Clancy, Tom - Ballance of Power
Page 15
frames-innocuously, like serial numbers-was a
series of four telephone numbers and identifying
letters.
Ingenious,
Juan thought. His boss didn't need glasses-
hadn 'I
needed glasses, he thought bitterly- but no one would
ever think to check them for coded messages or phone
numbers.
He called the number with the
S
next to it. Serrador answered-whoever that
was. The man was indignant, brusque, and in
trouble, judging from the sounds Juan heard over the
telephone. He decided to hang up before the call
could be traced.
He remained behind the desk in the large
secondfloor office. He looked out the bank of
windows at the large yacht factory. Esteban
Ramirez had been good to him for many years. Juan
hadn't been an intimate but he was a member of
Segnor Ramirez
'sfamilia.
And that loyalty continued even after death.
Juan looked at the eyeglasses. He called the
other numbers. Housekeepers answered using the
family
BALANCE OF POWER 145
name: they were all men who had been on the ship.
Juan knew because he had ferried them there.
Something evil was afoot, as Senor Ramirez had
warned. Someone had been careful to wipe out everyone
who was involved with the boss and his new project. It
was a matter of honor, nothing else, that Juan
find that someone and avenge the murders.
The night crew at the factory was already talking about
the rumors of the death of their employer. They
were also talking about a tape recording that had just been
played at the local radio station. A tape that
reportedly had their boss revealing his involvement in
the murder of the American tourist.
Juan was too angry to allow himself to be overcome
by grief. Rounding up several other members of the
familia-
two watchmen and a night manager-he decided to go
to the radio station to find out if there were such a tape.
And if there were, find out who had brought it to them.
And whoever it was, cause him to regret that he had.
TWELVE
Monday, 5:09 p.m. Washington, D.c.
Paul Hood was unhappy. That was occurring a lot
lately, and usually for the same reason.
Hood had phoned his wife to tell her that he'd be
missing dinner with the family tonight.
"As usual," Sharon reminded him before leaving him
with a curt goodbye and hanging up.
Hood tried not to blame his wife for being
disappointed. How could he? She didn't know he'd
lost Martha in the field. He wasn't permitted
to discuss OpCenter matters with anyone over an
open line. Anyway, Sharon was more upset for the two
kids than for herself. She said that even though
it was spring vacation, eleven-year-old Alexander had
gotten up early and set up his new scanner
by himself. He was burning to show his father some of the
computer-morphs he'd created. By the time Hood
got home most nights, Alexander was too drowsy
to boot the system and talk him through the steps of
whatever he'd been working on, which was what the boy
liked to do. Thirteen-yearold Harieigh practiced
her violin for an hour after dinner each night.
Sharon said that for the past few days, ever since she'd
mastered her Tchaikovsky piece, the
BALANCE OF POWER 147
house at sunset had been a magical place
to be. Sharon said it would be more magical for them all
if Paul were there once in a while.
A part of Hood felt guilty. Sharon and also
Madison Avenue were responsible for that.
Family-first was the advertising mantra of the
nineties. But Pennsylvania Avenue made him
feel guilty too. He had a responsibility
to the President and to the nation. He had a
responsibility to the people whose lives and
livelihoods depended upon his industry, his
judgment. His focus.
He and Sharon both knew what the rules
were when he took this job. Wasn't it she who had
wanted him to get out of politics? Wasn't she the
one who had hated the fact that being the family of the
mayor of Los Angeles had entitled them to zero
privacy even when they were together? But the truth was,
whatever he did Hood wasn't a high school
principal with summers off like her father. He wasn't
a banker anymore, who worked from eight-thirty
to five-thirty with the occasional client dinner. Or
an independently wealthy yachtsman like that rugged,
self-impressed Italian winemaker Stefano
Renaldo with whom she'd sailed the world before marrying
Hood.
Paul Hood was a man who enjoyed his work and the
responsibility of it. And he enjoyed the rewards,
too. Each morning he woke up in the quiet
house and went downstairs to make his coffee and sat
there drinking it in the den and looking around and thinking, I
did this.
They all enjoyed the rewards. There wouldn't
be
a computer or violin lessons or a nice house
for them to
148 OP-CENTER
miss him at if he didn't work hard.
Sharon would have to work full-time instead of being able
to appear semiregularly on a cable TV cooking
show. She didn't have to thank him but did she have
to damn him? She didn't have to enjoy his absence-he
didn't-but she could make it easier.
