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

by Clancy, Tom

  Everyone was silent for a long moment.

  “Are you saying that you’re totally screwed up, Bob?” Lowell Coffey finally asked.

  “No,” Herbert said. “What I’m saying is that perceptions get warped when you’re in a crisis situation. We’re sitting here, cut off from other stimuli. No windows. No news about the world. No phone calls from friends or family. I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

  “Whether it is or isn’t, what choice do we have?” Coffey asked.

  “I don’t know, but we should talk to Liz about that,” Herbert replied. “She should come up with some sort of activity or music or some feng shui decor that helps us keep perspective.”

  “Like floral pattern wallpaper,” Hood said.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Herbert cautioned.

  “I tried taking my mind off things once by playing blackjack against the computer,” Hood said. “I lost. It didn’t make me feel any better.”

  “Losing at anything is not supposed to make a person feel good,” Herbert pointed out.

  “You did have one consolation, though,” Rodgers said.

  “What was that?” Hood asked.

  “There was a Reset button on the game,” Rodgers said. There was a whisper of bitterness in his voice.

  “I don’t think any of this is relevant,” McCaskey said. “We have perspective, and we have direction and resources. What we don’t have is a goddamn resolution. That’s what makes a person nuts.”

  While McCaskey was speaking, Rodgers’s cell phone beeped. He punched it on and simultaneously glanced at his watch. As he did so, Rodgers carefully noted the time.

  “Yes?” Rodgers said.

  “Good news,” Aideen said. “we’ve got the priest, and we’re on our way back to Maun. Dhamballa is also with us.”

  “That’s great!” Rodgers said. “How is the team?”

  The general saw McCaskey lean forward intently. McCaskey briefly put his forehead against his folded hands. Then he leaned back and looked over at Mike Rodgers.

  “Everyone is fine here,” Aideen told him.

  Rodgers felt his chest grow lighter. He gave McCaskey a thumbs-up. The FBI liaison shut his eyes, threw back his head, and laughed.

  “We just heard shots,” Aideen went on. “We can only assume it’s Leon Seronga. He stayed behind to cover our retreat.”

  “What about Father Bradbury?” Rodgers asked.

  “He’s a little shaky and says he could use a bath, but we think he’s okay,” Aideen replied.

  “Did Dhamballa come willingly?” Rodgers asked.

  That brought a surprised look from the others.

  “He’s with them?” Herbert muttered.

  Rodgers nodded.

  “Seronga convinced him that he had to leave,” Aideen said. “I don’t know what Dhamballa’s plans are, though.”

  “Do you think Dhamballa will seek immunity?” Rodgers asked. He snapped his fingers at Coffey.

  “I think he wants to stay here and try to relaunch his crusade,” the woman replied.

  “Just in case, I’ll put Lowell on it,” Rodgers said. “We’ll have the process in motion.”

  Coffey nodded. He got out his cell phone.

  “What is the status of the Brush Vipers?” Rodgers asked.

  “When we left, they intended to go deeper into the salt pan,” Aideen told him. “The idea was to lead the helicopters away from us.”

  Rodgers glanced over at NRO image on the computer. “Radar still has them moving north,” he said.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Aideen said. “We’ll reach Maun well before the sun is up. Once we do that, we’ll be in the clear.”

  “Aideen,” Rodgers said, “we’re all pulling for you. You’ve all done an amazing job over there, all of you. Thanks.”

  “We’re kind of happy right now,” she admitted.

  “Tell Maria I love her,” McCaskey said softly.

  “Aideen? Is Maria available?” Rodgers asked.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Tell Maria her husband would like to speak with her,” Rodgers said. He looked at his watch. He and Aideen had been on the phone just over a minute. Rodgers shot McCaskey a look. “He would like to speak with her for thirty seconds, tops,” Rodgers added.

  McCaskey got up quickly, and Rodgers tossed him the cell phone. McCaskey took it into the hall.

