Yet in the nearly two years that he had known Martha Mackall, Herbert had found her to be abrasive and condescending. She often took credit for work done by her staff--a common enough sin in Washington, though a rare occurrence at Op-Center. But then, Martha wasn't devoted solely to Op-Center. Since he'd first encountered her when she worked at State, she had always applied herself to the advancement of the cause that seemed most important to her: Martha Mackall. For at least the last five or six months she'd had her eyes on several ambassadorial positions and had made no secret of the fact that her position at Op-Center was simply a stepping stone.
On the other hand, Herbert thought, when patriotism isn't enough to drive you to do your best, ambition is a workable substitute. As long as the job got done, Herbert wasn't one to throw stones.
Herbert's cynicism burned off quickly, though, as he crossed the threshold into Hood's small, wood-paneled office. "Pope" Paul had that effect on people. Hood believed in the goodness of humankind and his conviction as well as his even temper could be contagious.
Hood finished pouring himself a glass of tap water from a carafe on his desk. Then he rose and walked toward the door. Herbert had been the first to arrive, and Hood greeted him with a handshake and tight-lipped solemnity. Herbert wasn't surprised to see the director's dark eyes lacking their usual spirit and vigor. It was one thing to get bad news about an operative on a covert mission. Reports like that were statistical inevitabilities and a part of you was always braced for that kind of loss. Each time the private phone or fax line beeped, you half-expected a coded communique with a heart-stopping phrase like "The stock market is down one" or "Lost a charge card--cancel account."
But to hear about the death of a team member who was on a quiet diplomatic mission to a friendly nation during peacetime--that was another matter. It was disturbing regardless of what you thought about the person.
Hood sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms. "What's the latest from Spain?"
"You read my e-mail about the explosion off the coast of San Sebastian, up north?"
Hood nodded.
"That's the last thing I have," Herbert replied. "The local police are still pulling body parts and pieces of yacht from the bay and trying to ID the people. No one has claimed responsibility for the attack. We're also monitoring commercial and private broadcasts in case the perps have something to say."
"You wrote that the yacht blew up midship," Hood said.
"That's what two eyewitnesses onshore said," Herbert replied. "There hasn't been any official word yet."
"And there isn't likely to be," Hood said. "Spain doesn't like to share its internal matters. Does the midship location mean anything?"
Herbert nodded. "The blast was nowhere near the engines, which means we're almost certainly looking at sabotage. The timing may also be significant. The explosion occurred soon after Martha was shot."
"So the two events could be related," Hood said.
"We're looking into it," Herbert replied.
"Starting where?"
Hood was pushing more than usual, but that wasn't surprising. Herbert had felt that way after Beirut. Apart from wanting the killer found and punished, it was important to keep one's mind active. The only other option was to stop, mourn, and have to deal with the guilt.
"The attack on Martha does adhere to the modus operandi of the Homeland and Freedom group," Herbert said. "In February of 1997 they killed a Spanish Supreme Court judge, Justice Emperador. Shot him in the head at the front door of his building."
"How does that tie in to Martha?"
"Judge Emperador heard labor law cases," Herbert said. "He had nothing to do with terrorists or political activism."
"I don't follow."
Herbert folded his hands on his waist and answered patiently. "In Spain, as in many countries, judges involved in terrorist matters are given bodyguards. Real bodyguards, not just for show. So Homeland and Freedom typically goes after friends and associates in order to make a point to the principals. That's been their pattern in a half-dozen shootings since 1995, when they tried to murder King Juan Carlos, Crown Prince Felipe, and Prime Minister Aznar. The failure of that operation had a chilling effect."
"No more direct frontal assaults," Hood said.
"Right. And no more prime targets. Just attacks on the secondaries to rattle the support structure."
Two other people had arrived as Herbert was speaking.
