Clancy, Tom - Ballance of Power
Page 36
DeVonne and then Scott would take alternate
tosses as necessary.
The first group of Spanish soldiers was swallowed in
a huge yellow-and-black cottonball of gas.
They dropped where they stood, some in the doorway and a
few just inside the room. Anticipating that the
Spaniards wouldn't fire blindly into the thick cloud,
the Strikers moved boldly through the doorway and
proceeded along the southside wall. The door to the
Hall of the Halberdiers was straight ahead, on the
same side.
Soldiers were rushing toward them, guns raised.
Scott's partner. Private Pupshaw, crouched and
fired ahead knee high. Two soldiers fell and the
rest went racing to doorways for cover. While they
scattered, Scott rolled a grenade down the
hall. There was a three second delay and then the
hallway filled with smoke. August and Private
Honda leapfrogged ahead, followed by Private
DeVonne and Corporal Prementine.
The Strikers were halfway to the Hall of the
Halberdiers when August heard shouts inside
along with gunfire. As soon as August and
Honda were back in front of the team, the colonel
held up a hand to halt their progress. He
didn't know how many people were inside the chamber or why
there was shooting, but Striker was going to have
to neutralize the entire room before they entered. He
raised three fingers, then two- indicating attack
plan thirty-two-then pointed at Privates
DeVonne and Scott with the other hand. He motioned
them ahead, Scott to the near side of the door,
372 OP-CENTER
DeVonne to the far side. As soon as they were in
position, both rolled grenades into the Hall of the
Halberdiers.
When he was helping to train NATO troops in
Italy, August had described the effect of the
FROM gas as very much like pouring boiling water in an
anthill. The targets went down where they stood and
just squirmed. Here, as Striker moved from room
to hall to room, the impression of moving through an
anthill was especially strong.
August pointed back to Prementine and Pupshaw,
who rejoined their partners on either side of the door.
They heard coughing and vomiting inside. When
no one came out, August and Honda went in. The
two Strikers squatted low on either side of the
door, weapons ready, and surveyed the room.
August wasn't quite prepared for the sight that greeted
him: hundreds of bodies, mostly civilians and a
few soldiers, writhing on the floor of the Hall
of the Halberdiers. August knew that they wouldn't
die. But his mind flashed to images of the
Holocaust, to gas chambers from the Second World
War, and he had a flash of guilt-one of Father
Uxbridge's moral paradoxes.
He forced it aside. He had to. Once a
tactical strike force set out, no member could
afford to waver. The lives of the soldiers didn't
depend upon a shared ideology. They did depend
upon a shared commitment.
August motioned for Honda to go right around the mass of
bodies. Still squatting, August went left.
Both men stayed close to the wall. There were bullet
knicks in the marble near the door. The soldiers had
obvi-
BALANCE OF POWER 373
ously fired in that direction when the grenades
rdfieh in. Though they were in no condition to fire
now, August watched them as carefully as
he could through the yellow haze. There was always the
possibility that someone might rally enough to fire off a
few rounds. But no one did. When he reached the
throne room door, Colonel August withdrew the
flashlight from the loop around his thigh. He flicked
it on and off twice to indicate that the next group
should proceed. Private DeVonne, Aideen, and
Corporal Prementine came in, moving low
along the wall as August and Honda had done.
Privates Pupshaw and Scott followed them in.
The other Strikers and Aideen entered the Hall of the
Halberdiers. As they did, August kept the
gagging soldiers covered while Private Honda
attached a thumbnail-sized lump of plastique
to the base of the doorknob. He inserted a fuse, which
heated by turning the cap. Five seconds later the
plastique would detonate. The door would open and
Scott would roll in another gas grenade. According
to the map, this door was the only exit from the throne
room. Once the people inside were disabled, the Strikers
would move against Amadori.
When everyone was in position, Honda activated the
fuse. It glowed red and then the plastique blew
outward in a narrow line parallel to the floor. The
door flew open and Private Scott
rolled in a grenade. There were shouts and gunfire
aimed at the door and then the gas exploded with a
bang and a loud
whoosh.
Then the gunfire stopped and the choking began. When he
heard them, August motioned for Private
DeVonne and Corporal Prementine to move
in.
