Privates Scott and DeVonne left behind their remaining supply of gas grenades. There were only three of them. August figured they would get five strong minutes of defense out of two of those grenades and cover fire. The last grenade would give them another two minutes for their own retreat. The timetable was snug, but it was doable. He only hoped that Aideen could catch up to her wounded prey, do what needed to be done, and exit cleanly.
Corporal Prementine wished the two men well. Silently, he and the other Strikers departed.
August thanked him then informed Pupshaw that they were to hold their positions for exactly five minutes from the time they reengaged the Spanish soldiers. At August's signal they would then follow their fellow Strikers back "down the hole," Pupshaw retreating first.
August and Pupshaw lay on their bellies and prepared to meet the assault. They would fire low, no higher than the knees. Pupshaw had a grenade ready to roll against the Spaniards. August raised his left arm.
Twenty seconds later the first Spanish soldier appeared through the thinning yellow cloud. August turned his left thumb down.
Pupshaw pulled the pin and rolled the grenade.
FORTY-FOUR
Tuesday, 12:17 P.M. Madrid. Spain
As he moved down the corridor, Darrell McCaskey felt naked without a weapon. But it had been more important to him that Maria have one. It had been a while since he'd used the aikido skills he'd learned when he joined the FBI, but they would have to suffice.
McCaskey slowed as he neared the next corridor. He stopped at the corner and peeked around stealthily, the way he used to do when he was on stakeouts. He took a mental snapshot of the scene and then withdrew quickly, his heart jumping from slow to hyperactive.
There was a tall man standing part of the way down the corridor. He was a general with Francoesque layers of braid and an array of medals. He was armed with a handgun and he was wearing a gas filter and goggles. He was also bleeding from a wound in his leg.
It had to be Amadori.
The man had been looking behind him as he approached. McCaskey was sure Amadori hadn't spotted him. He swore at himself for having left his gun with Maria. He had nothing to use against the man. Nothing except his fists and the fact that Amadori didn't know he was here.
The FBI had taught McCaskey that if an agent didn't bring superior firepower to a situation he should back off until he could muster that firepower. A standoff always favored the pursuer. Failure favored the pursued.
But with everything that was at stake, McCaskey couldn't take the chance of letting Amadori go.
McCaskey looked up and mustered his resolve. He listened to the general's limping footsteps. Amadori was approximately ten feet away. McCaskey would crouch and swing around, try to pin his legs to the wall, then grab his arm before he could fire.
Just then, McCaskey heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Father Norberto walking toward him. That wasn't all he saw. Above the music room, McCaskey noticed a red eye looking down from the ceiling.
It was a camera eye. And Amadori was wearing goggles--Remote Surveillance System goggles.
The footsteps stopped. McCaskey swore. He'd been too damn tired to think this through and now he was at a serious disadvantage. Amadori knew precisely where he was.
There was nothing to do but retreat. He turned and ran toward the door that led to the courtyard.
"What is it?" Father Norberto asked.
McCaskey motioned him back. The priest just stood there, confused.
"Jesus!" McCaskey cried in frustration. He didn't think Amadori would shoot a member of the clergy. But a Catholic priest would make the perfect hostage. No one would dare order an attack for fear of hitting the priest.
McCaskey had to get the priest out of here. Reaching Father Norberto, he put his arms around him and tried to move him toward the courtyard door. A moment later he heard a shot and felt a punch in his back and then everything went blindingly red.
FORTY-FIVE
Tuesday, 12:21 P.M. Madrid, Spain
It was easy for Aideen to follow the trail of blood. The drops were so close together they overlapped in spots. Amadori was losing blood quickly. What she hadn't anticipated was that the general would be alone when she caught up to him. Alone and waiting for her.
Amadori fired once as Aideen came around the corner. She jumped back as soon as she saw him and the bullet whizzed by. There was silence after the echo of the gunshot died. Aideen stood there listening, trying to determine if Amadori moved. As she waited, she felt something pressed hard against the small of her back. She turned around and saw a man step the rest of the way from a doorway. It was the major general. He was holding a gun on her.
Aideen cursed under her breath. The officer was wearing his RSS goggles. He must have been tuned in to the cameras behind them and spotted her. They'd separated and now she'd been snared.
"Face front and raise your hands," he commanded in Spanish.
Aideen did. He relieved her of her gun.
"Who are you?" he asked.
Aideen didn't answer.
"I don't have time to waste," the major general said. "Answer and I'll let you go. Refuse and I'll leave you here with a bullet in your back. You have a count of three."
Aideen didn't think he was bluffing.
"One," said the officer.
Aideen was tempted to tell him that she was an Interpol operative. She had never faced death that seemed so imminent. It had a way of weakening one's resolve.
"Two."
She doubted that the major general would spare her even if she told him who she was. But she would definitely die if she didn't.
