"I've seen the daily situation reports," Lanning replied. "But it's mostly separatist Basques attacking antiseparatist Basques."
"Those are the very public disputes," Hood confirmed. "What you may not know is how concerned some of Spain's leaders are about other recent events involving violent attacks on members of the country's largest ethnic groups. The government has conspired to keep these very, very quiet. Ann, you've got some intel on this."
The slender, attractive, brown-haired press liaison nodded professionally but her rust-colored eyes smiled at Hood. Herbert noticed; he wondered if "Pope" Paul did.
"The Spanish government has been working very hard with journalists to keep the news out of the press and off the air," Ann Farris said.
"Really?" Herbert said. "How? Those ambulance chasers are even worse than the Washington press corps."
"Frankly, they're paid off," Ann said. "1 know of three incidents in particular that were hushed. A Catalonian book publisher's office was burned after distributing a new novel that seriously bashed the Castilians. An Andalusian wedding party was attacked leaving a church in Segovia in Castile. And a Basque antiseparatist--a leading activist--was killed by Basque separatists while he was a patient in the hospital."
"Sounds like a lot of brushfires," Plummer said.
"They are," Hood agreed. "But if those fires should ever join up they could consume Spain."
"Which is why local reporters have been bribed to bury these stories," Ann went on, "while foreign reporters have been kept away from crime scenes altogether. UPI, ABC, the New York Times, and the Washington Post have all filed complaints with the government but to no effect. That's been going on for a little over a month now."
"Our own hands-on involvement in Spain began just about three weeks ago," Hood continued. "Deputy Serrador met secretly with Ambassador Neville in Madrid. It was a very quiet backdoor get-together at the U.S. Embassy. Serrador told the ambassador that a committee had been formed, with himself as the chair, to investigate this growing tension between Spain's five major ethnic groups. He said that during the previous four months, in addition to the crimes Ann mentioned, over a dozen ethnic leaders had been murdered or kidnapped. Serrador wanted help obtaining intelligence on several of the groups. Neville contacted Av Lincoln, who brought the matter to us, and to Martha."
Hood's eyes lowered slowly.
"And if you remember correctly," Herbert said quickly, "as soon as Deputy Serrador had a look at our diplomatic roster he asked for Martha specifically. And she couldn't wait to get her arms around this situation and make it hers. So don't even think about second-guessing what you did."
"Hear, hear," Ann Farris said quietly.
Hood looked up. He thanked them both with his eyes then looked at Carol Lanning. "Anyway," he said, "that was the start of our involvement."
"What do these groups want?" Lanning asked. "Independence?"
"Some do," Hood said. He turned to his computer screen and accessed the file on Spain. "According to Deputy Serrador, there are two major problems. The first is between the two factions of Basques. The Basques comprise just two percent of the population and are already battling among themselves. The bulk of the Basques are staunch antiseparatists who want to remain part of Spain. A very small number of them, less than ten percent, are separatists."
"That's point two percent of the population of Spain," Lanning said. "Not a very considerable number."
"Right," Hood said. "Meanwhile, there's also a long-simmering problem with the Castilians of central and northern Spain. The Castilians make up sixty-two percent of the population of Spain. They've always believed that they are Spain and that everyone else in the country isn't."
"The other groups are regarded as squatters," Herbert said.
"Exactly. Serrador tells us that the Castilians have been trying to arm the separatist factions of the Basques to begin the process of tearing the Spanish minorities apart. First the Basques, then the Galicians, the Catalonians, and the Andalusians. As a result, Serrador had intelligence that some of the other groups might be talking about joining together for a political or military move against the Castilians. A preemptive strike."
"And it isn't just a national issue," McCaskey said. "My Interpol sources tell me that the French are supporting the antiseparatist Basques. They're afraid that if the separatist Basques get too much power, the French Basques will act to form their own country as well."
"Is there a real danger of that?" Herbert asked.
"There is," said McCaskey. "From the late 1960s through the middle 1970s, the quarter-million Basques in France helped the two million Basques in Spain fight the repression of Francisco Franco. The camraderie between the French Basques and the Spanish separatist Basques is so strong that the Basques--Spanish and French alike--simply refer to the region as the northern and southern Basque country, respectively."
