Tom Clancy's Op-center Novels 7-12 (9781101644591)

by Clancy, Tom

  “That would be the off-the-books reason,” Herbert agreed. “Look—the fact that our own people are spying on us is not what surprised me. It was the nature of the signal they received.”

  “What about it?” Hood pressed.

  “The AFISS routinely monitors radio transmissions that are sent to major intelligence agencies around the world,” Herbert said. “Even if they can’t decipher the code, they keep track of activity. Not just content but volume and frequency are also important.”

  “Like a surge in credit card activity sending up flags,” Coffey said.

  “Bingo,” Herbert replied. “That’s how we knew when the Russians were going to move into Chechnya. Increased communication. The radio transmission from the landing area in Botswana was noticed by the AFISS computer because it matched a foreign office we’ve been calling.”

  “Which one?” Hood asked.

  Herbert replied, “Shigeo Fujima at the IAB.”

  FIFTY

  The Trans-Kalahari Highway, Botswana Friday, 8:07 P.M.

  Battat was at the wheel as he and Aideen left Gaborone in their rented Jeep Wrangler Sahara. They got on to the Trans-Kalahari Highway. Almost at once they were struck by the scope of the countryside. Battat had been across Texas and had taken the Trans-Siberian railroad. When he was a teenager, he had crossed the ocean working on a yacht for some international oil tycoon. But he had never seen expanses as level and featureless as these. On both sides there was nothing but scrub, rock, and tawny earth to the horizon. Occasionally, the setting sun would catch a snow-topped mountain. But the peaks were so remote they were quickly hidden by the dusty winds that blew across the veldt.

  As the Americans began their drive toward Maun, Aideen called the embassy at Gaborone to access the voice mailbox at Op-Center. Battat was surprised to hear that they had received new instructions. They were no longer going to be linking up with Maria Corneja in Maun.

  “Is something wrong?” Battat asked.

  “Maria managed to sneak off with Leon Seronga,” Aideen said. “They believe he’s taking her to Dhamballa’s camp.”

  “Damn, that woman gets around,” Battat said.

  “There’s more,” Aideen told him. “Undercover Spanish troops are searching for Seronga and Dhamballa. Op-Center is inclined to assist them.”

  “What about assisting Maria instead?” Battat said. “We have an agent on site who may be in a position to defuse the situation.”

  “That’s international politics for you,” Aideen said. “I suspect we’re helping the Vatican, not Spain. The United States needs to maintain good relations with Rome and, through them, help keep peace in Africa. We don’t want another Somalia.”

  “Whoever we’re helping, Maria is with Seronga. That puts her in the line of fire,” Battat said.

  “Maybe not,” Aideen went on. “Hood wants the Spanish soldiers delayed. That’s why we have to get to Maria first. We’ll split up, one party going with Seronga, the other taking the Spanish along a different route. Whoever goes to the Vodun encampment is to try to get Father Bradbury away. That has to happen before the Spaniards arrive to take him by force. Ideally, we would also convince the Brush Vipers to lay low.”

  “Cornered and desperate men do not always do what you want,” Battat remarked.

  “But there’s a chance they might,” Aideen said.

  “Yeah, and there’s a chance an elephant stampede will save us the way it used to save Tarzan,” Battat said.

  “They might do it if Seronga or Dhamballa do not see another way out,” Aideen said.

  “Do we know exactly where Maria is?” Battat asked.

  “Op-Center is going to send her coordinates through the embassy to my laptop in a few minutes,” Aideen said.

  “God bless wireless,” Battat said.

  “They’re going to take a little longer getting that same data to the Vatican Security Office,” Aideen added.

  “Did Rodgers give any indication which of us is supposed to lead the Spaniards off course?” Battat asked.

  “No,” she replied. “I suppose Maria has to be part of the group that goes with the Spanish soldiers. Her countrymen may be more willing to follow her.”

  “Why?” Battat asked. “Because she’s Spanish?”

  “No,” Aideen replied. “Because she’s a great-looking woman.”

