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

by Clancy, Tom

  Hood was on the phone with the president’s national security adviser. Now that Americans were in a potential war zone, it was time to brief the White House.

  “Where are the helicopters now?” Hood asked after giving the president an overview of the situation.

  Herbert was looking at a radar feed into his wheelchair computer. “The choppers are holding their position at the edge of the swamp,” he replied. “I’m guessing they were surprised by Dhamballa’s change of plans.”

  “Mike, does that mean they’ll have to turn back?” Hood asked.

  “Not necessarily,” Rodgers replied.

  The general told him about the strengths and limitations of the aircraft the Botswanans were using. Hood passed the information to the president. Hood told the commander in chief he would report back as soon as he had any news. Then he hung up and exhaled loudly.

  “How did he take it?” Herbert asked.

  “He does not want any of our people firing a shot,” Hood said. “If for some reason they get snagged by the Botswanans, they’re to go quietly.”

  “Go quietly and stay in prison so the Botswanans don’t lose face,” Herbert said. “Then, if we’re lucky, Gaborone will believe they were tourists who got off track somehow.”

  “That’s pretty much it,” Hood said.

  “Are you going to tell Aideen that?” Rodgers asked.

  “What would you do?” Hood asked. “It’s your operation.”

  “I’d tell them to do whatever is necessary to survive and exit,” Rodgers replied. “I certainly wouldn’t leave them defenseless.”

  “I agree,” Hood said. “Aideen won’t use violence unless it’s absolutely necessary. And if that becomes necessary, the U.S. will have to deal with whatever happens.”

  “We all agree,” Herbert said. “ ‘Out of chaos does come order.’ ”

  “Or worse chaos,” Rodgers said. “That’s something Nietzsche and I never agreed on.”

  Herbert’s mouth twisted, and he pondered that as Darrell McCaskey joined them.

  “What’s new on the Japanese front?” Hood asked him.

  “Something that may or may not have any bearing on what’s going on in Botswana,” McCaskey said.

  McCaskey appeared to have regained some of the old G-man steel. Rodgers was glad to see it.

  “A group of Japanese tourists was stopped at customs in Gaborone three days ago,” McCaskey said. “They were bringing all kinds of electronics into the country. The Botswanans let them in. According to the hotel records, two of the tourists never checked in. I tried to run them down but could not find them. However, two Japanese tourists did show up, renting a car in Maun. There was no record of those two having entered the country.”

  “You think they’re the same people?” Hood asked.

  “The timing works if they took the afternoon bus from Gaborone to Maun,” McCaskey said.

  McCaskey fell silent as Rodgers’s phone beeped. The general answered immediately.

  “Yes?” Rodgers said.

  “It’s Aideen,” said the caller. “Two Spanish soldiers tried to rescue someone they thought was Father Bradbury. They were killed.”

  “Oh Jesus,” Rodgers said.

  The other men looked at him.

  “The Vodunists lost two men,” Aideen added. “The priest is still with Dhamballa.”

  “When did this happen?” Rodgers asked.

  He noticed a crack in McCaskey’s tough expression. Rodgers felt bad for him, but he could explain that nothing had happened to his wife. Not yet.

  “The attack came at about eleven-thirty, local time,” Aideen replied.

  “After we called Kline,” Rodgers said.

  “That’s right,” Aideen said. “Seronga had left the priest and several men behind as decoys. The Spaniards went for it. I have serial numbers for the weapons they were carrying as proof.”

  Aideen gave Rodgers the serial numbers. He wrote them down. Rodgers immediately recognized the PK prefix as belonging to the Star pistols carried by the Spanish military. He confirmed to Aideen that, apparently, they had gone in. Rodgers covered the mouthpiece. He asked Hood to get Edgar Kline on the line.

  “What is it?” Herbert pressed.

  Hood held up a finger as Aideen continued.

  “The Vodunists will allow the Botswana military or the VSO to talk to Father Bradbury, to prove that they have him,” Aideen went on. “We are very much trying to find a nonviolent way out of this.”

