Instead, she forced her trembling hand down the front
of her jeans. She found the cigarette and she drew
it out. She rolled onto her side and peeled the
paper away to get at the match. It was a trick
she'd come up with years before when she worked undercover.
Being frisked usually cost her her cigarettes. This
way she got to keep a match. In a bind, fire
was an ideal offensive weapon.
Her eyes were adjusted to the dark and she
looked around. There was a group of music stands in the
corner. She looked overhead and saw what she'd
expected to see: a pair of sprinklers. There was
one by the door in front and the other by the door that led
to the dining room.
Perfect.
She crawled over to the stands. Her limbs were still
shaking. She promised that she wouldn't ask much of
them; only the strength to get her through the next hour
or so.
306 OP-CENTER
When she reached the corner she got to her knees and
then stood. She was wobbly but able to remain on her
feet. Her jaw was beginning to ache and she was glad for
that: the pain kept her alert. She staggered toward the
door, set the stand down, and removed her sweater.
She took off her denim shirt, put the sweater
back on, then dropped the shirt a few feet from the
door.
Once, when she had gone undercover to expose
police abuses in Barcelona, Maria was arrested
with a group of hookers. She had used her hidden
match to melt the soles of her shoes. The smell
brought the guards as they were about to rape a woman in a
cell down the corridor. She literally
arrested one of them with his pants down. This time she
needed more than the stench of burning rubber. She needed
something that would catch their eye.
She set the stand beside the door then knelt beside the
shirt. Carefully, she struck the match against the
bottom of her shoe. It occurred to her how useful
shoe bottoms had been this morning. The match
flared. She shielded it as she moved it toward the
shirt. She touched it to the collar and the garment began
to smoulder. A moment later it erupted in flame.
Maria crept back to the music stand. Struggling
to her feet, she picked up the stand and leaned against the
wall beside the door. She was breathing heavily to fight
down the rising nausea caused by the blows to her
belly. This wasn't the first time Maria had been
punched. She'd been hit by rioters, junkies,
an angry motorist, and once-only once-by a
jealous lover. She'd struck most of them back;
she'd sent her lover
BALANCE OF POWER 307
to the hospital. But this was the first time she'd been
held and beaten. The indignity of the attack and the
cowardice of the attackers tasted worse than the
blood that formed a shallow pool in her cheeks.
Flames consumed the shirt quickly. A
thick column of dark, gray smoke rose behind the
door. But the smoke wasn't going high enough, fast
enough. So Maria stretched the music stand out and
jostled the burning pile. There was a soft hiss.
Fiery shards and dark, red-rimmed ash flew from the
shirt in all directions. They winked out after a
moment and drifted to the ground. But the smoke from the
stirred shirt swirled higher and higher.
Now it was high enough. An instant later an alarm
went off, followed by the two sprinklers.
As soon as the water sprayed down, Maria stuck
the music stand back in the shirt. She pushed it around
like a mop. The shirt came apart in small pieces
and she spread the ash over the floor.
She heard footsteps and moved back beside the
door-on the right side. She was still holding the stand.
The footsteps stopped.
"You two wait here," said one of the men, "in case
she tries to get out."
Good,
Maria thought. One soldier was coming in alone. That would
make this easier. The door flew out and the soldier
ran in. As he did he slid on the wet ash and
landed on his back, hard. Maria immediately raised the
music stand aboveeaher head. She drove the
short, metal tripod legs into his face and he
screamed. His fall and shriek were a blur of action.
They obvi-
308 OP-CENTER
ously surprised the soldiers in the corridor and
caused them to hesitate.
That was the beauty of elite soldiers, she thought.
They were young, fit, and nowhere near as experienced as
ragged old warriors.
Their hesitation was all Maria needed. She tossed
the music stand away and let her weak legs have their
way: she literally fell over, face first, onto the
soldier. She landed across his waist.
Across the holster.
Maria knew that the two men in the hallway wouldn't
shoot her. Not yet. As the fire bell clanged and
water rained down on Maria, the two soldiers
rushed forward. At the same time, swearing viciously
and vowing to rape her, the hurt soldier tried to push
Maria off. She let him. As she rolled over,
she slid the 9mm pistol from his holster. She
released the safety and without hesitation fired a shot
into his knee. He screeched and blood splattered
her face. But Maria didn't seem to notice as
she got up on one knee, aimed low at
the other two soldiers, and fired. The pistol coughed
twice and blood splashed outward from their knees.
The men cried out and crumpled in the doorway.
