"What if I go and speak with them," Norberto
asked. "Tell them that there is no longer any
reason to fight."
"I don't think they'd listen," McCaskey said.
"You may put some fear in some of them-but not all. Not
enough to save us."
"I've got to try," Norberto said.
He stepped around McCaskey and walked out the
door. McCaskey didn't try to stop him. He
didn't believe the soldiers would hurt the priest.
And if he could buy them an extra minute or
two, it was worth a try. At this point, he was
willing to try anything.
McCaskey had no idea what was going to happen
to the movement with Amadori dead. But from the way the
three dozen or so soldiers were massing along the
southern side of the courtyard, he had a good idea
what was going to happen to him and Maria and all the
prisoners who were being kept here.
They would become pawns in one of the most
significant and dangerous hostage dramas of this
century.
FORTY-EIGHT
Tuesday, 6:50 a.m. Washington, D.c.
"Incoming from Striker," Bob Herbert said.
He was manning the phone in Hood's office while
Hood and Rodgers were on a conference call with
National Security head Burkow and Spanish
ambassador Garcfa Abril in Washington.
Attorney Lowell Coffey and Ron Plummer were
also in the office.
The ambassador informed Washington that the Spanish
prime minister and King had relieved General
Amadori of his command. His forces were being turned over
to General Garcia Somoza, who was being flown in from
Barcelona. In the meantime, the local police
forces-which included the elite Guardia Real from the
Palacio de la Zarzuela-were being organized
for a counterattack to take back the palace.
Hood took the Striker call at once, patched
through from Interpol headquarters. He put it on the
speaker. The radio silence had been
nerve-wracking, especially since the spotters and
satellite reconnaissance had reported shots and
tear gas from different parts of the palace compound. He
was also afraid the police would move in before Striker
could move out.
"Home run," August said as soon as Hood was
on.
BALANCE OF POWER 431
"We're out of the dugout and back in the street."
There were smiles around the room and fists raised in
triumph. Rodgers informed Burkow and
Ambassador Abril.
"Excellent," Hood said enthusiastically. Since
Striker was out in the open, August would be forced
to give his report in the baseball code they'd
arranged. "Injuries?"
"A minor sprain," said August. "But we have a
problem. The coach went in to get his lady. The
lady's boss went with him. The coach is all right
but the others are hurt. They should really see a
doctor."
"Understood," Hood said. McCaskey was the
coach. August was telling him that he and Luis had
gone in to get Maria and that the condition of Luis and
Maria was possibly life-threatening.
"One more thing," August said. "When we tried
to pick off their ace player we got caught in a
pickle. Coach was the one who ended up nailing
him."
Hood and Rodgers exchanged looks.
McCaskey was the one who had ended up getting
to Amadori. That hadn't been the game plan. But
if there was one thing Hood had discovered about his
team-Herbert, Rodgers, and McCaskey in
particular-they were very good at improvising.
"It's our feeling," August continued, "that the coach
probably shouldn't stay in the stadium for any length
of time. We don't really want the other team
talking to him. Do you want us to try and get them out?"
"Negative," Hood said. Good as Striker was,
he refused to send them back in without a rest-espe-
432 OP-CENTER
cially with a police force getting ready to move in.
"Where are the coach and his people?"
"The coach is by the doorway at Bl," August
said. "The lady and boss are in seats V5, one and
three."
"Very good," Hood said. "You did your job,
slugger. Now go home. We'll talk when you get
there."
Herbert had rolled his chair to the computer and punched
in the map coordinates August had provided.
He asked the computer for a satellite update of the
spot. Stephen Viens had linked them directly
to the NRO download and it came up in
fifteen seconds.
"I've got visuals on Maria and Luis,"
Herbert said. He pulled back so he could see the
entire courtyard. "I've also got about thirty
soldiers getting ready to do something."
Rodgers updated Burkow and Abril. As he
did, Lowell Coffey went to the coffee machine and
poured a cup.
"Paul," Coffey said, "ifAmadori's dead,
those soldiers may not kill our people or anyone
else. They'll hold them as hostages. Use them
to bargain their way to some kind of amnesty."
"And they'll probably get it, too," Plummer
pointed out. "Whoever ends up running the country
won't want to further alienate the ethnic
supporters these people may have."
"So if the authorities don't attack,"
Coffey went on, "we'll probably get everyone
out in time-including Darrell. The soldiers don't
gain anything by killing them."
"Except McCaskey," Herbert pointed out.