His hand was still on the phone. His eyes were on his hand.
It had taken only a moment for the pros and cons
to flash through his brain. He lifted his hand and sat
back, a sour look on his face.
These weren't exactly new or deeply buried
feelings. Neither was the bitterness, which set in next.
If only Sharon supported him instead of condemning
him. It wouldn't make him try any harder to be
home earlier. He couldn't. His hours were what they
were. But it would make him feel like he had a real
home to go to instead of a seminar on What's Wrong with
Paul Hood.
He thought of Nancy Bosworth again. Not long before,
he'd bumped into his old flame in Germany. Never
mind that she'd been the one who ran out on him years
before. Never mind that she'd shattered his heart. When
he saw her again he felt drawn to her because she was
someone who wanted him, uncritically. She had
only kind and flattering things to say.
Of course.
Hood said, his conscience taking Sharon's side.
Nancy can afford to be generous. She doesn't have
to live comwith you and raise two kids and hurt for them
when Dad's not there.
But that didn't change the fact that he'd wanted
to hold Nancy Jo Bosworth tightly and he'd
wanted to be held
by
her. That he'd yearned to crawl into. her
BALANCE OF POWER 149
arms
because she wanted him there, not as a reward for being
good to his kids. That was passionless.
Then he thought about Arm Farris. The beautiful and
sexy press liaison liked him. She cared about
him. She made him feel good about himself. And he
liked her. There were many times when he'd had to fight the
urge to reach across the desk and touch her hair. But
he knew that if he ever crossed that line, even a
bit, there would be no going back. Everyone at
OpCenter would know. Washington would know. Eventually
Sharon would know.
So
what?
he asked himself.
What's wrong with ending a marriage that isn
'I working the way you want it to anyway?
The words hung in his brain like a medical
diagnosis he didn't want to hear. He hated
himself for even flirting with the notion of divorce, for
despite everything he loved Sharon. And she had
thrown in her lot with him, not with Renaldo. She had
committed to building a life
with
him, not around him. And there were some things women would always
be more possessive of than men. Like kids. That
didn't make her right and him wrong, her good and him
bad. It made them different, that's all. And
differences could be worked out.
The bitterness was softened by the reminder that he and
Sharon were vastly different people. She was a dreamer and
he was a pragmatist. He was being judged by a standard
that was more romantic wishfulness than reality. It was
time to shelve those concerns for now because reality had to be
dealt with. Besides,
because
150 OP-CENTER
they were family, his wife and children would forgive him.
At least, that's how it was supposed to work in the World
According to Paul.
Mike Rodgers, Bob Herbert, and
Ron Plummer arrived for a 5:15 update.
Hood was ready for them, his conscience relatively
clear and his mind almost entirely focused. Plummer
had been named the acting diplomatic officer until
an official review process for Martha's
replacement could take place. That would not happen
until the current crisis had passed. If
Plummer had the chops for the job they'd know soon enough
and the review would be a simple formality.
"Grim news," Herbert said as he rolled in on
his automated wheelchair. "The Germans just canceled
a big soccer match they were supposed to play tomorrow in
Barcelona at the Olympic Stadium. Said
they're concerned about the 'air of violence" in
Spain."
"Will the cancellation be recorded as a forfeit for
Germany?" Hood asked.
"That's a good question," Herbert said, "to which the answer
is no, unfortunately." He pulled a printout
from a pouch on the side of his chair. " 'The
Federation of International Football Associations
has ruled that in a nation where-and I quote-'there is
a substantial disturbance of services or a
reasonable fear for security, a visiting team may
request a postponement for the duration of said
unrest." What's going on in Spain certainly
fits that requirement."
"Which will probably cause more unrest among soccer
fans," Plummer said, "which will help the situation
unravel further."
BALANCE OF POWER 151
"In a peanut shell, yeah," Herbert replied.
"The prime minister is going to go on TV in the
morning to urge everyone to stay calm. But the
military has already been sent into major cities in
three Castilian provinces to keep peace where the
police have been sitting on their hands. The people there have
always had a real dislike for the Catalonians and
Basques who work there. The stuff with Serrador and the
group in San Sebastian really sent them over the
edge."
"The question is, where does it go from here?" Hood
asked.
"We'll know more after the prime minister speaks,"
Plummer replied.
"What's your sense of things?" Hood pressed.
