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Clancy, Tom - Ballance of Power

Page 41

by Balance of Power [lit]


  "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

 

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