"Colonel August is right. If the soldiers in
the compound
BALANCE OF POWER 433
find out that he's the one who killed
Amadori, they're going to want his blood.
Bad."
"How will they know he killed the general?" Coffey
asked.
"The security cameras," Herbert said. He brought
up the map of the palace. "Look where he is."
Coffey and Plummer gathered around the computer.
Rodgers was still on the telephone with Burkow and the
Spanish ambassador.
"There are cameras at both ends of the corridor,"
Herbert said. "Darrell may have been taped. When
they find the general dead, his soldiers may take the
time to watch and see who did it."
"Any chance of erasing the tape with some kind of
electronic interference?" Coffey asked.
"A low-flying aircraft with a directed
electromagnetic burst could do it," Herbert said,
"but it would take time."
Rodgers hit the mute button and stood.
"Gentlemen," he said, "it's unlikely we'll be
able to do anything in time."
"Explain," Hood said.
"Interpol informed the prime minister of Striker's
success," Rodgers said. "The ambassador has
just informed me that they want to move the
police in now, before the rebel forces have a chance
to regroup."
Herbert swore.
"What are their orders if the soldie
rs take
hostages?" Hood asked.
Rodgers shook his head. "There aren't going to be
any hostages," Rodgers said. "The Spanish
government doesn't want to give the rebels-which is
how
434 OP-CENTER
they're describing them-a forum that will keep them center
stage."
"Can't blame them for that," Herbert said.
"I can when one of my people is still in the compound," Hood
said angrily. "We did a goddamn job for
them-was
"And now they're marching down the road we paved for
them," Rodgers said, "acting in the best interests of
their nation. The job we were asked to do by the President
of the United States was to help give Spain back
to its elected officials. There weren't any
guarantees, Paul, about how those officials were
going to behave afterward."
Hood pushed his chair back from the desk and stood.
He put his hands on his hips, shook his
head, then went to the shelf near the TV and got himself
a cup of coffee.
Rodgers was right. Chances were good that the Spanish
prime minister and possibly even the king wouldn't
survive this debacle. They weren't acting in their
own self-interest. They were trying to preserve
Spain. And in the long run, that helped Europe
and the United States. There wasn't a polarized
nation on earth that would benefit if yet another
country collapsed into smaller republics.
Yet it wasn't their actions that bothered him. It was
their we'lltake-it-from-here attitude, now that the
difficult work had been done. What about the lives
that had been sacrificed to correct what had
occurred during their watch?
"Paul," Rodgers said, "the Spanish government
probably doesn't even know about Darrell's
role in the
BALANCE OF POWER 435
action. They probably assume that Striker got in
and out as planned."
"They didn't bother to ask."
"And if they did, nothing would be different,"
Rodgers said. "Nothing
could
be different. The government can't give us time
to figure something out because they can't afford to give the
rebels time."
Hood took his coffee back to the desk.
"I've faced these things before," Herbert said. "They
suck. But Darrell isn't green. He'll
probably pick up on what's happening. Maybe
he'll be able to get himself and the others to safety
until the shooting's over."
"I also informed Interpol about the situation,"
Rodgers said. "I didn't tell them about
Darrell's actions. That can come out later, when-with
luck- we'll have him back here."
"Yeah," Herbert said. "Then we can at least have some
fun denying that he was ever even there."
"I told them where Darrell, Maria, and Luis
are," Rodgers continued, "and that they need medical
attention. Hopefully, the message will make its
way through the bureaucracy."
Hood sat. His
"Probably, maybe,
and
hopefully.
I guess there are worse words."
"A whole lot of them," Herbert said.
"Like
never, impossible,
and
dead.""
Hood looked at him and then at the others. He was
going to miss these people when he submitted his
resignation-these good patriots and dedicated
professionals. But he wasn't going to miss the
waiting and
436 OP-CENTER
the grief. There had been enough of that to last him a
lifetime.
He also wouldn't miss the loneliness and the guilt.
Wanting Nancy Bosworth in Germany and Arm
Farris in Washington. That kind of empty
flirtation was never what he'd wanted his life to be
about.
Hood found himself hoping that Sharon had had a change
of heart-that maybe she'd decided to come back. And
he had to admit that Herbert was right.
Hope
was a lot more satisfying than
never.
FORTY caret IIW
Tuesday, 12:57 p.m. Madrid,
Spain
Breathing proved extremely painful for
McCaskey. But as his FBI mentor.