  “Do you need to be involved in that?” Rodgers asked.

  “I don’t think Seronga can do it alone,” Aideen said. “If the Botswana military shows up, my sense is that they’ll shoot first and justify it later. But if they know that Father Bradbury is here and we are here—”

  “Understood. How much time do you need?” Rodgers asked.

  “About two hours,” Aideen replied.

  “I’ll try to get that for you,” Rodgers assured her.

  “We should be linking up with Dhamballa in less than an hour,” Aideen said. “Father Bradbury will arrive shortly after that. We will call you on this phone. You’ll have to put him through to the authorities, convince them that he is well. If we can delay the attack, we can also prove that the Brush Vipers had nothing to do with the death of Bishop Max.”

  “I like it,” Rodgers said. “What we don’t know is whether that will satisfy Gaborone’s needs.”

  “I’m hoping we can also get the Brush Vipers to disband,” Aideen said. “I spoke with Seronga. I think they’ve had enough.”

  “All right,” Rodgers said. “We’ll work it on this end. Meanwhile, is everyone all right?”

  “So far,” she replied.

  “Good,” Rodgers said. “Hang in. I’ll get word to Kline. And Aideen?”

  “Yes?”

  “If we can’t pull this off and it gets hairy, you bail,” Rodgers said. “All of you.”

  “We will,” she promised.

  Rodgers clicked off. He looked at McCaskey. “They’re all right,” Rodgers told him.

  The former FBI agent eased visibly.

  Rodgers looked at Hood. “Have you got him on the line?”

  “He’s coming,” Hood said.

  Rodgers asked Hood to put the phone on speaker. Rodgers briefed the others while he waited. He was just finishing when Kline picked up.

  “What is it, Paul?” Kline said.

  “No, this is Mike Rodgers. Mr. Kline, about forty-five minutes ago, two members of the Unidad Especial tried to take Father Bradbury by force,” Rodgers told him.

  “Are you sure?” Kline asked.

  “Yes,” Rodgers replied. “They were killed. So were two Brush Vipers.”

  “Bloody hell,” Kline said.

  “It must have been,” Rodgers agreed.

  “General Rodgers, you must believe me; I had no knowledge about the Spanish soldiers,” Kline said. “They were ordered to stand down. The message we sent was received and acknowledged. I don’t know what happened in the field. Perhaps the Brush Vipers were the aggressors.”

  “That isn’t the story I was told, but it is not important at this moment,” Rodgers said. “What I need you to do is keep the Spanish and the Botswana military away. You know we have people on site. They need two hours. They think the Brush Vipers can be persuaded to disband.”

  “General, I obviously didn’t have a lot of pull with our people. I certainly don’t have a lot of sway with Gaborone,” Kline said. “None of us does. That was why we had to go to Spain in the first place. I also don’t know if the Botswana government will accept a delay or even the surrender of Dhamballa. This isn’t only about justice anymore. It’s about seeming to appear weak. They can’t afford that, especially if the Brush Vipers did in fact kill those Spanish soldiers.”

  “I understand,” Rodgers said. “Which is why you have to convince Gaborone that if they attack, Father Bradbury will die. So will my people. Maybe it will help if you tell them that they are three American tourists
who were picked up by the Brush Vipers.”

  Herbert shook his head vigorously. “Gaborone could use that kind of standoff for publicity,” the intelligence chief said. “They may want to show off their hostage negotiating skills.”

  “At least it will hold off the attack,” McCaskey said, “give our people a chance to get out.”

  “Maybe,” Herbert said. “I agree with Edgar. At this point, I think the Botswana government feels it needs a show of force. A hostage situation will also cause questions to be asked about who the Americans are and how they got in. We can’t risk that.”

  “Then call our team and tell them to cut loose,” McCaskey said. “What else is there to do?”

  “Running through the wilderness while Botswana pilots are looking for people running through the wilderness may not be the best course of action,” Rodgers said.

