Balance Of Power (1998)

by Tom - Op Center 05 Clancy

  McCaskey hadn't wanted the relationship to end. God, how he had not. But McCaskey made the rules in the relationship, just as he did in the street. And he tried to enforce them. Like his street rules, they were designed to be beneficial. But whether he was trying to get Maria to stop smoking or to accept less dangerous assignments, he stifled the character, the recklessness that helped make her so extraordinary. Only when she left him and returned to Spain did he see the things she'd added to his life.

  Darrell McCaskey had lost Maria once. He had no intention of losing her again. There was no way in hell that he was going to sit at Interpol headquarters, safe and comfortable, while General Amadori had her executed.

  As soon as he'd finished talking with Paul Hood and Mike Rodgers on the secure line in Luis's office, McCaskey turned to the Interpol director. Luis was sitting at the radio waiting to hear from Striker. His father was seated beside him. McCaskey informed Luis that he wanted the Interpol chopper.

  "For what?" Luis asked. "A rescue attempt?"

  "We have to try," McCaskey said as he rose. "Tell me you disagree."

  Luis's expression indicated that he didn't--though he didn't appear comfortable with the prospect.

  "Give me a pilot and a marksman," McCaskey said. "I take full responsibility."

  Luis hesitated.

  "Luis, please," McCaskey implored. "We owe this to Maria and there isn't time to debate it."

  Luis turned to his father and spoke briefly in Spanish. When he was finished, he buzzed his assistant and gave him an order. Then he turned back to McCaskey.

  "My father will be the liaison with Striker," Luis said, "and I told Jaime to have the helicopter ready to go in five minutes. Only you won't need a marksman and you won't take responsibility. Those jobs, my friend, are mine."

  McCaskey thanked him. Luis left to oversee the preparations while McCaskey lingered in the room for two minutes. That was how long it took for him to make preparations of his own. Then he ran up the stairwell to the rooftop. Luis met him a minute later.

  The small, five-person Bell JetRanger rose into the clear late morning sky from the roof of the ten-story building. The Royal Palace was just under two minutes away. The pilot, Pedro, was ordered to fly directly to it. He was patched in to the spotters, who told him exactly where Maria was. The spotters also informed him that it looked as if a five-man firing squad was being marched in her direction. The pilot passed the information on to McCaskey and Luis.

  "We're not going to be able to talk them out of this," Luis said.

  "I know," McCaskey replied. "And I don't care. The woman has guts. She deserves our best effort."

  "That isn't what I mean," Luis said. A small gun rack in the rear held four weapons. Luis eyed them unhappily. "If we shoot only to chase them off, they'll return fire. They could bring us down."

  "Not if we do it right," McCaskey said. Off in the distance the high, white engirdling balustrade of the palace, with its statues of Spanish kings, appeared over the surrounding treetops. "We go in as quickly as we can. I don't think they'll shoot at us until we're down. They won't want to bring a chopper down on their heads. When we touch down, you fire to clear the field. The soldiers will run for cover. When they do, I go and get Maria before they can regroup."

  "Just like that," Luis said doubtfully.

  "Just like that," McCaskey nodded. "The simplest plans always work best. If you cover me and keep the soldiers ducking, I should be able to get in and out in about thirty seconds. The courtyard's not that big. If I can't get back to the chopper, you abort and I'll try to get her out some other way." McCaskey sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair. "Look, I know this is dangerous, Luis. But what else can we do? I'd want to do this if any of our people were in trouble. I have to do it because it's Maria."

  Luis took a deep breath, nodded once, then turned to the gun rack. He selected a NATO L96A1 sniper rifle with an integral silencer and a Schmidt & Bender telescope. He handed McCaskey a Star 30M Parabellum pistol, the standard issue of the Guardia Civil.

  "I'll have Pedro swing over the palace and then come straight down in the courtyard," Luis said. "As soon as we touch down I'll try to drive the firing squad back. Maybe I can hold them back without having to kill anyone." Luis's face fell slightly. "That's maybe, Darrell."

  "I know," McCaskey said.

