by Tom Clancy
"Yes," Hood told him. "Maria Corneja."
"Where was she?" Kline asked.
"Close enough to have made a tentative identification of one of those 'deacons,' " Hood said. "She believes that the man she saw was the leader of the Brush Vipers."
"Leon Seronga?"
"Yes," Hood said.
"What else did she tell you?" Kline demanded. "Does she know where he went?"
"She's following him in a cab," Hood said. "I was hoping we could get some of your people to watch out for her. She's alone over there."
"I'll get right on it," Kline said. "Are you in touch with her?"
"Yes," Hood said.
"What is her present location?" Kline asked.
"She's headed back into Maun," Hood said.
"In a taxi, you say?" Kline said.
"Right."
"Maybe the soldiers can rent a helicopter at the airfield and track her," Kline said. "Or the local police must have a small plane they can use."
"I do not want you to do that," Hood said.
"Why?"
"If the deacons are Brush Vipers, or operatives of any ability, they'll notice a spotter," Hood said.
"Does that matter?" Kline asked.
"It does if you want to recover Father Bradbury," Hood said.
"Assuming he's still alive," Kline said.
"He's alive," Hood said confidently. "If the Brush Vipers were behind this killing, they knew they would need a hostage. If they weren't, they have no reason to kill him."
Kline was silent. Hood began to wonder if they had been disconnected.
"All right," Kline said at last. "I'll buy that."
"If the Brush Vipers think they're being tailed, my guess is they'll try to get their hands on the plane or chopper and its pilot." Hood accessed the topographical map on his computer. "If they manage to do that, we'll have a tough time picking them up again. We can tap into South African radar, but it may not be able to find them if they fly low in the Okavango Basin."
"That may be true, Paul, but how the Brush Vipers are tracked is out of my hands," Kline told him. "Now they've killed a man. According to the leader of the Spanish team, both the local police and the national police wilMpe moving against the assassins."
Hood swore.
"Based on their conversations with the local authorities," Kline went on, "the Botswana National Police have taken over the case from the police in Maun. Apparently, attacking a local individual remains a local matter. Once an international figure is involved, the state becomes involved."
Hood noticed Mike Rodgers's instant message about the church on his computer.
"Edgar, let me ask you something," Hood said. "Is there a church in Maun proper?"
"There's a multidenominational chapel," Kline replied. "It started out as a Catholic church. We opened it to other faiths when we established the Church of the Holy Cross at the tourist center. It was a show of good faith."
"Do you happen to know if the church has Internet access?" Hood asked.
"I can find out for you," Kline said. "Why do you ask?"
"If the police are closing in, we may need to send our people data at a place where they won't have to look over their shoulders," Hood said. He did not want to tell Kline about Maria's photographs. The Botswanans might want to confiscate the camera.
"Hold on," Kline said.
"While you're looking," Hood went on, "what is the name of the dead security guard?"
"Festus Mogami," Kline said.
"Are they sure that's his real name?" Hood asked.
"Pretty certain," Kline said. "He's been at the airport for at least two years, according to one of the ticket agents."
Hood instant-messaged that name over to Bob Herbert. It sounded, on the surface, like the kind of mob hits he used to see in Los Angeles. An outsider was hired to kill an important figure. Then he was shot by the backup gunmen or the people who were supposed to get him out.
"The church in Maun does have an E-mail address, so obviously they're on-line," Kline said.
Kline provided the E-mail address. He also gave Hood an up-to-date list of the pastors who held services at the chapel.
Hood sent all the information to Herbert as well.
"Is there anything else you can tell me?" Hood asked.
"What are you looking for?" Kline asked.
"Details about the shooting, anything about what our people might be facing over there," Hood told him. "Because we are in this now. Not just Op-Center but the United States. I don't think the president will do anything except condemn the action, but you never know."
"Paul, I don't have any other information right now," Kline told him. "I wish I did."