"We'll talk about all this in a minute," Hood said. He took a swallow of water and rose as staff psychologist Liz Gordon and somber-looking press officer Ann Farris walked in. Herbert saw Ann's eyes catch Hood's for a moment. It was an open secret along the executive corridors of Op-Center that the young divorcee was more than fond of her married boss. Because Hood was so unreadable--a talent he had apparently developed as mayor of Los Angeles--no one was quite sure how Hood felt about Ann. However, it was known that the long hours he spent at Op-Center had put a strain on his relationship with his wife, Sharon. And Ann was attractive and attentive.
Martha's shell-shocked number-two man, Ron Plummer, arrived a moment later with Op-Center attorney Lowell Coffey II and Deputy Assistant Secretary of State Carol Lanning. The slim, gray-haired, sixty-four-year-old Lanning had been a very close friend and mentor to Martha. Officially, however, that wasn't the reason she was here. Hood had asked Lanning to come to Op-Center because an American "tourist" had been shot abroad. It was now a matter for her division of the State Department, the Security and Counselor Affairs--the nuts and bolts group which dealt with everything from passport fraud to Americans imprisoned abroad. It was the job of Lanning and her staff to work as liaisons with foreign police departments to investigate attacks on American citizens. Like Hood, Lanning was temperate by nature and an optimist. As she sat down beside Herbert, the intelligence chief found it extremely unsettling to see Lanning's bright eyes bloodshot and her thin, straight mouth pulled into a deep frown.
Mike Rodgers was the last to arrive. He strode through the door quickly, his eyes alert and his chest expanded. His uniform was smartly pressed, as always, and his shoes were brightly polished.
God in Heaven bless the general, Herbert thought. Outwardly, at least, Rodgers was the only one who seemed to have any fight in him. Herbert was pleased to see that Rodgers had regained some of the grit he had lost in Lebanon. The rest of them would need to draw upon that if they were going to carry on here and revitalize Darrell McCaskey and Aideen Marley in Spain.
Hood went back to his desk and sat down. Everyone else took seats except for Rodgers. The general folded his arms, squared his shoulders, and stood behind Carol Lanning's chair.
"As you all know," Hood began, "Martha Mackall was murdered in Madrid at approximately six P.M. local time."
Although Hood was addressing everyone in the room, he was looking down at the desk. Herbert understood. Eye contact could do him in. And he had to get through this.
"The shooting happened as Martha and Aideen Marley were standing at a guard booth outside the Palacio de las Cortes in Madrid," Hood went on. "The lone gunman fired several shots from the street and then escaped in a waiting car. Martha died at the scene. Aideen was not hurt. Darrell met her at the palace. They headed back to their hotel with a police escort."
Hood stopped and swallowed hard.
"The police escort was made of handpicked operatives attached to Interpol," Herbert continued for him, "and Interpol will continue to look over their shoulders for as long as they remain in Spain. The laxness of palace security has got us wondering if at least some of the guards weren't in on the plot--which is why we turned to Darrell's friends at Interpol for security, rather than relying on government-appointed police. We've got a lot of background data on the Interpol crew, due to the time agent Maria Corneja spent working with Darrell here in Washington," Herbert added. "We're very comfortable with how Darrell and Aideen will be looked after from this point forward."
"Thank you, Bob," Hood said. He looked up. H
is eyes were glistening. "Martha's body is en route to the embassy. It will be flown back as soon as possible. At the moment, we have a service scheduled at the Baptist Evangelical Church in Arlington for Wednesday morning, ten A.M."
Carol Lanning looked away and shut her eyes. Herbert's hands were still folded on his waist and he glanced down at his thumbs. Before Herbert had attended Op-Center's annual sensitivity training seminar, he would have thought nothing about leaning over and putting his arms around the Deputy Assistant Secretary of State. Now if he wanted to comfort her, all he was supposed to do was ask if she wanted anything.
Hood beat him to it. "Ms. Lanning," he asked, "would you care for some water?"
The woman opened her eyes. "No, thank you. I'll be all right. I want to get on with this."
There was a surprising edge in her voice. Herbert snuck a glance at her. Carol's lips were straight now, her eyes narrow. To him, it didn't look like she wanted water. What Carol Lanning seemed to crave was blood. Herbert knew exactly how she felt. After the Beirut embassy bombing, he would have had no trouble nuking the entire city just to get the bastards who killed his wife. Grief was not a merciful emotion.