  "I don't know if I'll be able to shoot a Spanish soldier, Darrell," Luis admitted. "I honestly don't know."

  "They don't seem to have a problem with that," McCaskey pointed out.

  "I'm not them," Luis replied.

  "No, you're not," McCaskey said apologetically. "For what it's worth, I'm not sure I could shoot one of my own people either."

  Luis shook his head. "How did it ever come to this?"

  McCaskey checked the clip and sat back. He thought bitterly, It came to this the way it always does. Through the fierce hate harbored by a few and the complacency displayed by the rest. There were signs of that in the United States. McCaskey knew that if Striker succeeded the real work was just beginning--here and elsewhere. People like General Amadori had to be stopped before they got this far. McCaskey wasn't as versed in aphorisms as Mike Rodgers, but he did remember hearing someone say once that all it took for evil to flourish was for men of conscience to do nothing. If he survived this, Darrell McCaskey vowed that he would not be one of those who did nothing.

  They would be passing over the northeastern corner of the palace in approximately fifteen seconds. There were no military helicopters in the immediate area though trucks and jeeps were coming and going along Calle de Bailen just below them.

  McCaskey was calm now after his initial urgency. Part of that was because he hadn't slept in over a day. Sitting still allowed a relaxing torpor to wash over him. Though his mind was sharp and his purpose true, the anxious finger-drumming, foot-tapping and cheek-biting that were a part of his impatient nature were missing. Part of his composure was also due to Maria. Relationships can be problematic and mistakes will be made and hindsight is frustrating. McCaskey didn't punish himself for being human. But it was rare and comforting to have an opportunity like this to set a wrong right. To tell someone you're sorry and to show them you care. Whatever it cost, whatever it took, McCaskey was determined to get Maria out of the courtyard alive.

  While McCaskey sat looking out his window, Luis leaned forward and spoke to Pedro. The pilot nodded, Luis squeezed his shoulder appreciatively, and then sat back.

  "Are you ready?" Luis asked McCaskey.

  McCaskey nodded once.

  The helicopter descended and flew low over the eastern wall of the palace. Then it banked to the south and sped toward the courtyard between the Royal Palace and the Cathedral of the Almudena.

  There was a megaphone built into both sides of the chopper. Luis slipped on the headset, adjusted the mouthpiece, then lay the rifle across his lap. He looked outside and tapped McCaskey on the leg.

  "There!" Luis said.

  McCaskey looked over. He saw Maria being held against a fifteen-foot-tall pedestal, which was supporting four massive columns. The square, grayish pedestal projected about five feet out from the long, unbroken wall to the left. To the right was a short expanse of wall and then a series of arches that swept away from the wall at a right angle. The low, darkly shadowed arches formed the eastern boundary of the courtyard. Beyond them was the eastern wing of the palace which contained the royal bedchamber, the study, and the music room.

  There were two soldiers on either side of Maria, clasping her arms. An officer was standing in front of her. About one hundred fifty feet to the south, a line of military vehicles separated the courtyard from the church. There were no civilians in the courtyard and roughly sixty or seventy soldiers. Six of them were walking toward Maria in a line.

  "We'll land with those arches on your side," Luis said. "They may provide you with cover."

  "Right!"

  "I'm going to try and focus on the officer in front of Maria," Luis said. "If I
can control him, maybe I can control the group."

  "Good idea," McCaskey said. He held the Parabellum in his right hand, pointing upward. He put his left hand on the door handle. Pedro slowed the chopper's forward motion and they began to descend. They were less than one hundred feet above the courtyard.

  The soldiers were looking up now, including the officer in front of Maria. He wasn't moving; no one was. As McCaskey had suspected, they weren't going to shoot at a chopper bearing directly down on them. When they landed, though, he suspected it would be a much different matter. He looked over at Maria. Because there was an iron streetlamp between them and the pedestal, the chopper wouldn't be able to get as close as McCaskey would have liked. He'd have to cross about thirty feet of open courtyard to get to Maria. At least it didn't look like she was tied up though it did appear as though she might be hurt. There was blood on her left side and she was leaning in that direction. She wasn't looking up at the helicopter.