374 OP-CENTER
Still on point, DeVonne took the first shot in the
chest. She stumbled when she was hit and fell
backward, landing against Prementine. The corporal
backed out, pulling her with him, and the Strikers fell
back several paces. August knew that the kevlar
lining would have kept the bullet from penetrating
Sondra's chest, though she'd probably suffered a
broken rib or two. She was moaning from the pain.
August motioned to Scott to roll in a second
grenade. Then he crawled forward to DeVonne and
pulled a grenade from her pouch. The gas was
dissipating in the Hall of the Halberdiers and he
threw one toward the mass of people. He had only two
or three minutes to make a decision about whether
to continue with the mission or to abort.
August crept toward the doorway.
Someone had been waiting for them inside. Someone who
was coherent enough to aim and fire a single shot at the
first person in the door. He thought quickly. The
security cameras wouldn't have given Amadori enough
time to get out, but it might have told him how large the
attacking force was. And given him time to put on a
gas mask, if he had one. And he might.
He also might have sent for reinforcements. They couldn't
afford to wait him out. August motioned to Pupshaw and
Scott. The three of them went to either side of the
door, August on the left, Pupshaw and Scott
on the right. August held up four fingers then one.
Plan forty-one was target-specific crossfire,
with the third gunman covering the other two. August
pointed to himself and Pupshaw, meaning that they'd take out
Amadori. The entrance would be made using the Ma
BALANCE OF POWER 375
rine tactic of one soldier using a single
somersault to get insi
de, then stretching out into a
tight pencil-roll- the arms flat across the chest,
holding the firearm, and the feet facing toward the
target. The first soldier's entrance was designed
to draw the fire to one side so the second soldier
could enter. When the two men were in, they'd sit
up-legs still extended-and fire ahead.
Meanwhile, the soldier responsible for setting up
the cover fire would remain outside the room.
He'd pencil-roll in front of the doorway,
remaining on the outside and facing the target. He'd
stop on his belly with his weapon pointed ahead.
August pointed to himself. He'd go in to the left,
followed by Pupshaw. By the time Scott rolled
into view, the other two Strikers would have the target in
their sights.
August doffed his backpack and sidled to the door.
Pupshaw and Scott did the same on the right.
August looked at Pupshaw and nodded. The
colonel somersaulted in and cut to the left
pencil-roll. There was gunfire, but it trailed him
as he turned quickly to the left. Pupshaw went in and
was in position before the gun could be turned toward him.
Both men had their sights on the target as Scott
rolled into position.
August's right hand shot up, the fingers splayed. That
was the sign for the Strikers not to fire.
Neither of the other Strikers fired. August stared over
his gunsight at a priest, gagging terribly. There
was an automatic weapon jutting from under his right
armpit, pointing toward the door. Behind him was a
general wearing a gas filter and goggles.
From his size and hair coloring, August knew that it
was Amadori.
376 OP-CENTER
The general's left hand was around the priest's
throat. Behind the general was another officer-a major
general, August determined through the yellow haze.
There were six other officers in the room, all of them
high-ranking, all of them sprawled on the floor
or leaning across a conference table in the center.
The general motioned up and down with the gun. He was
telling the Strikers to stand. August shook his head.
If Amadori fired, he might get one of them.
But he wouldn't get all of them. And if the general
shot the priest, then he had to know that he himself was
dead.
It was a standoff. But the one running out of time now was
Amadori. He had no way of knowing whether
Striker was a SAT'-A stand-alone team-or the first
wave of a larger force. If it was the latter, then
Amadori couldn't afford to be trapped here.
The general obviously made up his mind quickly, as
August had expected him to. Amadori began
walking the priest forward slowly. The older
clergyman was having difficulty standing. But
pressure from Amadori's fingers around his
throat brought him upright each time he threatened
to stumble. The major general walked with them, tight
against Amadori's back. As they approached,
August could see that the major general had a
handgun. He suspected that the only reason these men
hadn't fired was because they didn't know who or what was
waiting for them outside the throne room.
August watched as the three men came forward. There
was no doubt that the Strikers could take Amadori.
The question was the pricetag for both sides. In
BALANCE OF POWER 377
situations like these, the decision was up to the commanding
officer. For August, the question was the same as it was in
chess: whether an exchange of high ranked pieces
was worth it. For him, the answer had always been no.
Depending upon who was sharper and better prepared, it was
better to keep the game going and wait for the other
player to make a mistake.