Yet by telling the truth, she could very well ruin the lives and careers of Maria, Luis, and their comrades. And she would destroy countless other lives if she helped Amadori survive this assault.
Maybe she'd been meant to die in the street with Martha. Maybe there was no escaping that.
Aideen heard the gun bark behind her. She jumped. She felt blood on her neck. But she was still standing.
A moment later Aideen felt the major general stumble against her. She lurched involuntarily as he fell forward. The two guns clattered on the floor. She glanced back at the officer. Blood spurted like a water fountain from the back of his head. She looked up.
A familiar man was walking toward her, down the corridor. He was holding a smoking pistol and wearing a look of grim satisfaction.
"Ferdinand?" she said.
The familia member hesitated.
"No, it's all right," she said. She looked around quickly. Then she turned her back toward the surveillance camera behind her. Certain she wouldn't be seen, Aideen lifted her black mask just enough for him to see her face. "I'm here with others," she said. "We want to help."
Ferdinand continued walking toward her. "I'm glad to hear that," he said. "Juan and I doubted you back at the factory, after the attack. I'm sorry."
"I don't blame you. You had no way of knowing."
Ferdinand held up the gun. "This came to me when your friend caused an uproar before. They took her away, and also Juan. I want to find them--and I want to find Amadori."
"Amadori went this way," Aideen said. She pointed as she stopped to pick up her gun. She also picked up the major general's gun and goggles.
The dead man's blood was cooling on the back of Aideen's neck and she used the sleeve of her black shirt to wipe it off. She felt sick as she walked away. Not because the man had died; he'd been ready enough to kill her. What bothered her was that neither the general nor the major general had had a hand in the event that brought Op-Center into this situation in the first place, the murder of Martha Mackall. To the contrary. These people had killed the men behind the murder. The crime for which they were being hunted was having orchestrated a coup against a NATO ally--a coup that, ironically, a majority of the people in Spain might have supported had it been put to a vote.
Martha was wrong, Aideen thought miserably. There are no rules. There's only chaos
.
Aideen and Ferdinand started off after Amadori. Aideen was in the lead, Ferdinand a few paces behind her. Aideen checked the gun she'd retrieved. The safety was switched off. That bastard of a major general had been ready to shoot her in the back.
The corridor ahead was empty. They heard a shot and quickened their pace. Aideen wondered if someone else--possibly Maria?--had found Amadori. The trail of blood continued around the corner. They followed it, stopping short as they entered the hallway leading past the music room. They saw General Amadori standing there with a gun in his white-gloved hand. The gun was being held to someone's head. It took a moment for Aideen to realize who the general was holding in front of him.
It was Father Norberto. And at his feet was another man lying faceup. He wasn't moving.
It was Darrell McCaskey.
FORTY-SIX
Tuesday, 12:24 P.M. Madrid, Spain
When Father Norberto had entered the courtyard outside the palace, he didn't believe the soldiers were going to hurt him. He could see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices.
He had no such illusions about this man, the one who had just shot the American in the back. The officer had a gun pressed under his jaw and was holding his hair tightly with the other hand. The man was bleeding. He did not have the time or disposition to talk.
"Where is the major general?" Amadori shouted.
Aideen dropped the major general's goggles and gun and kicked them into the hallway. "He's dead. Now let the priest go."
"A woman?" Amadori yelled. "Damn you, who is making war on me? Show yourself now!"
"Let the padre go, General Amadori," Aideen said. "Release him and you can have me."
"I do not negotiate," Amadori yelled. He took a quick look behind him. The door to the courtyard was only a few yards away. He pulled off his goggles and threw them to the floor. Then he pressed the gun harder against Father Norberto's throat and continued backing toward the door. "My soldiers are still outside, watching the perimeter while their brothers fight. When I call them they'll come. They'll hunt you down."
"You'll shoot me if I show myself."
"That is correct," said Amadori. "But I'll release the priest."
The woman was silent.
Throughout his years in the priesthood, Norberto had talked to grieving widows and parishioners whose brothers or sisters or children had died. Most of them had expressed the desire to die as well. Despite his own loss, Norberto didn't feel that way. He did not want to be a martyr. He wanted to live. He wanted to continue helping others. But he wasn't going to let a woman die for him.
"My child, leave here!" Norberto cried.
Amadori pulled tighter on his hair. "Don't talk."
"My brother, Adolfo Alcazar, believed in you," Norberto said. "He died in your service."
"Your brother?" the general said. He continued walking. He was just a few feet from the door. "Don't you realize that the people who killed Adolfo are here?"
"I know," Norberto said. "One of them died in my arms, just as Adolfo did."
"Then how can you take their side?"
"I haven't taken their side," Norberto said. "I am on the side of God. And in His name I beg you to call off this war."
"I don't have time for this," Amadori snapped. "My enemies are the enemies of Spain. Tell me who the woman is and I'll release you."