  The Spanish army officer--he was a captain, McCaskey could tell now--was swinging an arm at them to take off again. As they continued to descend, he unholstered his pistol and motioned more wildly for them to leave.

  The soldiers of the firing squad were on Luis's side. They stopped their approach as the chopper set down. The captain was on McCaskey's side. McCaskey watched him closely as he stalked toward them. He was shouting but his words were swallowed by the din of the rotor. Behind him, the two soldiers were still holding Maria.

  "I'm going to open the door," McCaskey said to Luis when the captain was about fifteen feet away.

  "I'm with you," Luis said. "Pedro--be ready to lift off again at my command."

  Pedro acknowledged the order. McCaskey put his hand on the latch, pulled, and threw open the door.

  McCaskey got exactly what he was expecting. As soon as he placed one foot on the ground the captain lowered his gun without hesitation and fired at the helicopter. The bullet struck the rear of the cabin, just aft of the fuel tank. If it was a warning shot, it was a dangerous one.

  McCaskey didn't have the same reservations as Luis. McCaskey knew that if he shot the captain he would make Luis an accomplice. But they had to defend themselves.

  With the cool of a seasoned G-man putting in time at the shooting range, McCaskey swung his Parabellum around, leveled it at the captain's left leg, and fired two rounds. The leg folded inward, blood spitting from two wounds just above the knee. Ducking low, McCaskey jumped from the cabin and ran forward. Behind him, he heard the distinctive phut, phut of the silenced sniper rifle. He didn't hear any return fire and imagined that the soldiers of the firing squad, as well as the other soldiers in the rear of the courtyard, were doing just as Luis had predicted. They were scattering for cover.

  The soldiers holding Maria released her and ran toward the nearest arch. She dropped to her knees and then onto her hands.

  "Stay down!" McCaskey yelled as she tried to rise.

  She looked at him defiantly as she turned a shoulder toward the pedestal. Leaning against it, she got her legs beneath her and stood slowly.

  Of course she did, he thought. Not because he told her she shouldn't but because she was Maria.

  The gun had fallen from the captain's hand. He was attempting to get it back as McCaskey raced past him. He snatched it up and continued ahead. The officer's cries of rage and pain were quickly drowned by Luis's voice coming over the megaphone.

  "Evacuen la area," Luis warned them. "Mas helicopteros estan de transito!"

  McCaskey had had four years of Spanish in high school but he got the gist of what Luis was saying. He was telling the soldiers to get out, that more helicopters were on the way. It was an inspired maneuver that could buy them the little extra time they needed. McCaskey didn't doubt that the soldiers would resist. If they were ready to execute Spanish prisoners, they wouldn't hesitate to attack Interpol operatives. But at least they wouldn't charge recklessly back into the courtyard.

  Occasional bursts of fire were met by Luis's rifle fire. McCaskey didn't look back but he hoped the chopper wasn't damaged.

  As he came closer to Maria, he saw that her side was thick with blood and that her face was bloody as well. The bastards had beaten her. Reaching her side, he ducked a shoulder under her arm.

  "Can you make it back with me?" he asked. He took a moment to look at her. Her left eye was bloody and swollen shut. There were deep cuts on both cheeks and along the hairline. He felt like shooting the bastard captain.

  "We can't go," she said.

  "We can," he insisted. "A team's inside hunting for--"

  She shook her head. "There's another prisoner in there." She pointed toward a doorway some thirty feet away. "Juan. They'll kill him. I won't leave without him."

  That too was Maria, McCaskey thought.

  McCaskey looked back at the chopper. Flashes of fire were increasing as soldiers got inside the palace and took up positions by the windows. Luis was able to drive them back but he wouldn't be able to hold them for long.

  McCaskey picked Maria up. "Let me take you to the chopper," he said. "Then I'll go back and get--"

  Suddenly, there was a loud report from somewhere directly above them. It was followed by a gurgled cry from the chopper megaphone. A moment later Luis stumbled from the open door on McCaskey's side. He was holding the rifle in one hand and clutching a wound in his neck with the other. McCaskey looked up. A sharpshooter on top of the arches had managed to get a clear shot through the open door of the helicopter. McCaskey was furious with himself for having anticipated only groundfire. He should have had the goddamn chopper drop him off and then get the hell out of there.