As water continued to sprinkle down on her, Maria
stuck the pistol in her waistband. Then she waddled
over on her knees and relieved the writhing
soldiers of their weapons. The knee wounds pleased
her. There wouldn't be a day in the lives of these men that
they didn't think of her. The pain and disability would
be a constant reminder of their brutality.
She pulled off the soldiers" neckties and quickly
bound their wrists. Then she stuffed unburned sections
BALANCE OF POWER 309
of her shirt into their mouths. The bonds and gags
weren't as secure as she'd have liked, but there
wasn't a lot of time. She used the jamb to help
her stand. As soon as she was sure her legs would
hold her, she started shuffling quickly down the hall in
the opposite direction from which she'd come. The
corridor enclosed the main floor in the center of the
palace. Continuing in this direction would bring her
back to the Hall of Halberdiers and the throne room.
As she released the safeties of the two pistols in
her hands, she vowed that this time she would have her audience
with Amadori.
TWEIWYIVIIW
Tuesday, 9:03 a.m. Madrid, Spain
Luis Garcia de la Vega strode into the
commissary. With him was his father, retired General
Manolo de la Vega of the Spanish Air
Force. Beca
use Luis couldn't be sure who on his
staff might be sympathetic to the rebel faction, he
wanted someone behind him he knew he could rely on.
As he'd told McCaskey, he and his tall,
white-haired father rarely agreed on political
issues. Manolo leaned to the left, Luis to the
right.
"But in a crisis," he said, "where Spain itself is
at risk, I trust no one more."
The room was empty except for the seven Strikers,
Aideen, and McCaskey. The Interpol officer
walked over to Darrell McCaskey, who was
helping Aideen put together her grip. The Strikers
had already packed their gear and were marking and examining
tourist maps of the city.
"Anything new?" McCaskey tiredly asked
Luis.
"Yes," Luis said as he pulled McCaskey
aside. "A fire bell went off at the palace
approximately ten minutes ago."
"Location?"
BALANCE OF POWER 311
"A music room in the southern wing of the palace,"
Luis said. "The palace called the fire department
to say it was a false alarm. But it wasn't. One
of our spotters used heat-goggles and found the hot
spot. The fire was extinguished, according to the spotter."
"Whoever's running things in the palace took quite a
risk," McCaskey said, "considering all the
treasures in there. I don't assume that's standard
operating procedure."
"Not at all," said Luis. "The bastards didn't
want anyone coming in. A half hour before, they also
turned away a Civil Guard patrol when it
attempted to make its daily inspection of the
grounds."
"If Amadori is there, they won't turn away
Striker," McCaskey vowed. "Hell, they
won't know what hit them. What does the prime
minister's office have to say about the situation?"
"They're still not acknowledging, officially, that
Amadori has effectively seized power,"
Luis replied.
"What about unofficially?"
" 'Most of the top government officials
have already sent their families to France, Morocco, and
Tunisia." Luis frowned. A moment later the
frown became a smirk. "You know,
Darrell-I'll bet my family and I could get
a table at the best restaurant in town tonight."
"I'll bet you could," McCaskey said, smiling
weakly. He walked back to the table where Aideen was
checking the equipment Interpol had provided for her.
These included a camcorder-which was linked
312 OP-CENTER
to a receiver in the communications office-a first-aid
kit, a cellular phone, and a gun.
Aideen made sure the camcorder battery was
fully charged. As she did, McCaskey checked
the clip of the 9X19 Parabellum Super Star
pistol she'd been issued. Aideen had already
inspected it. But she realized that McCaskey was
probably anxious and needed to keep busy. After
examining the weapon he returned it to her
backpack.
As the Strikers pulled on their backpacks,
McKaskey studied Aideen to make sure that she
looked like a member of a tour group. She wore
Nikes, sunglasses, and a baseball cap. In
addition to the backpack, she carried a
guidebook and bottled water. She
felt
like a tourist-right down to the jet lag. As
McCaskey looked at her, Aideen gazed
longingly at the empty table behind him. She'd been
able to sleep on the return flight from San
Sebastian. But all the nap had done was take the
edge off her exhaustion, and she knew it was just a
matter of time before she crashed. She glanced behind her
at the vending machines and contemplated a Diet
Pepsi. She weighed the value of the caffeine against
the risk that she'd have to find a bathroom before the
mission was completed. That was something she'd learned
to take inffconsideration during long, daytime stakeouts in
Mexico City. Two hours could seem very, very long
when you couldn't leave your post.
