Beyond this chamber was the heart of the Royal Palace:
the throne room. There were two additional guards, one
on either side of the grand doorway. Maria did not
doubt for a moment that behind the closed door was where
General Amadori had established his headquarters.
Maria was also convinced that more than vanity had brought
him to this spot. No outside force could attack the
general without coming through the prisoners. The detainees
formed a thick and very effective human shield.
A sergeant stepped from the room. He shouted for the
new group to enter. The line began to move. When
Maria reached the door, she stopped and turned to the
sergeant.
"I must see the general at once," she said. "I
have important information for him."
"You'll get your turn to tell us what you know," the
gaunt soldier said. He grinned lasciviously.
"And maybe we'll get a turn to thank you."
He grabbed her left arm just above the elbow and pushed
her. Maria took a step. forward to regain her
balance. At the same time she turned
slightly and slapped her right hand hard on the backs
of the fingers
274 OP-CENTER
that were holding her. The shock of the slap caused the
sergeant's grip to loosen momentarily. That was all
the time Maria needed. Grabbing the fingers in her fist,
she spun around so that she was facing the soldier. At
the same time she turned his hand palm up, bent the
fingertips back toward his elbow, and snapped all
four fingers at the knuckles. As he shrieked with
pain, Maria's left hand snaked down. She
snatched the 9mm pistol from his holster. Then she
released his broken fingers, grabbed his hair, and
yanked him toward her. She put the barrel of the
pistol under his right ear. His forehead was against her chin and
his legs were shaking visibly.
The entire maneuver had taken less than three
seconds. A pair of soldiers who were standing just
inside the hall started toward her. But she backed
against the doorjamb, her body shielded by the
sergeant. There was no way to get at her without
killing the sergeant.
"Stop!" she snapped at the soldiers.
They did.
The prisoners who had been shuffling along
behind Maria froze. Juan was among them. Several
prisoners cheered. Juan appeared confused.
"Now," Maria said to the sergeant, "you can listen
carefully or I'll clean your ears for you."
"I-I'll listen," he replied.
"Good," Maria said. "I want to see someone on the
general's staff." She didn't really. She
wanted to see the general. But if she demanded that right
away she'd never get it. She had to give someone more
information than they could handle so that she was moved along
the chain of command.
BALANCE OF POWER 275
A door opened a short way down the wide
corridor. A young captain with curly brown hair
stepped from a room on the other side of the detention
area. As he emerged, his expression quickly shaded from
puzzlement to annoyance to anger. He began walking
toward her. He wore a .38 on his hip.
Maria looked at him. His green eyes held
hers. She decided not to say anything to him; not yet.
Hostage negotiations were the opposite of chess:
whoever made the first move was always at a
disadvantage. They gave up information, even if it
was just their tone of voice telling an opponent their
level of confidence in a situation. Quite often
that information was enough to let you know whether they were ready
to kill you, ready to negotiate, or hoping to delay
things until they could decide their next step.
The officer's tan uniform was extremely neat and
clean. His black boots shone and the fresh soles
clicked sharply on the the floor. His hair was
perfectly combed and his square jaw was closely
shaved. He was definitely a desk officer. If
he had any field experience, even in war games,
she would be surprised. That could work in her favor:
he wasn't likely to make an important
decision unless he checked with a superior officer.
"So," he said. "Someone does not wish
to cooperate."
His voice was very strong. Maria watched his hand. She
didn't think he was going to reach for his gun. Not if
he were a desk officer who'd never had to look
into someone's eyes while he pulled the trigger. On
the other hand, he might want to impress his
soldiers
276 OP-CENTER
and the prisoners by making an object lesson of her.
If he did, she'd shoot him and head toward the
staircase.
"To the contrary. Captain," Maria
replied.
"Explain," he snapped. He was less than
three yards from her.
"I'm with Interpol," she said. "My ID is in
my pocket. I was working undercover and was accidentally
rounded up with the rest of this
familia.
?"'
" 'Working undercover with whom?"'" he asked.
"With Adolfo Alcazar," she said. "The man who
destroyed the yacht. He was murdered this morning. I
was on the trail of his killers when I was
apprehended."
That much was true, of course. She didn't say she
was looking for information about Amadori.
Maria had spoken loudly and, as she'd planned,
Juan had overheard.
"jEl traidor!"
he shouted, and spat. "Traitor!"
The captain motioned to a soldier, who struck
Juan in the small of the back with his truncheon.