  “God bless the male libido, too,” Battat remarked, shaking his head slowly. “And did the Op-Center brain trust tell you where we’re supposed to lead the Spanish army?”

  “General Rodgers said the field operation is under my direction,” Aideen told him. “He wants to try to give the other team, the one that sticks with Seronga, a minimum of two hours to work with Dhamballa.”

  “That’s just great,” Battat said.

  “What is?” Aideen asked.

  “Never mind,” Battat said.

  “You don’t like the plan?” Aideen pressed.

  “No, it’s fine,” he lied. He did not want to get into it. Complaining wouldn’t change anything.

  “If you want, we can call Rodgers through the embassy,” she suggested. “I’ll ask him to clarify things.”

  “No,” Battat replied. “He’ll just tell us to use our initiative. And he’d be right.”

  “General Rodgers said he would feed Maria’s locater beacon into the computer beginning at half past eight,” Aideen went on. “That way we can be sure to intercept Maria. The general said the map coordinates would be refreshed every three minutes.”

  Battat glanced at the car clock. The download was just over fifteen minutes away.

  “General Rodgers also said Op-Center was instituting an SSB,” Aideen continued. “I did not see that term in any of my files. Do you have any idea what it stands for?”

  “It’s a simulated systems breakdown,” Battat told her. “American intelligence agencies share locater beacon technology with several international intelligence services, including Interpol. Interpol has a Spanish division. Rodgers obviously does not want the information being accessed by Spain or the Vatican Security Office prematurely. He needs at least a half hour to purge the download system of cooperative links. The beauty of SSB software is that it allows them to lock out our allies without making it look as if it’s intentional. There will be static, wireless disconnects, software crashes, a whole menu of impediments. It spares hurt feelings and mistrust in future dealings.”

  “I see,” Aideen said. “That should give you some idea of how many different issues they’re dealing with over there.”

  “While we, luckily, have just one problem,” Battat said.

  “Father Bradbury,” she said.

  “Sorry, that’s two problems,” Battat said. “Father Bradbury is number two. Number one is getting out of Botswana alive. This was supposed to be simple recon, not search and rescue and deceive elite Spanish soldiers.”

  Aideen frowned. “I’m not going to worry about that,” she said. “We’ve read the material, we’ve studied the maps. We’re prepared.”

  “Are we?” Battat asked.

  “As prepared as we can be,” she replied.

  “Exactly. There’s always the stuff you can’t plan for,” Battat said. “I’ve had some experience with that. A couple of months ago, I was hunting for one of the world’s most elusive terrorists.”

  “The Harpooner,” Aideen said.

  “That’s the SOB,” Battat said. “I wanted to be the one to bring him down. I needed to redeem myself. I collected data, zeroed in on where the bastard had to be, searched the region yard by yard, and waited. The bastard was literally one hundred and eighty degrees from where I thought he’d be. He coldcocked me. He would have killed me except that he needed me alive. We’re improvising on a stage where there’s no room to screw up.”

  “We won’t.”

  “How can you be sure?” Battat asked. “Tell me something. If this car had been a stick shift, could you have driven it?”

  “What does that have to do with anythi
ng?” Aideen asked.

  “Just answer me,” he said.

  “No,” she replied. “Could you have driven it?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “So where’s the problem?” she asked.

  “My point is, at any given moment, we are going to face those kinds of unknowns even with a plan,” Battat said. “Without a game plan or a playbook, the risks are extreme.”

  “Then we have to be that much more alert,” Aideen said. “We have knowledge, and we have skills. That’s why General Rodgers put the two of us together. We obviously make a good team.”

  “Aideen, we were the only ones who showed up in time to be shipped here,” Battat reminded her.

  “It wasn’t just that,” the woman replied.

  “Oh?”

  “Mike Rodgers would not have sent us if he didn’t think we could pull this off,” Aideen said.

  “Mike is a general, and generals have to field armies, or they have nothing to do,” Battat said.

  “He’s not like that,” she insisted. “Besides, I think you’re looking at this all wrong. We have options. We have the right to exercise our own judgment.”