Hood looked at his watch. He sat back in his chair. "Darrell will be calling in five minutes." He looked at Plummer. "Ron, what do we do about the mission? Is Aideen qualified to continue?"
Plummer leaned forward and Herbert looked at him. Plummer was a short man with thinning brown hair and wide eyes. He wore thick, black-framed glasses on a large hooked nose. He had on a dark gray suit badly in need of dry cleaning and scuffed black shoes. The tops of his socks were falling over his ankles. Herbert hadn't had many dealings with the former CIA intelligence analyst for Western Europe. But Plummer had to be good. No one who dressed so carelessly could get by on anything but talent. Besides, Herbert had had a look at the psych workup Liz Gordon had done of Plummer before he was hired. Herbert and Plummer had both detested the CIA director Plummer had worked under. That was enough of a character endorsement for Herbert.
"I can't answer for Aideen's state of mind," Plummer said, with a nod to Liz Gordon. "But apart from that I'd say that Aideen is very capable of continuing the mission."
"According to her file," Carol said, "she hasn't had a great deal of diplomatic experience."
"That's very true," Plummer said. "Ms. Marley's methods are rather less diplomatic than Martha's were. But you know what? That just may be what's needed now."
"I like the sound of that," Herbert said. He looked at Paul. "Have you decided to continue the mission?"
"I won't decide that until I talk to Darrell," Hood said. "But my inclination is to keep them over there."
"Why?" Liz Gordon asked.
Herbert couldn't decide whether it was a question or a challenge. Liz's manner could be intimidating.
"Because we may not have a choice," Hood said. "If the shooting was random--and we can't dismiss that possibility, since Aideen is alive and a Madrid postal worker was the other victim--then the killing was tragic but not directed at the discussions. If that's the case, there's no reason not to keep the talks on-line. But even if the shooting was directed at us we can't afford to back down."
"Not back down," Liz said, "but wouldn't it be wise to step back until we're sure?"
"American foreign policy is determined by the Administration, not by the barrel of a gun," Lanning said. "I agree with Mr. Hood."
"Darrell can arrange for security with his people at Interpol," Hood said. "This won't happen again."
"Paul," Liz pressed, "the reason I mention this has nothing to do with logistics. There's one thing you need to consider before deciding whether Aideen should be a part of this process."
"What's that?" asked Hood.
"Right about now she's probably coming out of the first stage of alarm reaction, which is shock," Liz told him. "That's going to be followed almost immediately by countershock, a quick increase in the adrenocortical hormones--steroid hormones. She's going to be pumped."
"That's good, no?" Herbert asked.
"No, it isn't," Liz replied. "After countershock, a resistance phase settles in. Emotional recuperation. Aideen's going to be looking for someplace to turn that energy loose. If she was not too diplomatic before, she may become an unguided missile now. But even that's not the worst of it."
"How so?" Hood asked.
Liz rolled her broad shoulders forward. She leaned toward the group, her elbows on her knees. "Aideen survived a shooting in which her partner died. A lot of guilt comes along with that. Guilt and a responsibility to see the job through at any cost. She won't sleep and she probably won't eat. A person can't maintain those countershock and resistance levels for long."
"What's 'long'?" Herbert asked.
"Two or three days, depending on the person," Liz said. "After that, the person enters a state of clinical exhaustion. That brings on a mental and physical breakdown. If countershock is left untreated for that long, there's a good chance our girl's in for a long, long stay in a very quiet rest home."
"How good a chance?" Herbert asked.
"I'd say sixty-forty in favor of a crash," Liz said.
Hood's phone beeped as Liz was speaking. As soon as she was finished Hood picked it up. His executive assistant, "Bugs" Benet, said that Darrell McCaskey was on the line. Hood put McCaskey on the speakerphone.
