army had taught him the Code of Arms: you never, ever hurt an innocent person. To do so forever placed you beyond the pale, irredeemably cursed among men as a murderer, unworthy to wear a uniform or accept a salute. But these terrorists seemed to revel in it. What the hell was wrong with them? He'd read all of Paul Bellow's books, but somehow the message had not gotten through. Bright as he was, his mind could not make that intellectual leap. Well, maybe all you really needed to know about these people was how to put steel on target. That always worked, didn't it?
"What's with them?"
"Hell, baby, I don't know. Dr. Bellow says they believe in their ideas so much that they can step away from their humanity, but I just don't get it. I can't see myself doing that. Okay, sure, I've dropped the hammer on people, but never for kicks, and never for abstract ideas. There has to be a good reason for it, something that my society says is important, or because somebody broke the law that we're all supposed to follow. It's not nice. and it's not fun, but it is important, and that's why we do it. Your father's the same way."
"You really like Daddy," Patsy Chavez, M.D., observed.
"He's a good man. He's done a lot for me, and we've had some interesting times in the field. He's smart, smarter than the people at CIA ever knew - well, maybe Mary Pat knew. She really gets it, though she's something of a cowgirl."
"Who? Mary who?"
"Mary Patricia Foley. She's DO, head of the field spooks at the Agency. Great gal, in her mid-forties now, really knows her stuff. Good boss, looks out for us worker bees."
"Are you still in the CIA, Ding?" Patsy Clark Chavez asked.
"Technically yes." Her husband nodded. "Not sure how the administrative chain works, but as long as the checks keep coming"-he smiled-"I'm not going to worry about it. So, how's life at the hospital?"
"Well, Mom's doing fine. She's charge nurse for her shift in the ER now, and I'm rotating to ER, too, next week."
"Deliver enough babies?" Ding asked.
"Just one more this year, Domingo," Patsy replied. patting her belly. "Have to start the classes soon, assuming you're going to be there."
"Honey, I will be there," he assured her. You ain't having my kid without my help."
"Daddy was never there. I don't think it was allowed back then. Prepared childbirth wasn't fashionable yet."
"Who wants to read magazines at a time like that?" Chavez shook his head. "Well, I guess times change, eh? Baby, I will be there, unless some terrorist jerk gets us called out of town, and then he better watch his ass, 'cuz this boy's going to be seriously pissed if that happens."
"I know I can depend on you." She sat down next to him, and as usual he took her hand and kissed it. "Boy or girl?"
"Didn't get the sonogram, remember? If it's a boy-
"He'll be a spook, like his father and grandfather," Ding observed with a twinkle. "We'll start him on languages real early."
"What if he wants to be something else?"
"He won't," Domingo Chavez assured her. "He'll see what fine men his antecedents are, and want to emulate them. It's a Latino thing, babe"-he kissed her with a smile-"following in the honorable footsteps of your father." He couldn't say that he hadn't done so himself. His father had died at too early an age for his son to be properly imprinted. Just as well. Domingo's father, Esteban Chavez, had driven a delivery truck. Too dull, Domingo thought.
"What about the Irish? I thought it was their `thing,' too."
"Pretty much." Chavez grinned. "That's why there are so many paddies in the FBI."
"Remember Bill Henriksen?" Augustus Werner asked Dan Murray.
"Used to work for you on HRT, bit of a nut, wasn't he?"
"Well, he was heavily into the environmental stuff, hugging trees and all that crap, but he knew the job at Quantico. He laid a good one on me for Rainbow."
"Oh?" The FBI Director looked up and instantly focused at the use of the codeword.
"In Spain they were using an Air Force chopper. The media hasn't caught on to it, but it's there on the videotapes if anyone cares to notice. Bill said it wasn't real bright. He's got a point."
"Maybe," the FBI Director allowed. "But as a practical matter"
"I know, Dan, there are the practical considerations, but it is a real problem."