August held out his right hand, palm down. That meant
to do nothing unless provoked. Outside the door,
Scott passed the signal to the other Strikers.
Scott wriggled back as Amadori approached.
He didn't take his gun off him. As he stepped
through the doorway into the Hall of the Halberdiers, the
other Strikers also took aim at the
general. The exception was Corporal Prementine,
who was helping Private DeVonne.
The gas in the throne room was beginning to wear off.
At August's signal, Scott threw another
grenade to cover their retreat. They rose and exited
after the general. Scott walked with his back pressed
to August's back. The private was facing into the
throne room, watching to make sure that none of the
choking soldiers attempted to get off a shot.
None did.
August couldn't afford to feel frustrated as
Amadori walked toward the corridor. The general
had had a gas filter with him: that was a reasonable
precaution. The President of the United States
had one in the Oval Office. They were kept in most
rooms at 10 Downing Street. Boris
Yeltsin had one in his desk and one in each of his
cars. The surprise was that Amadori had had a
hostage. The killing or even wounding of a hostage was
always unfortunate; the killing or wounding
378 OP-CENTER
of a Roman Catholic priest in Spain would be a
disaster.
August considered the situation carefully. If they
let Amadori out into the open, the general's
army would be better able to protect him. And if he
got away, this attack could make him a hero in the
eyes of his people. But that wasn't the biggest problem.
August had no idea if and when reinforcements might
arrive. And if they did show up, they might also be
equipped with gas masks.
My chess game be damned,
August decided. He was going to have to go for the king.
He couldn't get his head or torso, but he had a
clear shot at his legs and could bring him to the ground.
Even if the general or the major general turned
on him, that would give the other Strikers a chance
to take them out.
He raised his index finger once and then again.
Number one was going after number one.
August and Scott were still standing back-to-back.
August half-turned and whispered to the private as
they walked toward the hallway.
"When I move, dive to your left."
Scott nodded.
An instant later, August fired.
THIRTYSEVE-RO
Tuesday, 11:19 a.m. Madrid, Spain
Father Norberto had heard the unmistakable sound of the
helicopter flying low over the palace
courtyard. It was followed soon after by the equally
unmistakable crack of gunfire. He listened with
one ear as he continued reading from Matthew 26 to the
small group of people seated around him. It wasn't
until one of the parishioners went out to check, then
came running back, that the congregation learned that
something dire was going on.
"There is gunfire outside," the man shouted into
the
church. "Soldiers are shooting at people in the
courtyard."
The church was silent for a long moment after that. Then
Father Francisco rose from the group he was
counseling in the front of the nave. He raised his
arms as though offering a blessing.
"Please remain calm," Francisco said,
smiling. "No harm will come to the church."
"What about the General Superior?" someone shouted.
"Is he safe?"
"The General Superior is at the palace,"
Francisco replied calmly, "hoping to secure
a role for the mother
380 OP-CENTER
church in the new Spain. I'm sure that God is
looking out for him."
Father Norberto found something very unnerving about
Francisco's composure. Faith in God alone
would not inspire such confidence. The feeling that
Norberto had had earlier, that General Superior
Gonzaiez was involved in the upheaval-that might be
enough to give Francisco comfort. Especially if he
had foreknowledge that there would be gunfire. But for what?
There was only one thing Norberto could think of.
Executions.
The man ran back outside. The priests resumed
counseling the people who sat before them, leading them in
prayer or offering words of comfort. A few minutes
later the man came back.
"There is yellow smoke coming from windows of the
palace," the man yelled. "And gunfire
inside!"
This time. Father Francisco was not so composed. He
left without a word, walking hurriedly toward the
door behind the ambulatory, which opened into the courtyard
of the Royal Palace.
Father Norberto watched him go. The silence of the
church was even deeper now. Around them he could hear the
crack of guns. Norberto looked down at the
text then back toward the anxious faces before him.
They needed him. But then he thought of Adolfo and of his
dying need for absolution. Beyond these walls
were times of trial and acts of sin. His place was with
those who required the sacrament of penance, not comfort.
Norberto put his hand on the shoulder of a young
BALANCE OF POWER 381
woman who had come in with her two little girls. He
smiled at the mother and asked if, for a while, she would
not mind reading in his place. He said that he wanted
to see if Father Francisco required any
assistance.
Walking quickly down the aisle. Father Norberto
made his way to the ambulatory and out the large door
into the courtyard.