  “That was nice,” Hood said. “Thanks.”

  Herbert was visibly impatient. He was not usually sentimental. He was less so during a crisis. “Mike, what’s happening out there?”

  As Rodgers briefed the others, McCaskey returned. He lay a hand on Rodgers’s shoulder and gently squeezed as he walked past. For a moment, all seemed right with the world.

  Suddenly, Herbert glanced at the computer screen.

  “Shit. They’re changing course,” the intelligence chief said.

  The others gathered around Herbert’s computer.

  “See these two?” Herbert said. He pointed at a pair of blips. “They’re moving southwest. That’s the direction our people are headed.”

  “It could be just an exploratory thing,” Coffey said.

  “We could also have had the line open a little too long,” Herbert said. “They may have triangulated the call.”

  It was possible. They had gotten sloppy and complacent. McCaskey might have stayed on just a few seconds too long.

  “There aren’t a lot of vehicles out there at night,” Herbert said. “And our guys don’t have a big head start.”

  Rodgers took the phone from McCaskey.

  “Ideas, anyone?” Hood asked.

  “If the military catches our people with Dhamballa, they’re going to be screwed,” Coffey said. “Abetting a revolutionary is not going to play well in a Botswana court.”

  “They can’t be caught,” McCaskey said.

  “They won’t be,” Rodgers said. He called Aideen.

  “What are you thinking?” Hood asked.

  “I’m thinking we can get this to work in our favor,” Rodgers replied.

  SIXTY-TWO

  Makgadikgadi Pan, Botswana Saturday, 1:56 A.M.

  Aideen Marley was sitting between Father Bradbury and Dhamballa in the backseat of the Jeep. Battat was behind the wheel, and Maria was beside him. They were thumping across the terrain at a rapid pace. They had stopped just once, briefly, to fill the tank from the gas can in the back.

  The fog lamps threw wide, bright circles of light across the immediate landscape to the front and forward sides. The brilliant lights blanched the dirt and shrubs. They looked almost like black-and-white photographs.

  Aideen was surprised when the cell phone beeped again. She prayed that nothing was wrong. The last call had run a little longer than the others. Not long enough for it to be triangulated, she hoped.

  “Hello!” she said.

  “We think you’ve been spotted,” Mike Rodgers said.

  Aideen covered her open ear with her palm. The Jeep was making a lot of noise as it slammed across the uneven terrain. She wanted to make sure she heard that correctly.

  “Repeat?” she said.

  “Several choppers are headed in your direction,” Rodgers said.

  “Intent?” she asked.

  “Unknown but unlikely to be moderate,” Rodgers replied. “I think I have a solution.”

  “Go ahead!” Aideen shouted.

  “Your team and Dhamballa must exit the Jeep,” Rodgers told her. “Let Father Bradbury have it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “When the Botswana army finds him, he must tell them he escaped,” Rodgers went on. “He cannot say anything about you or Dhamballa. The rented Jeep won’t be traceable. Elements of the Spanish army will probably get the credit.”

  “They can have it,” Aideen said. She looked behind her. She thought she saw three stars moving slightly. They might be satellites. Or small planes.

  Or they could be helicopters.

  �
�You’ll have to find some other way out of the salt pan,” Rodgers said. “We’ll see what we can do from this end.”

  “We’ll figure something out,” Aideen said. “I’ll let you know what we’re doing.”

  “Good luck,” Rodgers said.

  Aideen hung up. She tapped Battat on the shoulder and told him to stop at once. He did. He also killed the engine and the lights. The world grew dark. The sound of the nocturnal insects was strangely threatening. Aideen looked behind her. The movement of the lights were the same as the single helicopter had been earlier. She listened.

  “What’s wrong?” Battat asked.

  “Do you hear that?” Aideen asked.

  “Cicadas,” Battat said.

  “No, from the sky,” Aideen said.