"I won't help you," Norberto said.
"Then you'll die." Amadori groaned as he reached the door. He was obviously in pain. Still holding the priest, he stepped into the gleaming sunlight and turned toward the southern gate. "I need assistance!" he yelled. He looked back quickly to make sure Aideen hadn't moved.
The soldiers on the other side of the courtyard had their guns pointed toward the arches. They turned to look at the door. Suddenly, one of the soldiers stepped from behind the gatepost.
"Stay where you are, sir!" the soldier yelled.
Amadori glanced toward the arches. He saw two people crouched there, a bleeding man and a woman.
"Get your unit back out here," Amadori shouted. "Secure the courtyard!"
The soldier pulled the field radio from his belt and called for reinforcements. As he did, the woman behind the arch aimed at Amadori. The general angrily swung the priest around so he was facing her. The woman held her fire; gunshots from the soldiers quickly drove her back behind the arch. Amadori looked back into the palace to make sure the other woman hadn't come from around the corner.
She had not. She didn't need to.
Darrell McCaskey was lying on his side halfway down the corridor. He was facing Amadori and holding the gun Aideen had kicked into the corridor.
Father Norberto looked in as well. He didn't understand. There was no blood, yet he'd seen the general shoot this man in the back.
Amadori began to turn the priest around. But McCaskey didn't give the general a chance to maneuver Father Norberto between them. And he didn't fire to wound the general. He put two quick shots into Amadori's temple.
The general was dead before he reached the ground.
FORTY-SEVEN
Tuesday, 12:35 P.M. Madrid, Spain
"You took one of the bulletproof vests," Aideen said as she ran toward McCaskey.
"Never travel without it," McCaskey said. He winced as she helped him to his feet. "I put it on before I came here. After he shot me--I figured I'd lie low and wait for something like this."
"Glad I didn't just kick out the goggles," Aideen said.
Ferdinand ran past them to the priest. Father Norberto was standing just inside the doorway, staring down at the body of General Amadori. He knelt and began to say a prayer over the dead man.
"Father, he doesn't deserve your blessing," Ferdinand said. "Come. We must go."
Norberto finished praying. Only when he made the sign of the cross over the general did he rise. He looked at Ferdinand. "Where are we going?"
"Away," Ferdinand said. "The soldiers--"
"He's right, Father," Aideen said. "We don't know what they're going to do. But we should be somewhere else when they do it."
McCaskey held onto Aideen's shoulder while he drew several painful breaths. "We've also got to let the boss know what's going on as soon as possible," he said. "Where's the team?"
"They encountered some resistance after the flush-out," she said. "They withdrew."
"Can you get to them?"
Aideen nodded. "Can you walk?"
"Yes, but I'm not going with you," McCaskey said. "I can't leave Maria."
"Darrell, you heard what Amadori said," Aideen declared. "More soldiers are on the way."
"I know," McCaskey said. He smiled faintly. "All the more reason I can't leave her."
"He won't be alone," Father Norberto told her. "I'll stay with him."
Aideen regarded them both through her mask. "There isn't time to argue. I'll get the word out. You three take care."
McCaskey thanked her. As she turned and ran toward the grand staircase, McCaskey hobbled toward the priest.
"I'm sorry about this," he said in English, pointing to Amadori's body. "It was necessary."
Norberto said nothing.
Ferdinand put his gun in his waistband. "I'm going to look for my friend Juan," he said. He regarded McCaskey. "Thank you, sir, for ridding Spain of this would-be caudillo."
McCaskey wasn't exactly sure what Ferdinand had said, but he got the gist of it. "!De nada!" he said. "You're welcome."
Father Norberto suddenly put his hand around Ferdinand's neck. He squeezed hard.
"Padre?" Ferdinand said, confused.
"Your friend is in there," Norberto said. There were tears in his eyes as he pointed toward the music room. "He's dead."
"Juan dead? Are you certain?"
"I am certain," Norberto said. "I was with him when he died. I was with him when he confessed his sins. He died absolved of them."
Ferdinand shut his eyes.
Norberto squeezed harder. "Everyone has the right to absolution, my son, whether
they have slain one or they have slain millions."
The priest released Ferdinand and turned away. He walked toward McCaskey, who had limped past them and was peering cautiously out the door. McCaskey didn't know what the exchange had been about, but it didn't sound pleasant.
"What should we do?" Norberto asked.
"I'm not sure," McCaskey admitted.
He watched the soldiers as they watched him. The reinforcements were just arriving from an entrance further along the courtyard. It looked to McCaskey as if they were carrying gas filters. They must have been part of the group that went after Striker.
Once again McCaskey felt helpless. The Interpol spotters might not realize that Amadori was dead, that a show of force from local police units might be enough to shut the heart of the revolution down. Especially if it came before the soldiers could rally behind a new leader.
"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.
Balance Of Power (1998) Page 32