She decided to forgo the beverage.
McCaskey, on the other hand, looked as though he
were ready to crash now. When she'd first briefed him
about Martha's assassination, she remembered think
BALANCE OF POWER 313
ing how calm he sounded. She realized, now, that it
wasn't calmness: it was focus. She doubted whether
he'd shut his eyes since Martha Mackall's
death. She wondered whether this reflected his
determination to avenge her death, determination to punish
himself, or both.
When McCaskey was finished with Aideen he turned
to Colonel August. The officer was chewing gum and
wearing a stubble. Sunglasses with Day-Glo green
frames and reflective lenses were propped on his
forehead. He was dressed in khaki-colored
Massimo shorts and a wrinkled, long-sleeved
white shirt with the sleeves rolled up just one turn.
He looked like a very different man than the quiet,
conservative soldier Aideen had met a few times
back in Washington. August had a radio
disguised as a Walkman to communicate with
McCaskey. The volume dial was actually a
condenser microphone. The colonel also carried
bottled water. If it were poured onto the
cassette in the Walkman, the tape-which was coated
with diphenylcyanoarsine-would erupt into a cloud of
tear gas. The dispenser would remain operational for
nearly five minutes,
"All right," McCaskey said. "You're going
to wait at the east side of the opera house. And if
you get chased away?"
"We go to Calle de Arenal to the north," August
replied. "We follow it east around the
palace and enter the Campo del Moro. If that's
blocked off, the fallback position is the Museo
de Carruajes."
"If you get shooed from there?"
314 OP-CENTER
"We go back to the opera house," August said.
"North side."
McCaskey nodded. "As soon as I hear from the
spotters, I'll let you know where Amadori is.
You'll consult your map and let me know which page of the
playbook you're on."
McCaskey was referring to the Striker SIT'S and
SAT'S "playbook"-Standard Infiltration
Tactics and Standard Assault Tactics.
Colonel August and Corporal Prementine had
adapted these plays for the palace. There were a total
of ten options in each category. Which option they
selected would depend upon the time they had available as
well as the amount and type of resistance they
expected. However, one thing was constant in each
scenario: not everyone went inside. After the death of
Striker leader X. Col. Squires, August
retooled every play to make certain there was a crew
to assist with the exit strategy.
"As you know," McCaskey went on,
"Aideen is going along solely to identify
Maria and assist with her rescue. She won'
t be a
combatant unless it becomes necessary. We've got a
chopper on the roof and will be ready to move in with
extra police if things get out of hand. Luis
tells me that once you're inside, the only serious
security problem you may face is the RSS."
"Damn," August said softly. "How does he
know Amadori's got one of those?"
"The king had the system installed in all of the
palaces," McCaskey said. "Bought it from the
same American contractor who installed them up and
down the Beltway. That's probably one of the
reasons Ama BALANCE OF POWER 315
dori chose the palace for his headquarters."
The RSS-REMOTE Surveillance System-was
a goggle-like visor that tapped into the video
security system of a building. There was a keypad
built into the side of the goggles and a black-and-white
liquidcrystal display in the eyepieces. Together,
they allowed the wearer to see what any of the security
cameras were seeing. Small videocameras mounted
to some of the newer units also enabled guards to share
audio-visual information.
"Brief your team," McCaskey warned.
"If Amadori gets out of the throne room,
pursuit's going to be very, very risky."
August acknowledged.
The other six Strikers were lined up behind Colonel
August. McCaskey looked at them as he
spoke. His eyes settled on Private
DeVonne, who was at the end of the line. The
African-American woman was wearing tight jeans
and a blue windbreaker. It suddenly struck
Aideen-as it must have struck McCaskey- how much
she looked like a young Martha Mackall.
McCaskey looked down. "You men and women know the
mission and you know the risks. Colonel August
tells me you also know the legal and moral issues
involved. The President has ordered us to remove
a frightening despot from power. We are to use any
means at our disposal. We do not have his public
support. Nor do we have the support of the lawful
Spanish government, which is in chaos. If anyone
is captured, he or she will not be acknowledged or
assisted by either country, except through the traditional
diplomatic channels. However, we do have this much:
316 OP-CENTER
the opportunity as well as the duty to save thousands
of lives. I view that as a privilege.
I hope you do as well."
Luis stepped forward. "You men and women will also have the
gratitude of many Spaniards who will never know what
you did for them." He smiled. "And you already have the
Clancy, Tom - Ballance of Power Page 30