"The Basques and the Castilians are the two groups Serrador wanted us to investigate immediately," Hood said. "But in addition to them, there are the Catalonians, also of central and northern Spain, who make up sixteen percent of the population. They're extremely rich and influential. A large portion of the Catalonians' taxes go to supporting the other minorities, especially the Andalusians in the south. They would be just as happy to see the other groups disappear."
"How happy would they be?" Lanning asked. "Happy enough to make that happen?"
"As in genocide?" Hood asked.
Lanning shrugged. "It doesn't take more than a few loud men to fan suspicion and hate to those levels."
"The men on the yacht were Catalonian," McCaskey said.
"And the Catalonians have always been separatists," Lanning said. "They were a key force in spurring on the Spanish Civil War sixty years ago."
"That's true," Ron Plummer said. "But the Catalonians also have a bunker mentality regarding other races. Genocide is usually the result of an already dominant force looking to turn widespread public anger against a specific target. That's not what we have here."
"I'm inclined to agree with Ron," Hood said. "It probably would have been easier for the Catalonians to exert financial pressure on the nation than to resort to genocide."
"We'll be able to check this out more thoroughly after we find out who else was on the yacht," Herbert said confidently.
Hood nodded and turned back to the computer monitor. "In addition to the Basques, Castilians, and Catalonians, we've got the Andalusians. They comprise roughly twelve percent of the population and they'll side with any group in power because of their financial dependency. The Galicians are roughly eight percent of the population. They're an agricultural people--very Spanish, traditionally independent, and likely to stay out of any fray that might erupt."
"So," Lanning said, "they've got a complex situation over there. And given the volatile history of the interrelations I can understand them wanting to keep the disputes quiet. What I don't understand is something Mr. Herbert said--why this Deputy Serrador wanted to see Martha specifically."
"Deputy Serrador seemed comfortable with her due to her familiarity with Spain and the language," Hood said. "He also liked the fact that she was a woman who belonged to a racial minority. He said he could count on her to be both discreet and sympathetic."
"Sure," Herbert said. "But I've been sitting here thinking that she also happened to be the perfect victim for one of those ethnic groups."
Everyone looked at him.
"What do you mean?" Hood asked.
"To put it bluntly," Herbert said, "the Catalonians are male-supremacists who hate black Africans. It's an animosity that goes back about nine hundred years, to the wars with the Moors of Africa. If someone wanted to get the Catalonians on their side--and who wouldn't want the folks with the money in their camp?--they'd pick a black woman as a victim."
There was silence for a moment.
"That's a bit of a reach, don't you think?" Lanning asked.
"Not really," the intelligence chief replied. "I've seen lon
ger shots pay off. The sad truth is, whenever I go looking for muddy footprints in the gutter of human nature, I'm rarely disappointed."
"What ethnic group does Serrador belong to?" Mike Rodgers asked.
"He's Basque, General," McCaskey's voice came from the speakerphone, "with absolutely no record of antinationalist activity. We checked him out. To the contrary. He's voted against every kind of separatist legislation."
"He could be a mole," Lanning said. "The most damaging Soviet spy we ever had at State was raised in whitebread Darien, Connecticut, and voted for Barry Goldwater."
"You're catching on," Herbert said, grinning. He had a feeling what was coming: there was no one more passionate than a convert.
Lanning regarded Hood. "The more I think about what Mr. Herbert just said, the more troubled I am by all of this. We've had situations before where we've been set up by foreign interests. Let's assume for the moment that that's what happened. That Martha was lured to Spain to be assassinated, for whatever reason. The only way we'll ever find that out is if we have access to all aspects of the investigation. Do we have that, Mr. McCaskey?"
"I wouldn't count on it," McCaskey replied. "Serrador said he's going to look into it, but Aideen and I were both shuttled off to our hotel rooms and we haven't heard anything since."