  “That is probably true,” Kline said, “though I don’t think they’ll shoot at people who don’t fit the profile of Brush Vipers.”

  “Aideen will concoct some story about being out on safari,” Herbert said.

  “They’ll have a Jeep to prove it.”

  “Gentlemen, without saying anything about your people, I’ll do what I can to settle the situation,” Kline said. “I’ll call you as soon as I have an answer.”

  “And try to make this order stick,” Herbert said.

  Hood had moved to kill the call as soon as Kline finished. He obviously expected Herbert to say something. Rodgers did not think the VSO officer heard. Not that he cared one way or the other. Kline had not proved to be a particularly effective partner.

  “So this is where we’ve ended up,” McCaskey said. He was not so much angry now as resigned. “They go forward, whatever the price.”

  “For now,” Rodgers said. “Just for now.”

  “We just have to acknowledge that at this moment there are risks in flight,” Herbert said.

  “Darrell, you know what my orders are to Aideen,” Rodgers said quietly. “If anything goes wrong, they will pull out. I’m sure they can find a place to hole up until the crisis passes.”

  “Maybe,” McCaskey said. “And maybe Aideen and Battat will do that. I’m not so sure about Maria.”

  “They all will,” Rodgers said. “If it comes to that, I will order it.”

  “More forcefully than you did before?” McCaskey asked.

  “Yes,” Rodgers replied. “I deferred to the judgment of the individual running the mission in the field. The situation is different now. Anyway, you’re forgetting something important, Darrell.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Maria loves you,” Rodgers said. “She’s committed to you. She wants to come back to you. If this thing goes south, she’s not going to stay there just for the hell of it.”

  “No,” McCaskey admitted. “She’s not suicidal.”

  “She hasn’t been married to you long enough,” Herbert said. Hood made a face. Herbert shrugged it off. But Darrell smiled for the first time in two days.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m afraid of,” McCaskey went on. “We don’t know what they’re thinking in Gaborone. Father Bradbury may mean more to the Botswanans dead than alive. The air force can say they struck after he was killed. And Gaborone will use his death as an excuse to come down hard on any dissent in the future. If that’s the case, they won’t care who is with Dhamballa. The air force will go in and wipe them all out.”

  “I’ll let Aideen know your concerns,” Rodgers said. “We can prepare for that. Maybe put some distance between our group and Seronga.”

  “Mike, I’d like to do something else,” McCaskey said.

  “What’s that?” Rodgers asked.

  “I’d like to talk to Maria,” he said.

  “I don’t think you should,” Rodgers said. “Every time we speak with them, there’s a chance we can be traced. We don’t want to give the Botswana Air Force a map to where our people are.”

  “I’ll keep it short,” McCaskey promised. “Unless there’s some other reason you’re against it?”

  “Frankly, there is,” Rodgers admitted. “I don’t want Maria getting upset or distracted. Not now.”

  “How about encouragement?” he said. “Maybe she can use some of that.”

  “Talking to you won’t be a neutral event,” Hood said. “You know that. Let’s see how this plays out, okay? Maybe we can revisit it later.”

  McCaskey looked as if he wanted to argue. He thought better of it. Instead, he got up to go.

  “Darrell, about those Japanese who went to Botswana,” Hood said. “Any chance we can find out who they really are?”

  “We’re talking to a guy in Tokyo who deals in fake passports for the entire Pacific Rim,” McCaskey said. “He wouldn’t have actually made these, but he thinks he can find out who did. We’ll get someone to talk to whoever that is, convince him to cooperate.”

  “I can save you the trouble,” Herbert said. “My gut tells me these guys are working with Fujima.”

  “That could be true,” Hood said. “Which brings us to the next obvious question. Why the hell are the Japanese so interested in Botswana?”

  “I don’t know,” Herbert said. “But I am convinced of one thing.”

  “Which is?” Hood asked.

  Herbert replied, “That a bunch of people are keeping some very big secrets from us.”