"Can we talk to the leader of the Spanish team?" Hood asked.
"I'll find out for you," Kline replied. "Your agent in Maun is Spanish, isn't she?"
"Yes."
"Depending on what region of the country she's from, that could work for her or against her," Kline said. "The soldiers are serious loyalists."
"Maria's not a separatist, if that's what you're asking," Hood said. "She was with Interpol for years."
"That's good," Kline said. "I'll call over there. They may want to talk to her directly. I'll let you know as soon as possible."
Hood believed that Kline would press the soldiers to cooperate. He would want all the help he could get.
"Before you go, Edgar, there is one more thing I would like to ask you," Hood said. "Does the Church believe that what's happening in Botswana is the will of God?"
"That's an odd question," Kline said.
"Not from a doctrinarian member of the Episcopal Church," Hood said. "We believe that God's hand is in everything."
"Catholics believe in free will," Kline said. "It is the privilege of an intelligent being to act or not act. There is no compulsion from outside. God did not will the kidnappers to do what they did nor the assassin to do what he did. The choices were their own."
"And God would not have intervened to stop either of those events," Hood said.
"He would not have," Kline said. "He did not save His own Son. Murder is the province of-"
Suddenly, Kline stopped.
"I have another call," the Vatican official said. His voice was noticeably different now. It was clipped, urgent.
"Is everything all right?" Hood asked.
"I don't know."
"Then we'll talk later," Hood said.
"No, I'll call you right back," Kline insisted urgently.
"Why?" Hood asked. "What happened?"
"The incoming call," Kline said. "It's news from Father Bradbury."
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Washington, D. C.
Friday, 9:00 AM.
Before phoning Darrell McCaskey, Mike Rodgers needed to put in a call to his friend Lieutenant Colonel Matt Mazer at the Pentagon. Rodgers wanted Mazer to call ahead to the airport in Gaborone. He wanted to make sure the plane carrying Aideen Marley and David Battat to Maun was given a thorough security check. The airfield as well. Maybe it was an attack on the bishop himself. Or maybe someone was shooting Americans. Rodgers wanted to make sure Aideen and Battat were protected.
Rodgers had just hung up with Mazer, when Darrell meCaskey swung into his office.
"Mind if I come in?" McCaskey asked.
"No. I'm glad you're here, Darrell," Rodgers said. "I was just going to give you a holler."
"What about?" McCaskey asked.
"I've heard from Maria," Rodgers replied.
"And?"
"She's doing all right," Rodgers said.
"Just 'all right'?"
"No, she's fine," Rodgers said. This was not coming out the way he wanted. Rodgers had been in combat situations that were easier than this.
McCaskey eyed the general warily. "I hear a 'but' there, Mike," McCaskey said.
"What you hear is frustration, Darrell, because I feel like a genie in a goddamn bottle," Rodgers said.
"Mike, what the hell are you
talking about?" ^McCaskey asked.
"I'm talking about things happening on the outside that affect what we do," Rodgers said. "The bottle gets rubbed, we jump into service with all our resources, and we have very little control over any of it." He took a short, deep breath. "Yes, Maria is all right. But she was at the airport in Maun when a security guard, or someone posing as a security guard, killed the American bishop."
"What?" McCaskey declared. "They killed the bishop who just flew over there?"
"Yes," Rodgers said.
"How did it happen?" McCaskey asked as he eased into a chair. His voice was flat and professional. For the moment.
"He was killed by a gunshot at close range," Rodgers told him. "When the killer tried to board a small plane that was apparently waiting for him, the pilot shot him."
"A patsy," McCaskey said.
"No doubt," Rodgers said.
"And Maria?"
"She was on the sidelines, but she's pretty sure she ID'ed one of the men who was on site," Rodgers said. "She thinks it was a Brush Viper. She's following him in a taxi."
"Did the Brush Viper participate in any way?" McCaskey asked.
"Not that she could see," Rodgers said.