  The woman heard a faint drumming sound droning far, far away. It had to be coming from the lights. They had to be helicopters. They were about twenty minutes away.

  Quickly, Aideen explained the situation to the others. When she was done, she looked at Father Bradbury.

  “Will you do it?” she pressed. “Will you leave us and take the Jeep?”

  The priest looked at Dhamballa. “Will you swear to me on your gods that you had nothing to do with the death of my deacons?” Father Bradbury asked.

  “Killing is against my beliefs. It is contrary to the white arts,” Dhamballa replied. “I would never authorize such a thing.”

  “Then I will do what you ask,” Father Bradbury said, looking at Aideen.

  Aideen thanked him and got out of the Jeep. Dhamballa followed the woman out.

  “How are we going to make sure we aren’t killed ourselves?” Battat asked. “I was looking around as I drove. There were big eyes glowing behind foliage. A lot of them.”

  “I’ll make sure you are all right,” Dhamballa said.

  “How?” Battat asked.

  “Do you have a flashlight?” Dhamballa asked.

  “Yes,” Battat said.

  He pulled one from the glove compartment, switched it on, and handed it to Dhamballa.

  “We will use petrol,” the Vodun leader said.

  “For what?” Battat asked.

  While the others climbed from the Jeep, Dhamballa went to the back. He reached into the open storage compartment behind the full-size spare tire. He removed the three-gallon tank of gasoline and unscrewed the top.

  “Predators do not like the scent,” Dhamballa informed him. “It resembles rotting meat. If you put some under your arms and along the front of your thighs, all but the carrion feeders will move on. And they are cowardly. You will be able to scare them off.”

  Aideen came over. “By shouting and that sort of thing?” she asked.

  “Just so,” Dhamballa said. He went over to Battat. “You will only need a little under the arms and inside the thighs.”

  Battat pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He wadded it then allowed Dhamballa to splash on gasoline. He dabbed some where the Vodun leader had instructed. Aideen was next. She looked over at Maria, who was standing at the side of the Jeep.

  “Maria?” Aideen said.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Maria said. “We may not have to stay out here for very long. Dhamballa, what is the best-known landmark in this area? A village, a mountain, a river. Anything.”

  “We are about two miles from Wraith’s Point,” he told her. “It’s a dried geyser that whistles when the sun and temperature go down.”

  Maria asked for the phone, and Aideen gave it to her. While the Spanish woman placed a call, Father Bradbury moved behind the wheel of the Jeep. He made sure he knew where all the controls were located.

  Aideen stood behind the vehicle, watching the sky. The smell of the gasoline made Aideen dizzy. She breathed through her mouth to minimize the impact. The lights she had noticed before had doubled in size. The patting sound had grown louder. Aideen looked anxiously at Maria. She could not imagine what the woman was planning. Whatever it was, she hoped it happened very soon.

  Suddenly, Maria shut the phone and strode over. She took the can of gasoline from Dhamballa and poured fuel onto her palm.

  “We’d better get going,” Maria said as she rubbed the gas on. “Those are definitely helicopters.”

  “Who did you call?” Aideen asked.

  “The cavalry,” she replied. “Let’s go.”

  In Spain, Aideen had learned that it did not pay to try to pull information from Maria. Aideen would go along with this because they had no choice. Battat seemed too tired to argue. Nor was there time. They had to get away from the Jeep.

  Aideen turned to Dhamballa. “Which way do we go?” she asked.

  “To the southwest,” the Vodun leader said. “I will leave you with this,” he added and handed her the flashlight.

  “Leave us?” Aideen said. “Aren’t you coming?”

  “No,” he replied. “I go a different way.”

  “Where?” Maria asked.

  “To a new beginning,” he replied.

  “You need not do this,” Maria said. “I will tell them you did not kill the bishop.”

  “The bones have told me that someone betrayed us,” Dhamballa said. “I must find out who that is. And you must go!”

  “We will,” Maria said. “Be careful.”