"Yeah, the Spanish government isn't always very forthcoming about their private activities," Herbert said. "During World War II, this supposedly neutral nation rode shotgun on train- and truckloads of Nazi booty sent from Switzerland to Portugal. They did it in exchange for future favors, which, luckily, they never got to collect on."
"That was Francisco Franco," Ron Plummer said. "Professional courtesy, dictator-to-dictator. It doesn't mean that Spanish people are that way."
"True," Herbert said, "but the Spanish leaders are still at it. In the 1980s the defense minister hired drug smugglers as mercenaries to kill Basque separatists. The government purchased guns for the team in South Africa. They let them keep the weapons afterward, too. No," he said, "I wouldn't count on any Spanish government to help the United States with anything."
Hood held up both hands. "We're getting off the subject here. Darrell, for the moment I'm not concerned about Serrador, his motives, or his intelligence needs. I want to find out who killed Martha and why. Mike," Hood looked at Rodgers--"you recruited Aideen. What's she made of?"
Rodgers was still standing behind Carol Lanning. He unfolded his arms and shifted his weight. "She stood up to some pretty tough dealers in the drug trade in Mexico City. She's got iron in her back."
"I see where you're going, Paul," Liz said, "and I want to caution you. Aideen's under a lot of emotional stress. Throw her into a covert police action right now and the pressure could break her."
"It could also be just what she needs," Herbert said.
"You're absolutely right," Liz replied. "Everyone is different. Only the question isn't just what Aideen needs. If she goes undercover and cracks, she could be the nail that cost the horse that cost the kingdom."
"Besides," Herbert said to Hood, "if we send someone else over to follow the muddy footprints, we lose time."
"Darrell," Hood asked, "did you hear that?"
"I heard."
"What do you think?"
"I think a couple of things," McCaskey said. "Mike's right. The lady's got backbone to spare. She wasn't afraid to get right in Serrador's face. And my gut tells me the same thing as Bob's: I'm inclined to let her loose on the Spaniards. But Liz has also got a solid point. So if it's okay with you, let me talk to Aideen first. I'll know pretty quick whether she's up to it."
Hood's eyes shifted to the staff psychologist. "Liz, if we decide to go ahead with something and Aideen's involved, what should Darrell look for? Any physical signs?"
"Extreme restlessness," Liz replied. "Rapid speech, foot tapping, cracking the knuckles, heavy sighing, that sort of thing. She's got to be able to focus. If her mind wanders into guilt and loss, she's going to drop down a hole and not be able to get out."
"Any questions, Darrell?" Hood asked.
"None," McCaskey said.
"Very good," Hood said. "Darrell, I'm going to have Bob and his team look over any new intelligence that's come in. If there's anything useful, they'll get it over to you."
"I'm also going to make a few calls over here," McCaskey said. "There are some people at Interpol who might be able to help us."
"Excellent," Hood said. "Anyone else?"
"Mr. Hood," Carol Lanning said, "this is not my area of expertise but I do have a question."
"Go ahead," Hood said. "And please--it's Paul."
She nodded and cleared her throat. "Might I ask if you're looking to gather intelligence to turn over to the Spanish authorities or--" She hesitated.
"Or what?"
"Or are you looking for revenge?"
Hood thought for a moment. "Frankly, Ms. Lanning, I want both."
"Good," she said. Rising, she smoothed her skirt and squared her shoulders. "I hoped I wasn't the only one."
SEVEN
Monday, 10:56 P.M. San Sebastian, Spain
No one had survived the explosion of the Ramirez yacht.
Adolfo hadn't expected anyone to be left alive. The blast had flipped the ship onto its side before anyone could get out. The men who weren't killed in the explosion itself were drowned when the yacht capsized. Only the pilot of the runabout had escaped. Adolfo knew about the man. He was Juan Martinez, a leader of the Ramirez familia. He had a reputation for being resourceful and devoted to his boss. But Adolfo wasn't worried about Martinez--or any other Ramirez thugs. Very soon the familia would no longer exist as an adversarial force. And with their demise other familias would stay out of the General's way. It was funny how power didn't matter so much when one's survival was threatened.