"The situation will probably deteriorate,"
Plummer said. "Spain has always been a patchwork
of very different people-not unlike the Soviet Union
was. Something like this, which polarizes ethnic
groups, is a very tough fix."
Hood looked at Rodgers. "Mike?"
The general was leaning against the wall. He shifted
slowly, still obviously in pain. "The military people
I spoke with in Portugal are extremely
concerned. They can't remember a time when tensions were so
openly high."
"I'm sure you know that the White House has
contacted our ambassador in Spain," Herbert
said. "They've been told to button the embassy
up tight."
Hood nodded. National Security Chief Steve
Burkow had phoned a half hour earlier to tell
him that the embassy in Madrid was being put on
alert. Passes for the military staff had been
revoked and all nonmilitary
152 OP-CENTER
personnel were ordered to remain on the compound. There was
some fear about further attacks against Americans.
But there was a more general concern that Americans might
get caught in the overall violence that seemed to be
brewing.
"Does NATO have any jurisdiction here?"
Hood asked.
"No," Rodgers replied. "They're not
a domestic police force. I checked with General
Roche, Commander-in-Chief of Allied Forces in
Central Europe. He's pretty conservative.
Doesn't want to plant a toe outside the
charter."
" 'With Basques being attacked, the French
Basques might not let it remain a domestic
matter for long," Plummer said.
"That's true," said Rodgers. "But NATO still
won't want to break their primary mandate, which is
to resolve disputes between member nations peaceably."
"I know William Roche," Herbert said, "and I
don't blame him. NATO still has egg on its
face from the Serbian-Bosnian conflict in
ninety-four. The Serbs violated designated
safe havens all over the place despite the
threat of limited NATO air strikes. If you
don't intend to go in with everything you've got, stay on
the sidelines."
"Anyway," Rodgers said, "there's a larger
issue. If Portugal or France or any
local government puts troops on alert it might
help to precipitate a crisis."
"The Spanish are kinda ornery that way," Herbert
said. "Groups of 'em will get together and start
some BALANCE OF POWER 153
thing because they're insulted that someone would
think
they'd start something."
"Are we talking about lynch mobs?" Hood asked.
" "They might look for Portuguese or French
nationals to beat up on," Herbert said. "Then, of
course, those governments will have to respond."
Hood shook hi
s head.
"Welcome to the world of precipitating crises,"
Herbert said. " 'From my kinfolk firing on
Fort Sumter to blowing up the battleship
Maine,
from shooting Archduke Ferdinand to the bombing of Pearl
Harbor. Give people a spark and you usually end up
with a fire."
"That's the old way," Hood said tensely. "Our
job is to figure out how to manage these things,
to defuse crises." That came out sounding harsher than
Hood had intended and he took a long, slow
breath. He had to be careful not to let frustration with
his personal crisis seep into his professional
crisis. "Anyway," he said, "this brings us to the
matter of Darrell and Aideen. Darrell has
recommended sending Aideen to San
Sebastian with an Interpol agent. I've okayed
this. They're going to go undercover to try and find out how
the tape from the yacht was made, by whom, and why."
"Who's the Interpol agent?" Herbert asked.
"Maria Comeja," Hood told him.
"Ouch," Herbert said. "That's got to sting a bit."
Hood thought back to his own brush with his former
lover. "They'll have very minimal contact. Darrell
will be able to handle it."
"I meant it's gonna sting her," Herbert said.
"She
154 OP-CENTER
may handle it like the Castilians are handling the
Catalonians."
It was a joke but a nervous one. Maria had been
infatuated with McCaskey. Their romance, two
years before, had caused almost as much conversation as
Op-Center's first crisis, finding and defusing a
terrorist bomb onboard the space shuttle
Atlantis.
"I'm not worried about it," Hood said. "I
am
worried about giving Aideen an exit strategy in
case something goes wrong. They're flying up
to San Sebastian tonight. Darrell says
that Interpol is worried about the same thing that's been
hounding police all over Spain:
ethnic loyalties within the organization."
"Meaning that Aideen and Maria are on their own,"
Rodgers said.
"Pretty much," Hood agreed.
"Then I think we need Striker over there,"
Rodgers continued. "I can set them down at the
NATO airfield outside Zaragoza. That'll
put them about one hundred miles south of San
Sebastian. Colonel August knows that region
well."
"Get them going," Hood said. "Ron, you'll have
to take this to the CIOC. Get Lowell to work with you
on it."
Plummer nodded. Martha Mackall had always handled
the Congressional Intelligence Oversight