"I see. Does Maria have backup?" McCaskey asked.
"Aideen Marley and David Battat will be arriving in Gaborone shortly," Rodgers told him. "They'll be in Maun in about three hours. I left a message for Aideen on her cell phone. Calls are being relayed by our consulate in Gaborone. She'll call before they catch the connecting flight, and I'll bring them up to speed."
"What about local police?" McCaskey asked.
"They were not present, and she left without them," Rodgers said. "It would have taken them about a half hour to get there."
"But you'll let them know where Maria is," McCaskey said.
"She doesn't want that," Rodgers replied.
"Does that matter?" McCaskey asked.
"Yes, it does," Rodgers said. "Maria is hoping the Brush Viper may lead her to Dhamballa and Father Bradbury. She doesn't want to do anything to signal her presence."
"Mike, it doesn't matter what she wants," McCaskey said. "She isn't running this mission. The Maun police can pick up the Brush Viper and get the same information she can. Botswana peace officers can be pretty aggressive when they want to be."
"Then how do we get the information?" Rodgers asked.
"Why do we need it?" McCaskey asked. "The police can find Father Bradbury."
"Not if the target sees them closing in and signals ahead," Rodgers said. "You know better than that, Darrell."
McCaskey stared at Rodgers. The look was pure G-man: steady gaze, neutral mouth. It was an expression that agents practiced to keep adversaries from knowing whether they had touched a weak spot in a confrontation or interrogation. Or that they had let an important piece of information slip. Rodgers did not think McCaskey was trying to keep his feelings a secret, but the former FBI agent was trying to keep them in check. McCaskey could not have liked what he just heard about his wife.
"What about you, Mike?" McCaskey asked.
"I don't follow," Rodgers said.
"What do you want?" McCaskey pressed.
"I want Maria to be safe," Rodgers replied. "I also want to complete the mission she undertook."
"In that order?" McCaskey pressed.
There was something accusatory in McCaskey's tone. Rodgers did not appreciate it.
"Very much in that order, Darrell," Rodgers replied. "I've already lost my allotment of Op-Center personnel for this year."
McCaskey looked like he'd been hit across the back with a two-by-four. There was an awkward, deadly silence. meCaskey lowered his eyes. Some of the anger seemed to leave him.
Mike Rodgers was still pretty pissed off, himsejf. But not because McCaskey had raised the subject of Rodgers's priorities. If he were in McCaskey's position, he would have asked the same question. And not as diplomatically. He would have done it for two reasons. First, to make sure his wife was not taking reckless chances. And second, to blow off pressure at having been left out of the decision-making process from the start.
No, what bothered Rodgers was one of the same things that bothered McCaskey. Maria was being forced to improvise an entire recon operation. There was no playbook for Maria to follow. And there was no exit strategy. The least they could do was to try to get her some blockers.
"Let's get back on track," Rodgers suggested.
McCaskey nodded weakly.
"One of the reasons I was going to call you is that we've got an orphan agent in the field," Rodgers said. "Who do you know over there?"
"No one we can use," McCaskey replied. "I already checked. There's an Interpol office in Johannesburg, but that's a dry well."
"They don't have anyone free, or they won't help?" Rodgers asked.
"Interpol South Africa needs authorization from Botswana to operate within their borders," McCaskey said. "That will take days to obtain."
"They can't go in unofficially?" Rodgers asked.
"They won't," McCaskey replied. "Unlawful police actions are code-one crimes. Federal crimes that carry a minimum of life imprisonment. South Africans don't get very favorable treatment in Botswana courts. It's a holdover from apartheid."
"There's no one else we can ask?" Rodgers asked.
"All of my dealings in that region were with ISA," meCaskey said. "Botswana was never a hub of intelligence activity."
"Which could be one of the reasons the perpetrators struck there," Rodgers thought out loud.