  Luis walked forward haltingly. The rifle clattered from his hand and he left it where it fell. His goal was obviously the captain, who was writhing painfully. Luis took two steps more and then fell across him. No one risked shooting at him now.

  Pedro looked desperately toward McCaskey, who waved him off. There was nothing else the pilot could do. A couple of bullets pinged off the rotor as the helicopter rose, but it wasn't severely damaged. The chopper headed away from the palace, toward the cathedral, and was quickly out of range.

  They, unfortunately, were not.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Tuesday, 11:11 A.M. Madrid, Spain

  To reach the throne room from the Hall of Tapestries, it was necessary to exit the long but narrow hall, go around the grand staircase, then pass through the Hall of the Halberdiers. Altogether it was a journey of slightly more than two hundred feet. The Strikers would have to cover the distance quickly, lest the noise of the explosion send General Amadori into hiding.

  For the seven soldiers and Aideen, however, it was also a foray against more than two hundred years of American tradition. Although the United States had clandestinely assisted or encouraged assassination attempts against the likes of Fidel Castro and Saddam Hussein, only once in its history had the military targeted a foreign leader for assassination. That was on April 15, 1986, when U.S. warplanes took off from England to bomb the headquarters of Libyan despot Muammar al-Qaddafi. The attack was in retaliation for the terrorist bombing of a West Berlin discotheque frequented by American soldiers. Qaddafi survived that assault and the U.S. lost an F-111 and two airmen. Three hostages were murdered in Lebanon in reprisal for the American air raid.

  Col. Brett August was aware of the lonely significance of the mission they were undertaking. In Vietnam, the base "padre," Father Uxbridge, had a word for it. The priest tried to keep the mood light by giving all his sermon themes a military-style acronym. He called ethical ambiguities like these M.I.S.T.: Moral Issues Sliced Thick. That meant there was so much to chew on that you could think about it forever and never do anything because you could never reach a satisfactory intellectual resolution. The priest's advice was to do what felt right. August hated bullies--especially bullies who imprisoned and killed those who disagreed with him. This felt right. The irony was that if they succeeded, credit for the deed would go to Spanish patriots loyal to the k
ing, whose identities must be kept secret for security reasons. If they failed, they would be described as rogue operatives who had been hired by the Ramirez clan to avenge his death.

  When the dungeon door blew open, the Strikers found themselves behind what was left of a three hundred year old arras. The bottom of the tapestry had been torn off in the explosion and the top was still fluttering as they rushed through. The Strikers' orders were to disable opponents wherever possible and they were ready for the first wave of soldiers that came to investigate the blast. The Strikers' ski masks contained goggles and mouth filters which would protect them from the Orthochlorobenzylidene malononitrile grenades Privates DeVonne and Scott were carrying. The fast-acting agent caused burning eyes and retching. In an enclosed area like the palace rooms, the gas would disable an opponent for up to five minutes. Most people couldn't stand the effects for more than a minute or two and attempted to get to fresh air as quickly as possible. During the leapfrog approach, DeVonne and then Scott would take alternate tosses as necessary.

  The first group of Spanish soldiers was swallowed in a huge yellow-and-black cottonball of gas. They dropped where they stood, some in the doorway and a few just inside the room. Anticipating that the Spaniards wouldn't fire blindly into the thick cloud, the Strikers moved boldly through the doorway and proceeded along the southside wall. The door to the Hall of the Halberdiers was straight ahead, on the same side.

  Soldiers were rushing toward them, guns raised. Scott's partner, Private Pupshaw, crouched and fired ahead knee high. Two soldiers fell and the rest went racing to doorways for cover. While they scattered, Scott rolled a grenade down the hall. There was a three second delay and then the hallway filled with smoke. August and Private Honda leapfrogged ahead, followed by Private DeVonne and Corporal Prementine.