  “Do we? If I wanted to turn around and go back to Gaborone, is that what we would do?” Battat asked.

  “You would,” she said.

  “And what would you do?” he asked.

  “I would stay here,” she said. “I’d walk.”

  “You’d be dead before morning,” Battat said. “This is Africa. There are predators that don’t check passports.”

  “I would take my chances,” she said. “Don’t you get it?”

  “Obviously not,” Battat replied.

  “Most people would kill for the kind of freedom we’ve been given out here,” Aideen said.

  “Speaking of which, we may have to do that, too,” Battat said.

  “Do what?” Aideen asked.

  “Kill people,” Battat told her. “Are you prepared to take a human life? Will you push a knife into a person’s back if you have to, or crack their head open with a rock?”

  “I faced that question in Spain,” she replied.

  “And?”

  “If it’s my life or someone else’s, they’re dead,” Aideen said.

  “What if it’s my life or someone else’s?” he asked.

  “We’re a team,” Aideen replied. “They’re dead.”

  Battat smiled. “I’m glad to hear that, anyway.”

  “Don’t doubt my resolve,” Aideen said sternly. “I’m here. I’ll do whatever the job requires.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “What about Maria Corneja? Is she as tough as everyone’s been saying?”

  “The first person I worked for at Op-Center was Martha Mackall,” Aideen said. “Martha was a tough, tough lady. No bullshit. She was confident and strong as steel.”

  “She was the one who was killed in Madrid?” Battat asked.

  “Yes, a drive-by shooting, totally unexpected,” Aideen said. “Interpol became involved, and Maria was assigned to the case. I was asked to tag along and help her find the assassins. If Martha was steel, Maria is iron. Not quite as polished, but I never saw her break. I can’t even imagine that happening.”

  “That means she’ll want to make all the decisions when we hook up,” Battat said.

  “She’ll want to, but she’ll follow the orders Op-Center sends over,” Aideen said. “Including who is in command.”

  “Orders,” Battat said. He shook his head. “I’m sure this whole thing would look real solid in the computer simulations. Or at least plausible. We have state-of-the-art intel simulation in Washington. There are respectable agents working in the field. And there’s a relatively modest target. Hell, it sounds almost easy. But there’s always the unknown. I was lucky in Azerbaijan. Here, they could dump your body, and you’d be a meal not a crime scene.”

  “As if that matters,” Aideen said.

  Battat snickered. “I suppose you’re right.” He shook his head. “You asked me why I was complaining a minute ago. I’ll tell you. We don’t really have freedom. What we have is a blueprint for scapegoating. What ‘freedom’ really means here is, ‘If you screw up, it’s your ass.’ ”

  “Op-Center doesn’t work like that,” Aideen said.

  “What makes you so certain?” Battat asked. “You weren’t with them very long.”

  “Like I said a moment ago, I was there long enough to know that Paul Hood, Mike Rodgers, and the rest of them are not run-of-the-mill bureaucrats,” Aideen told him.

  “If you say so,” Battat said dubiously.

  “If they were, I wouldn’t be here,” she said. “I was happy working as a political consultant. And I was safe. No one was shooting at me.” She paused. “Not with bullets, anyway.”

  The woman’s voice sounded wistful when she said that. Battat smiled. Finally, they appeared to have something in common.

  “You got a lot of sniping in the Washington press?” Battat asked.

  “Not just me but my causes,” Aideen said. “That hurts even more. They were my babies.”

  “Unfashionably liberal causes, I’m guessing?” Battat asked.

  “Let’s just say inconvenient,” Aideen replied. “Women’s rights abroad, mostly.”

  “Forgive me, but that doesn’t quite jibe with using Maria as Mata Hari,” Battat observed.

  “The question is not using sex appeal as a tool,” Aideen said. “The issue is having the option to do so.”

  “It still sounds like a contradiction,” he said. “You want to hear something ironic?”

  “Sure.”

  “I got hit by the press because I gave a woman too much freedom,” Battat told her.

  “Annabelle Hampton?” Aideen asked.