"First rule of starting a revolution," McCaskey said. "Always start where the resources are on your side. Speaking of which, Bob told me that the Vatican Security Organization has
undercover personnel in the area. Members of the Grupo del Cuartel General."
"That's true," Rodgers said.
"Can't we get them to help Maria?"
"Paul's going to ask Kline about that," Rodgers replied. "We don't know what their mandate was. I'm also not sure how far to trust them. They didn't do a very good job protecting the bishop."
"No," McCaskey agreed.
"If it doesn't work out, I need some other options," Rodgers said. "What about newspaper offices over there? Do you know anyone in Maun?"
"I might be able to find someone who knows someone," McCaskey said. "Why?"
"Maria took pictures at the airport right after the shooting," Rodgers said. "I want those. We'll need someone in the heart of town who has a computer and Modern that can take Maria's digicam software."
"I'll look into it," McCaskey said. "In the meantime, you might try the local church. They're probably hooked into the Vatican by PC. I'm sure your friend Kline can get you access."
"Good idea," Rodgers said. He turned to his computer and immediately sent an instant message to Hood.
"Thanks, General," McCaskey replied. "You want another really good suggestion?"
"Sure," Rodgers said.
"Recall Maria," McCaskey said.
He was serious.
"Do you think she would bail if I did?" Rodgers asked. "Or would she know that you put me up to it?"
"I don't care," McCaskey said. "At least she'd be back here."
"Maybe not," Rodgers said. "You don't divert a laser gunsight from seven thousand miles away."
"You do if you're a good gunner," McCaskey said.
Rodgers didn't like that. But he didn't let it get to him. McCaskey was not thinking. He was reacting. If Rodgers did the same, there would be even angrier words and probably worse.
"Look, Darrell," Rodgers said. "No one knows that Maria is in Botswana. I'm sure she will not do anything to call attention to herself."
"I know that," McCaskey said. He was exasperated, and it showed in his expression, his voice, his posture. "But hell, Mike. Maria isn't even armed. She turned in her handgun when she resigned from Interpol. Even if she had a weapon, she wouldn't have risked packing it in her luggage. Not without a license. A scanner might have picked it up a
t the airport. There would have been questions, she would have had to say who she was, there might have been a leak. She's too professional to have let that happen."
Mike Rodgers did not know what else to say to his friend. Even if he did, there was not a lot of time to say it. Rodgers did not want to spend any more time on hand-holding. He wanted to check in with Bob Herbert and Stephen Viens. Make sure they were doing everything possible to support Maria.
"Darrell, we're going to do everything we can to help her," Rodgers said. "But we're in this now, and we have to let it play out."
"We?" McCaskey said. "She's the one who's out there on her goddamn own." He rose and turned to go.
"Darrell?" Rodgers said.
McCaskey turned back.
"I heard everything you said," Rodgers said. "I'll get her out of there as soon as possible."
"I know you will," McCaskey said. He thought for a moment. "And I'm sorry if I hit you hard."
"I can take it," Rodgers said.
"Yeah," McCaskey said with the hint of a smile. "Anyway, you're in the intel-gathering business now. I needed to tell you what was on my mind."
"Fair enough," Rodgers said.
McCaskey left the office, and Rodgers immediately phoned Hood. Bugs Benet told him that the boss was still on the phone with Edgar Kline. Rodgers told Benet to make sure Hood looked at the instant message before ending the call.
Then he called Matt Stoll. Rodgers wanted to make sure they had conversion software to upload to Botswana. He wanted to be certain Maria's camera would interface with whatever computer they located.
As Rodgers made the call, he had an unsettling whiff of the future. He had the very strong sense that the next wars would be fought this way. Not by soldiers looking for the correct range for their artillery. Not even by massive armies, financial institutions, and diplomats working in tandem, the way they had in the War on Terrorism. Wars of the future would be fought by people behind desks searching for the right software to fire off. A combination of cyber-hits, intelligence, and microsurgical strikes.