Assistant Director Jim Jones, once
pointed out, " 'The alternative is not breathing and
that ain't better." Bulletproof vests were
designed to stop slugs from entering the body. Vests
couldn't stop them from impacting hard and breaking ribs
or-depending upon the caliber and proximity of firing-
from causing internal bleeding. Yet as much as
McCaskey was in pain, his concern was not for himself.
He was worried about Maria. He had delayed going
out, to see if he could get into Amadori's uniform.
But the general was too tall, the clothes were too
bloody, and McCaskey couldn't speak Spanish.
A bluff would only delay the soldiers for a moment
or two-not worth the effort.
Suddenly, there was a beep down the hall. It was an
incoming message on the major general's radio.
McCaskey figured they didn't have long before the
soldiers came to see why the man wasn't
answering.
More soldiers began arriving in the courtyard.
McCaskey poked his head out the door. To the east
of the arches was Calle de Bailen-and
freedom. But
438 OP-CENTER
it was over one hundred yards to the road. Once
Maria left the safety of the arches there would be nothing
to shield her from the soldiers. And she'd be carrying
Luis instead of her weapon. McCaskey didn't
know whether the soldiers would cut her down. He did
know that they'd be foolish to let her or anyone else
go. Not after all they'd witnessed here about the treatment
of prisoners.
McCaskey decided that he was going to have to try
to get to Maria and cover her as she left. As he was
about to ask Ferdinand for his help, the Spaniard said
something and offered McCaskey his hand.
"Is he planning to leave us?" McCaskey
asked.
"He is," replied Norberto.
"Hold on," McCaskey said. He refused
to take Ferdinand's hand. "Tell him that I need his
help getting to Maria. He can't go."
Norberto translated for McCaskey. Ferdinand
answered, shaking his head while he did.
"He says he's sorry," Norberto informed
McKaskey, "but
hisfamilia
needs him."
"I need him too!" McCaskey snapped.
"I've got to reach Luis and Maria-get them out of
here."
Ferdinand turned to go.
"Dammit," McCaskey shouted, "I need someone
to cover me!"
"Let him go," Norberto said flatly. "We'll
both go to your friends. They won't shoot us."
"They will when they realize that their leaders are dead."
There were loud footsteps down the hall. They were
followed by gunshots. Ferdinand scr
eamed.
BALANCE OF POWER 439
"Shit!" McCaskey yelled. "Let's go."
Father Norberto's face was impassive but he
hesitated.
"You can't help him," McCaskey said and started
toward the door. "Come on."
Norberto went with him. McCaskey moved as fast
as he could, each step bringing sharp pain along both
sides. He tried to raise his left arm; a
blinding flash stabbed his lungs and arched his spine.
He switched his gun to his other hand. He wasn't
as good lefthanded, but he'd made up his mind that he
was going to get to Maria-crawling if necessary,
but he was going to reach her.
The two men stepped outside with Father Norberto between
McCaskey and the soldiers. McCaskey stumbled
from the lingering pain of having tried to lift his arm. The
priest grabbed his left arm. McCaskey leaned
on him gratefully. As he did. Father Norberto
took the gun from him.
"What are you doing?!" McCaskey shouted.
The priest held the gun butt-up. Then he bent
and laid it on the courtyard. "I am giving them one
reason less to shoot at us."
"Or one more!" McCaskey cried as they continued
walking.
He tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about
the soldiers shouting at them in Spanish. Maria was
watching them from behind the base of the arch, her gun in
sight.
There was a shot and a loud
chink
roughly a yard from Father Norberto. Stone chips
flew toward them.
440 OP-CENTER
One of them struck the priest in the thigh. He winced
but continued walking.
Maria returned fire. One of the
soldiers shot at her and drove her back.
The soldiers fired again. This time the bullet hit
closer, just inches from the priest. It kicked up a
fresh spray of stone. Norberto jerked toward
McCaskey as several shards struck him in the
side.
"Are you all right?" McCaskey asked.
Norberto nodded once. But his lips were pressed
together and his brow was creased. He was hurting.
Suddenly, there was shouting behind them. It was coming from the
direction of the palace.
His
"El general estd muerto!""
someone shouted.
McCaskey didn't need Father Norberto
to translate for him. The general was dead-and in a
moment they would be, too.
"Come on!" he said, urging the priest forward.
But even as he did so, McCaskey knew they were
never going to make it. Other soldiers picked up the
cry. There were shouts of rage and disbelief. ,
Just then there was another sound. The sound of
Clancy, Tom - Ballance of Power Page 41