Herbert settled back into his wheelchair. Until recently, a call like this wouldn't have been possible over an unsecured line. But Matt Stoll, Op-Center's Operations Support Officer and resident computer genius, had designed a digital scrambler that plugged into the data port of public telephones. Anyone listening in over the line would hear only static. A small speaker attached to the scrambler on McCaskey's end filtered out the noise and enabled him to hear the conversation clearly.
"Darrell, good evening," Hood said softly. "I've got you on speaker."
"Who's there?" he asked.
Hood told him.
"I've gotta tell you," McCaskey said, choking, "you can't imagine what it means to have a team like you back there. Thanks."
"We're in this together," Hood said.
Hood rolled his lips together. It was the closest Herbert had seen the boss come to losing it.
Hood collected himself quickly. "How are you both? Do you need anything?"
The compassion was real. Herbert had always said that when it came to sincerity in government Hood was in a category all by himself.
"We're still pretty shaken up," McCaskey answered, "as I'm sure you are. But I guess we'll be all right. As a matter of fact, Aideen seems to be in a pretty combative mood."
Liz nodded knowingly. "Countershock," she said softly.
"How so?" Hood asked.
"Well, she kind of took Deputy Serrador apart for getting cold feet," McCaskey said. "I called her on the carpet for it but I have to say I was actually pretty proud of her. He had it coming."
"Darrell," Hood asked, "is Aideen there?"
"No, she isn't," said McCaskey. "I left her in her room with Deputy Ambassador Gawal from the American embassy. They're on the phone with my friend Luis at Interpol, discussing security measures if you decide to keep us here. Like I said, she's pretty worked up and I wanted her to have time to settle down a little. But I also didn't want her to feel left out of the process."
"Good thinking," Hood said. "Darrell, are you sure you feel up to talking now?"
"It's got to be done," McCaskey said, "and I'd rather do it now. I'm sure I'll feel a lot lower when all of this sinks in."
Liz gave Hood a thumbs-up.
Herbert nodded. He knew the feeling.
"Very good," Hood said. "Darrell, we were just discussing the idea of you two staying. How do you feel about that--and what's the problem with Deputy Serrador?"
"Frankly," McCaskey said, "I'd feel fine about staying. Only the problem isn't me. Aideen and I just came from Serrador's office. He's made it pretty clear that he doesn't want to continue."
"Why?" Hood a
sked.
"Cold feet," Herbert suggested.
"No, Bob, I don't think it's that," McCaskey said. "Deputy Serrador told us that he wants to talk to the investigators and to his colleagues before he decides whether to proceed with our talks. But it seemed to me--and this is only a former G-man's hunch--that that was bull. Aideen had the same feeling. I think he wanted to shut us down."
"Darrell, this is Ron Plummer. Deputy Serrador was the one who initiated these exploratory talks through Ambassador Neville. What does he possibly gain by terminating them?"
"Terminating them?" Herbert muttered. "The son of a bitch didn't even start them!"
Hood motioned the intelligence chief to silence.
"I'm not sure what he gains, Ron," McCaskey replied. "But I think that what Bob just said--that was you grumbling, Bob, wasn't it?"
"Who else?"
"I think that what he said is significant," McCaskey said. "From the time Av Lincoln first put Serrador in touch with Martha--at Serrador's request, remember--the deputy has insisted that he only wanted to talk with Martha. She's murdered and now Serrador doesn't want to talk. One conclusion, the obvious conclusion, is that someone who has access to Serrador's political agenda--as well as his calendar--killed her to intimidate him."
"Not just to intimidate him," Plummer pointed out, "but to shut down everyone who's a member of his pronationalism team."
"That's right," said McCaskey. "Also, by attacking Martha, they send a message to our diplomats to stay out of this matter. But I still feel that those are the things we're supposed to think. I don't believe that they're the real reason behind the killing."
"Mr. McCaskey, this is Carol Lanning with State." Her voice was composed, though just barely. "I'm coming in a little late on all of this. What else is going on here? What does somebody want our diplomats to stay out of?"
"I'll take this one, Darrell," Hood said. He fixed his eyes on Lanning. "As you know, Ms. Lanning, Spain has been going through some serious upheavals over the last few months."
Balance Of Power (1998) Page 7