The fisherman and two other late-night trawlers had waited at the scene to provide police with eyewitness accounts of the explosion. When two young officers with the harbor patrol boarded Adolfo's boat, he acted as though he were very upset by the evening's events. The officers told Adolfo to calm down, which he did-- but only slightly. He informed them that he had been looking toward the harbor when the ship exploded. Adolfo said that all he saw was the dying fireball and then the wreckage showering down, the shards sizzling and steaming as they hit the water. He said that he had sailed for it immediately. One of the investigators wrote rapidly, taking notes, while the other asked questions. They both seemed excited to have something so dramatic occur in their harbor.
The police officers took Adolfo's name, address, and telephone number and allowed him to leave. By that time Adolfo had pretended to calm enough to wish them well on the investigation. Then he went to the wheelhouse of his fishing boat and throttled up. The engine chugged deeply as Adolfo turned the old vessel toward the harbor.
As Adolfo sailed the choppy waters, he plucked one of the handrolled cigarettes from his pants pocket. He lit it and drew deeply, feeling a greater sense of satisfaction than he had ever known. This was not his first mission for the cause. In the past year he had prepared a letter bomb for a newspaper and had rigged a TV reporter's car to explode when the gas cap was removed. Both of those had been successful. But this was his most important job and it had gone perfectly. Even better, he'd pulled it off alone. The General had asked Adolfo to do it by himself for two reasons. First, if Adolfo had been caught the cause would only have lost one soldier in the region. Second, if Adolfo had failed then the General would know who to blame. That was important. With so many important tasks ahead there was no room for incompetency.
Adolfo guided the boat swiftly toward shore, his right hand on the wheel and his left hand holding the well-worn string of the old bell that hung outside the wheelhouse. He'd fished these waters since he was a small boy working on his father's vessel. The low, foggy sound of that bell was one of the two things that brought those days back to him vividly. The other was the smell of the harbor whenever he drew near. The ocean smell inten
sified the closer Adolfo came to shore. That had always seemed odd to him until he mentioned it to his brother. Norberto explained that the things that cause the smells--the salt, the dead fish, the rotting seaweed--always wash toward the land. That was why beaches smelled more like the sea than the sea did.
"Father Norberto," Adolfo sighed. "So learned yet so misguided." His older brother was a Jesuit priest who had never wanted to be anything else. After his ordination seven years ago he was given the local parish, St. Ignatius, as his ministry. Norberto knew a lot about many things. The members of his parish lovingly called him "the Scholar." He could tell them why the ocean smelled or why the sun turned orange when it set or why you could see clouds even though they were made of drops of water. What Norberto didn't know much about was politics. He had once joined a protest march against the Spanish government, which was accused of financing death squads that killed hundreds of people in the middle 1980s. But that wasn't so much a political crusade as a humanistic one. He also didn't know about church politics. Norberto hated being away from his parish. Two or three times a year Father General Gonzalez--the most powerful Jesuit prelate in Spain--held audiences or hosted dinners for church dignitaries in Madrid. Norberto did not go to these functions unless commanded, which he seldom was. Norberto's disinterest in his own advancement allowed the power and funding in this province to go to Father Iglesias in nearby Bilbao.
Adolfo was the expert in politics, something Norberto didn't admit. The brothers rarely argued about anything; they had looked out for one another since they were boys. But politics was the one area where they disagreed passionately. Norberto believed in a unified nation. He had once said bitterly, "It is bad enough that Christendom is divided." He wished for what he called "God's Spaniards" to live in harmony.
Unlike Norberto, Adolfo did not believe in either God or Spaniards. If there were a God, he reasoned, the world would be doing better. There wouldn't be conflict or need. As for that creature called a "Spaniard," Spain had always been a fragile tapestry of different cultures. That was true before the birth of Christ, when the Basques, Iberians, Celts, Carthaginians, and others were first united under the rule of Rome. It was true in 1469, when Aragon and Castile were joined in an uneasy alliance by the marriage of Ferdinand II to Isabella I. It was true in 1939, when Francisco Franco became El Caudillo, leader of the nation, after the devastating Civil War. It was true today.
Balance Of Power (1998) Page 8