Juan groaned and arched painfully but Maria
didn't react. The captain had been watching her.
" "You know who committed the crime?"'" the
captain asked.
"I know more than that," Maria replied.
The captain stopped just a few feet from Maria.
He studied her for a long moment.
"Sir," she said. "I'm going to release the
sergeant and turn over his weapon. Then I have a
request to make."
Maria didn't give the officer time to think. She
low BALANCE OF POWER 277
ered the gun, pushed the sergeant away, then handed the
pistol grip first to the captain. He motioned for the
sergeant to accept it. The man took the gun and
hesitated before returning it to his holster.
The captain's eyes were still on Maria. "Come with
me," he said.
He'd bought it. He turned and Maria followed him
toward his office. She'd moved up the ladder. They
entered the Hall of Columns, which was exactly that.
Desks, chairs, telephones, and computers were being
moved in. The large room was being turned into a command
center. As soon as they were inside, the captain
turned to Maria.
"What you did out there was very bold," he said.
"My mission demanded it," she replied. "I can't
afford to be stopped."
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Maria Comeja," she replied.
"I had heard that the bomber was dead, Maria," the
captain said. "Who killed him?"
"Members
of the familia,"
she replied. "But that's a small problem. They
weren't in it alone."
"What do you mean?"
"They are being supported by the United States,"
she said. "I have names and I have details of what
they're planning next."
"Tell me," he said.
"I will tell you," Maria said, "at the same time that
I tell the general."
The captain sneered. "Don't haggle with me. I
could turn you over to my interrogation group and have the
information myself."
278 OP-CEIMTER
"Perhaps," she replied. "But you'd be losing a
valuable ally. And besides. Captain, are you so
sure you'd get the information in time?"
The sneer remained on his face as he considered what
she'd just said. Suddenly, he motioned to a soldier
who was carrying in a pair of chairs. He set them
down, ran over, and saluted.
"Stay with her," the captain said.
"Yes, sir," the young soldier replied.
The captain left the room. Maria lit a
cigarette and offered the soldier one. He declined,
respectfully. As she inhaled, Maria considered
what she'd do if the captain said the general wouldn't
see her. She'd have to try to get away. Let
Luis know somehow where the madman-who-would-be-king was
hiding. Then hope that someone could get in here and
dethrone him.
Try
to get away, she thought. Let Luis know
somehow. Hope
that someone could get in. There were a lot of "maybes"
in all of that. Perhaps too many on which to hang the fate
of a nation of over forty million.
She wondered what her chances would be of getting the
captain's gun, making her way through the detention
room, forcing herself into the throne room, and putting a
bullet in Amadori's forehead.
Probably not very good. Not with twenty or so
soldiers between here and there. Somehow, she had to get in
there legitimately and talk to the general. Tell
him something that would slow him down. Then get back
to Luis and help figure out some way of
toppling the bastard.
The captain returned before Maria had finished her
BALANCE OF POWER 279
cigarette. He strode through the doorway of the
Hall of Columns and stopped. He smiled
sweetly and she knew then she'd won.
"Come with me, Maria," he said. "You have your
audience."
Maria thanked him-always thank the messengers in
case you need a favor later-and lifted her shoe.
She extinguished the cigarette on her sole. As
she walked toward the captain she slipped the
cigarette back in the pack. He gave her a
curious look.
"It's a habit I picked up in the field," she
said.
"Don't waste your resources?" he asked. "Or
don't risk starting a fire, which can attract
attention?"
"Neither," she replied. "Don't leave a trail.
You never know who's going to come after you."
"Ah," the captain smiled knowingly.
Maria smiled back, though for a different reason.
She'd just tested the officer with a heads-up and he'd
failed. She'd hinted that she was schooled
at infiltration, that she knew more than he did, and the
captain had let it go. He didn't stop and take
a second look at her. He was leading her right to the
general.
Perhaps Amadori had made a few other mistakes
in getting his coup underway. With any luck, Maria
would be able to find them.
And then somehow, some way, get out to report them.
TWENTY-SIX
Tuesday, 8:11 a.m.
Zaragoza,
Spain
The C-141But transport set down heavily
on the long runway at the Zaragoza Airbase,
NATO'S largest field in Spain. The four
twenty-one-thousand-pound Pratt and Whitney
turbofans howled as the aircraft rolled to a stop.
The plane had made a refueling stop at the
NATO base in Iceland before completing the eighthour
trip against daunting headwinds.