  Dhamballa thanked her. Then he walked over to Father Bradbury. Aideen listened to the exchange as she, Maria, and Battat walked off.

  “I am sorry for all that has happened,” Dhamballa said.

  “The truly repentant are forgiven,” Father Bradbury replied.

  “I do not require forgiveness from you or anyone,” Dhamballa answered confidently. “But I will do things differently the next time.”

  “I hope you will,” the priest replied. “There is room for your faith and mine to coexist.”

  “Not here,” Dhamballa replied. “Not in Africa.”

  That was the last thing Dhamballa said before walking off in the blackness.

  Aideen heard the Jeep as Father Bradbury started the engine. She turned back as the headlights came on and the priest sped into the night. Soon, the Jeep engine was a faint buzz, its lights lost in the distance.

  The choppers sounded louder. They were nearly as loud as the locusts. Battat was looking toward the east as they walked.

  “We may have dodged a bullet,” Battat said. “The helicopters seem to be veering off.”

  Aideen looked over. Battat was right. She took a long, slow breath. Aideen had not realized how tense she was. Not until she felt the relief of seeing the helicopters following the Jeep.

  It was strange. The three of them had accomplished far more than they set out to do. Yet Aideen could not help but feel a sense of defeat.

  It was not just the blood that had been spilled. She could not shake the idea that something pure and fragile had been corrupted during these past few days. A vision. An idea. An ideal. Perhaps it was too old or too young to bear the weight that had been placed upon it. Maybe it had been polluted by politics and finance and having an army.

  She did not know. All she knew was that this was not a victory.

  For anyone.

  SIXTY-THREE

  Makgadikgadi Pan, Botswana Saturday, 3:19 A.M.

  Light.

  Throughout this long and troubling night, the danger had all been about light. The searchlights of the helicopters in the sky. The hungry eyes of predators behind the scrub. Finally, after a long trek, Maria and her group were endangered by the failure of light.

  The flashlight died nearly a half hour before Maria and the others reached the extinct geyser. Fortunately, Wraith’s Point was appropriately named. The group was still able to locate it. The site howled deep and hollow. It reminded Maria of a strong canyon wind in the Pyrenees. The sound came intermittently, every minute or so. It was caused as gases baked underground throughout the day rose through the channels just below the surface. The group simply followed the sound. With nothing to create an echo, it was relatively easy to track the howling. They stumb
led here and there over rocks and into gullies. But if there were any predators, Dhamballa’s solution kept them away.

  Aideen had asked Maria why they were going to the geyser. Maria told her. Aideen accepted the information without comment. Maria did not know whether the woman believed her. She did not know whether she believed it herself. Over the years, she had grown extremely skeptical about people and their promises. But cynicism did not mean having no hope. She had that.

  When the three reached the mound, they stepped around it single file. They moved carefully, feeling their way as they went. They determined that the geyser mound was approximately twenty feet around and three feet tall. Up close, the howling sounded like someone was blowing into a giant bottle. Maria was surprised to find that there was very little outgassing from the geyser. It was primarily an acoustic phenomenon.

  After rounding the geyser, the group sat. There was nothing else to do. Father Bradbury had been given the cell phone. By now, he was probably safe aboard the helicopter. Maria felt a great sense of accomplishment about that. But she also felt sadness for Dhamballa. He was a young man with a vision. Maybe he was too young to have carried this through. If his beliefs were as important to him as he said, he would be back.

  Maria also felt bad for Leon Seronga. She did not imagine that he had survived the night. Someone had to take the fall for the deaths of the deacons and the killing of the Unidad Especial del Despliegue. He would not want the Brush Vipers to take that hit. They were protecting their leader. Presumably, the soldiers would all return to the lives they were living before the Vodun movement began. She did not know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Sometimes nations benefited from a good shaking. Maria came from a country that had its own active, separatist movement. As long as the challenge did not degenerate into anarchy, she found the process, the questioning, to be a healthy one.