  “That’s the gal who was spying for terrorists,” Battat said. “There were Op-ED pieces suggesting that ‘her superiors’ be investigated for treason. There were slurs in the conservative press. Always blind items, but everyone knew who they meant. Especially after they found out I was in Moscow at the time.”

  “Yet you had the will to come back from that,” Aideen said. “Pretty impressive.”

  “Either the will or the fear,” Battat said. “I didn’t want to leave government service with that on my record.”

  “I think it was character,” Aideen said. “I learned something back in college. I had a twelve-to-two A.M. radio talk show. It was called The Late Aideen. Ironically, I got at least two death threats a week. What I realized was that you have to do your job regardless of what people think, say, or do. It’s either that or do something safe, boring. I never want to do that.”

  “Well, it won’t be boring here,” Battat said. “The Spanish and the Brush Vipers won’t be using innuendo and mud. They’ll be using 9 mm clips.”

  “My attitude will be the same,” she said.

  Battat hoped so. When he was being fired on in Baku, he felt a lot different than he did when he was spying on the UN from a CIA office in New York. The knowledge that being discovered will cause you to be reassigned is different from knowing that a mistake could be fatal. Some people flourish under fire. Battat did. Others wither. Aideen said she had faced armed enemies before. Obviously, she had held up all right. Otherwise, Mike Rodgers would not have sent her back into the field.

  The two sat quietly until eight-thirty. Consulting the computer map, Aideen switched on the decode program.

  “It’s downloading,” she announced.

  It took less than a minute for the data to be received from Op-Center. Aideen quickly calculated their new route. It was off-road. Not the kind of journey either of them wanted to take at night. But no mission had ever been designed for the comfort of the operative.

  The Trans-Kalahari Highway took Battat and his partner to the Meratswe River. The wide, seasonally low river was located on the outskirts of the Central Kalahari Game Reserve. There, the Wrangler left the modern turnpike for the off-road trails. If they had a chance of intercepting the truck with Mar
ia and the Brush Vipers, they would have to cut through the barren salt pan. A dirt road marked the way. It was difficult to say whether the trail had been pounded out by buses or years of migrating animal herds. Possibly both.

  The soft top of the vehicle was down. The only sounds were the well-tuned I-6 engine, the air rushing by, and an occasional loud bounce when the Wrangler hit a shallow ditch. Fortunately, the vehicle’s sophisticated suspension minimized the jolt to the lower spine.

  Crossing the plain was not like driving in New York City. Or Moscow. Or even Baku, Azerbaijan. Driving here reminded Battat of sailing. For one thing, darkness came very quickly in the flat pan. Or maybe it only seemed that way because so much flat terrain became black all at once. For another, there was a sense of freedom. He could continue north on the path marked with signs. Or he could venture to the east or west. The grass was low enough to go off-road. But there was also a clear and ever-present danger.

  The blackness.

  Outside the cone of the Wrangler’s headlights, the sky was actually brighter than the ground. It also seemed closer, in a way. That was because the Milky Way was clearly visible as it arced across the sky. Battat did not even have to avert his eyes to see it clearly. The other stars were even brighter as were the occasional shooting stars. Whenever Aideen saw a shooting star, she wished for more light. They did not get it. As a result, Battat did not dare to proceed at more than thirty to forty miles an hour. There was no telling when they would run into a ditch, a flat boulder, or a yellow ANIMAL CROSSING sign. These were scattered throughout the region, bearing the silhoutte of a trumpeting elephant, a rhinoceros, or a lion. Wild animals were something they had to watch out for. Most of the larger predators were on game preserves. But there were still rogues, strays, and packs of wild dogs, hyenas, and other nocturnal hunters.

  On the other hand, because it was so dark and because the plain was so utterly flat and featureless, Battat did not imagine they would have much trouble spotting another vehicle.

  There was still one thing that troubled David Battat. He worried about it more than the ditches and the boulders, more than getting lost in the darkness. The former CIA agent worried whether the Brush Viper truck would be in a position to spot them first.