The Project 02 - The Lance

disaster and trouble to come.
    Something was very wrong .
    Her phone rang.
    " Director, it's Stephanie. General Hood is in Walter Reed. He went down with a stroke last night."
    Stephanie Willits was Elizabeth's deputy and right arm. General Hood was the Director of the National Security Agency and Elizabeth's ally.
    "What's the prognosis?"
    "I t doesn't look good. He's not going to be able to run the agency. My sources say his successor will be General Dysart."
    " Where are you now, Steph?" Elizabeth heard the sound of traffic in the background.
    " On the Beltway, on my way in. Traffic's bad, like always. Maybe thirty minutes."
    " Thanks for the heads up. Better plan on a long day."
    " Roger that, Director. See you in a bit."
    Elizabeth hung up the phone.
    The Director of NSA was one of the few who knew about the Project. Part of Elizabeth's job was to review NSA CRITIC briefs sent to the President. She'd had a good working relationship with General Hood. It had made things a lot easier. Now he was out of the picture.
    Elizabeth knew Dysart and she didn 't like him. He was a Pentagon power player, conservative and hawkish, allied with several important congressional figures. He was smart, she'd give him that. He was also controlling and patronizing, dismissive of women and others he considered his inferiors. The largest and most secretive intelligence agency in the world was about to come under his sway. The day had just gotten worse.
    Her secured desk phone rang. She picked up and covered her surprise at the voice on the other end of the line.
    "Director Harker, this is General Dysart. General Hood has been taken seriously ill and I have been ordered to assume his responsibilities. I've been reviewing his files and I wanted to give you a call. You seem to have enjoyed an unusual relationship with him."
    Elizabeth kept her voice neutral. "I'm sorry to hear he's ill. General Hood has always been supportive."
    "I'm calling to offer a bit of friendly advice. You are currently running a mission in Israel." It wasn't a question.
    Her intuition sounded an alarm. How did Dysart find out Nick was in Jerusalem? No one was supposed to know that, outside of the team. Hood hadn't known. Even the President didn't know yet. Dysart continued.
    "I believe it's in your best interest to recall your agent. I've been talking to Lodge over at Langley. I realize you have the President's interests to consider, but there is more than enough security in place. You're treading on toes, Director. I just thought I'd let you know."
    Director Central Intelligence was another on the short list of those who knew about her unit. Elizabeth trusted Lodge about as far as she could throw the Pentagon across the Potomac.
    Dysart had been in charge of NSA for only a few hours at most. He should have more important things to do. Yet here he was, "advising" her to end a sensitive intelligence operation that might affect the President's safety and security. Her intuition waved a red flag.
    "I certainly don't want to tread on any toes," she said, in her best "little lady" voice. The voice worked almost every time. She only used it when she wanted someone to think she was compliant, but compliant wasn't an important word in Elizabeth's vocabulary. She wasn't about to let Dysart know what she was thinking.
    "I appreciate the call, General. I'll take your advice under consideration."
    "Good. You've done some excellent work for NSA in the past, Director. I'm sure we'll be able to work well together in the future."
    Dysart sounded conciliatory, but Elizabeth knew better. She hadn't gotten where she was without developing a fine sense of when she was being conned. Dysart had no intention of working well with her. He ended the call.
    She replaced the phone. Why did Dysart want Nick out of Israel? She didn't believe for a moment it was because of ruffled feathers over at Langley.
    At odd times Elizabeth would remember something her father, the Judge, had told her. Now she remembered an incident that had happened when she was seventeen. She'd been accused of cheating by one of her teachers. Sent home in disgrace.
    The Judge had sat across from her at the kitchen table, a tall glass of bourbon and ice nearby, dressed in an old sweater and jeans. Her mother had been off shopping in town. The Judge was taking a rare day away from his offices in the County Courthouse.
    Outside, the snow was almost gone. Spring had arrived on the western slope of the Rockies and color was