During the flight Colonel August and his Striker
team had received regular updates from Mike
Rodgers, including a complete rundown on the
White House meeting. Rodgers said that Striker's
orders vis-a-vis General Amadori
would be given to them by Darrell McCaskey. Receiving
them face-to-face wasn't so much a security
issue as an old tradition among elite forces:
if you were sending a team on a hazardous mission, it
was customary to look the leader in the eyes. A commander
who couldn't do that did not have the mettle, and thus the
right, to send anyone into danger.
Colonel August had also spent a few hours
going through NATO'S dossier on General
Amadori. Though Amadori had never participated
in any NATO maneu-
BALANCE OF POWER 281
vers, he was a top-ranked officer of a member
nation. As such, his file was short but complete.
Rafael Leoncio Amadori had been raised in
Burgos, the one-time capital of the kingdom of
Castile and the burial place of the legendary hero
El Cid. Amadori Joined the army in 1966,
when he was twenty. After four years he was moved
to Francisco Franco's personal guard, the
result of a longtime friendship between Franco and
Amadori's father, Jaime, who was the
Generalissimo's bootmaker. By the time Amadori
was made a lieutenant in 1972, he was one of the
top men in charge of Franco's
counterintelligence team. That was where he met
Antonio Aguirre, ten years his senior, who was
to become his top aide and most trusted advisor.
Aguirre was Franco's advisor on domestic
affairs.
Once he had joined the inner circle, Amadori
was personally responsible for sniffing out and eliminating
opponents of Franco's regime. With the death of
Franco in 1975, Amadori moved back into the
general military. However, his years in intelligence
had not been wasted. Amadori rose quickly. More
quickly than his accomplishments would suggest. If
August had to guess, his promotions were probably
the result of having collected compromising data
on everyone who had been in a position to help or
hinder his advancement.
August was convinced that if a coup were in progress-and
it certainly looked as if one were-it had not
simply happened overnight. Like the American kid
who grew up wanting to be President, General
Amadori obviously grew up wanting to be
Franco.
282 OP-CENTER
August and six other Strikers had made the trip
to Spain. Because a situation was developing in
Cub
a which could require HUMINT, Sgt. Chick
Grey had been left behind with a contingent of Strikers
in the event they were needed. Grey was a bright and
highly capable leader who was due to get his second
lieutenant's stripes very soon.
In Spain, August's second-in-command would be
Corporal Pat Prementine. The serious young
NCO, an expert at infantry tactics, had
distinguished himself in the rescue of Mike Rodgers and
his team during the Bekaa Valley operation.
Prementine would be more than able to step in if anything
happened to August. Privates Walter
Pupshaw, Sondra DeVonne, David
George, and Jason Scott had performed
brilliantly in that operation as well, just as they had
on previous missions. Communications man Ishi
Honda was also on hand. Neither Colonel August
nor his predecessor, the late X. Col.
Charles Squires, would have gone anywhere without their
ace radio operator.
The Strikers changed to civilian clothes before landing.
They were met at the airbase by an unmarked
Interpol helicopter, which flew them directly to the
airport in Madrid. Their uniforms and gear,
carried in oversized duffelbags, went with
them. At the airport they boarded a pair of vans
and were driven to the office of Luis Garcia de la
Vega. August and his team were greeted by Darrell
McCaskey, who was awaiting the return of
Aideen Marley.
McCaskey and August retired to the small,
cluttered office of an agent who was on
assignment. McCaskey
BALANCE OF POWER 283
had appropriated a portable coffeemaker and moved
it in here.
"It's good to see you," McCaskey said, shutting the
door.
"Likewise," August replied.
"Sit," McCaskey said.
August looked around. The two chairs beside the door
were full of overstuffed folders so he perched himself on
the corner of the desk. He watched as McCaskey
went to the coffeemaker and poured Colonel August
a cup.
"How do you take it?" McCaskey asked.
"Black, no sugar," August replied.
McCaskey handed him the cup then poured some for
himself. August took a sip and set his cup on the
mousepad.
"That's some pretty shitty stuff, isn't it?"
McKaskey said, pointing to the coffee.
"Maybe," August said. "But at least the price
is right."
McCaskey smiled.
It hadn't taken long for August to determine that
McCaskey was what the elite forces called
"TBW." Tired but wired. The former G-man was
Clancy, Tom - Ballance of Power Page 27