  FIFTY-NINE

  Makgadikgadi Pan, Botswana Saturday, 12:30 A.M.

  Maria Corneja knew that she should not think when she was tired. At those times, her thoughts were cynical, pessimistic. And that was not what she needed now.

  But she could not help herself. She was what she was.

  The woman was still perched on the back of the Jeep. The wind was keeping her alert as she looked out at the extraordinary blackness. As vivid as the stars were, their indifference bothered her. They were the same as they had been when apes with no ambition crossed the salt pan. They would be the same when the earth was a dead ball.

  So what are we all doing this for? she wondered. The stars will burn, the world will turn, and life will go on, whether we succeed or not. If I were to leave now, nothing would change.

  Except for one thing. However impassive the universe was, Maria still had to face herself in the morning. And she wanted to be able to do so with a sense that she had been true to herself. Unfortunately, she was not quite sure what that meant in this case. She did not believe that Leon Seronga was a bad man. As far as she could tell, his tactics had not been excessive. And his ambitions seemed to be moral. Unfortunately, they were also illegal.

  Still, she wondered what she would do when it came time. Even though she had worked for Interpol, she had never been a company player. It had always been a question of right versus wrong. Fortunately, Interpol had usually been on the side of right.

  Then there was Darrell. He was probably insane with anger, worry, and resentment. Maybe he was even a little proud of her, though that was probably buried deep. She refused to think about any of that. If she let herself be influenced by his emotions, her own would get fired up. This situation did not need more passion. It needed as much calm reason as she could summon.

  As Maria’s mind probed the blackness, her eyes did the same. She was watching for the arrival of Dhamballa and the Brush Vipers. It was not announced by lights on the horizon but by Seronga’s truck speeding up. Within moments, he had pulled alongside the Jeep.

  “My group is close by!” Seronga shouted. “They are less than four miles from here, at Lake Septone. We will meet them there.”

  “Have all the Brush Vipers arrived?” Aideen asked.

  “Yes!” Seronga told her. “They are deploying themselves among the rocks around the lake. You might want to pass that along to your superiors. They can inform Gaborone.”

  “I wouldn’t advise that,” Battat said. “They might think it was provocative rather than defensive.”

  Maria knew that it was both. Even if the Brush Vipers did not intend to challeng
e the choppers, their action suggested they were ready to do so. In Seronga’s position, she would have done exactly the same.

  The truck pulled in front, and the Jeep followed. Obviously, Seronga was no longer concerned about the Op-Center team leaving. Perhaps he had decided to trust them. Decisions were easy when there were no options.

  They reached the lake in less than ten minutes. It was not quite the fortress Maria had pictured. In the glow of the headlights she saw less than a dozen boulders the size of desk chairs. They were clumped here and there where some ancient flood must have deposited them. The lake itself was less than a square mile. It did not appear to be very deep. Maria thought she could see reeds jutting out from the center of the water.

  As they neared the lake, the truck driver killed his headlights. Only the parking lights remained on. Aideen did likewise. It was a strange sensation to be moving through near-absolute darkness. Yet the vastness of the land did not go away. The sounds from the vehicles seemed to travel forever. It was different than a sound that echoed from a group of trees or a canyon wall. It just rolled out and diminished slowly.

  The truck stopped. So did the Jeep. Several lanterns were turned on along the lake. People were approaching. Seronga switched on his own flashlight and walked toward them.

  Battat sidled up to Maria. Aideen joined them.

  “How do you want to handle this?” Battat asked.

  “I think that’s up to Seronga,” Aideen said.

  “Shouldn’t we be involved in the discussions?” Battat pressed.

  “Yes,” Maria agreed. “Before they become carved in stone.”

  She started forward briskly. The other two came after her. As they walked, it occurred to Maria that this was how warring tribes must have approached each other five thousand years before. She could not decide whether it was exciting to be a part of that history or whether it was sad because we had not advanced very much in all those centuries.