Tom Clancy - Op-Center 06 - Divide and Conquer

by Eikeltje

  panting, having trouble standing.

  "You've got enough time to catch up to him and take him out."

  "What about you?"

  "I'd only slow you down," he said. She hesitated. An hour ago, she had

  not wanted him to be part of this. Now she felt as if she was deserting

  him.

  "You're wasting time," Battat said. He gave her a gentle push and

  started toward the door.

  "Just go. I'll get to the stairwell and make my way back to the

  embassy.

  I'll see if I can do anything from there."

  "All right," she said, then turned and hurried toward the door.

  "He'll be armed!" Battat yelled after her.

  "Don't hesitate!" She acknowledged with a wave as she left the room. The

  hallway was filling with smoke. The few guests who had been in their

  rooms were filing into the hallway to see what was happening.

  Housekeeping staff and security personnel were beginning to arrive. They

  were helping everyone toward the stairwell. Odette told one of the

  security men that someone needed help in 312. Then she rushed ahead to

  the stairwell. In less than a minute, she was in the street. The

  parking lot was on the other side of the building. She ran toward it.

  The Harpooner was gone.

  Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 3:13 a.m.

  Paul Hood returned to the Cabinet Room and shut the door. He took a

  calming breath. The room smelled of coffee. He was glad. It covered

  the stink of treason. Then he took out his Palm Pilot, looked up a

  number, and went to the phone to enter it. This was not something that

  Hood wanted to do. It was something he had to do. It was the only way

  he could think of to prevent what was effectively shaping up as a coup

  d'etat. The phone was answered right after the second ring.

  "Hello?" said the voice on the other end.

  "Megan, it's Paul Hood."

  "Paul, where are you?" asked the First Lady.

  "I've been worried--"

  "I'm in the Cabinet Room," he said.

  "Megan, listen. Fenwick is definitely involved in a conspiracy of some

  kind. My feeling is that he. Gable, and whoever else is in this have

  been trying to gaslight the president."

  "Why would anyone want to make my husband think he's lost his mind?" she

  asked.

  "Because they've also set in motion a confrontation with Iran and Russia

  in the Caspian Sea," Hood told her.

  "If they can convince the president or the public that he's not equipped

  to handle the showdown, he'll have to resign. Then the new president

  will either escalate the war or, more likely, he'll end it. That will

  win him points with the people and with Iran. Maybe then we'll all

  divide up the oil wells that used to belong to Azerbaijan."

  "Paul, that's monstrous," Megan said.

  "Is the vice president involved with this?"

  "Possibly," Hood said.

  "And they expect to get away with it?"

  "Megan, they are very close to getting away with it," Hood informed her.

  "The Caspian situation is revving up, and they've moved the strategy

  sessions from the Oval Office to the Situation Room. I don't have

  security clearance to go down there."

  "I'll phone Michael on the private number and ask him to see you," Megan

  told him.

  "That won't be enough," Hood said.

  "I need you to do something else." Megan asked him what that was. Hood

  told her.

  "I'll do it," she said when he was finished.

  "Give me five minutes." Hood thanked her and hung up. What Hood had

  proposed was a potentially dangerous tactic for him and for the First

  Lady. And under the best of circumstances, it was not going to be

  pleasant. But it was necessary. Hood looked around the room. This was

  not like rescuing his daughter. That had been instinctive. He had to

  act if she were to survive. There had been no choice. This was

  different. Hood tried to imagine the decisions that had been made in

  this room over the centuries. Decisions about war, about depressions,

  about human rights, about foreign policy. Every one of them had

  affected history in some way, large or small. But more important than

  that, whether they were right or wrong, all of them had required a

  commitment. Someone had to believe they were making the proper

  decision. They had to risk anything from a career or national security

  to the lives of millions on that belief. Hood was about to do that. He

  was about to do both, in fact. But there was a proverb that used to

  hang in the high school classroom where Hood's father taught civics. It

  was appropriate now:

  "The first faults are theirs that commit them. The second theirs that

  permit them." As Hood turned and left the Cabinet Room, he did not feel

  the weight of the decision he made. Nor did he feel the danger it

  represented. He felt only the privilege of being able to serve his

  country.

  Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 11:15 a.m.

  It had been a long time since Maurice Charles had to make a sudden

  retreat from a safe site. It infuriated him to run from a place he had

  carefully prepared. But it infuriated him even more to run from anyone

  or anything. It did not even matter to him at the moment how someone had

  found out where he was. From their accents, the intruders were Russian

  and American. Perhaps Moscow and Washington had been tracking him

  without him knowing it. Perhaps he had slipped up somewhere. Or maybe

  one of his associates had made a mistake. But Charles did not believe

  the couple had been there by accident. For one thing, he had taken both

  of the keys to room 310 when he checked in. The front desk did not have

  a third key to give out. When the click of the bolt being opened woke

  him up, he knew something was not right. For another thing, Charles had

  watched the woman's feet, listened to her speak as she came in.

  Everything about her entrance was tentative. If she truly thought this

  were her room, she would have strode in and turned on the light. Women

  were always eager to prove things when they believed they were correct.

  Yet, as angry as Charles was, he refused to give in to his rage. The

  immediate task was to cover his tracks so he could get away. That meant

  eliminating the couple who had come to his room. He had not considered

  calling the assassins he had used the night before. He did not want it

  to be known that he had run into trouble. That would be bad for his

  reputation and bad for business. He had gotten a good look at the

  couple's feet and pants. That would be enough to identify them. He had

  his gun and his knife. They would not survive the morning Charles had

  walked halfway into the parking lot before turning around. If the couple

  were looking out a window to find him, he wanted them to see him. He

  wanted them to come rushing downstairs to stop him from getting away.

  That would make them easier to spot. It would also tell him whether or

  not they had backup. If they had called for help, cars or other

  personnel would converge on the parking lot within moments. If that did

  not happen, he could dispatch them and then get out of the city by train

  as he had planne
d. After giving the couple a chance to see him, Charles

  doubled back to the hotel. He entered by the side door, which led past

  a row of shops. There were fire sirens approaching the hotel but no

  police sirens. No other cars came speeding into the lot. That did not

  mean Charles was home free. But it did suggest that the man and woman

  had been acting without immediate backup near or on site. Losing

  himself in a crowd that was fleeing a fire should be easy. First,

  however, he had to finish his business with the intruders.

  Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 3:17 a.m.

  During the administration of Harry Truman, the White House was virtually

  gutted and rebuilt due to the weakened condition of its centuries-old

  wooden beams and interior walls. The Trumans moved across the street to

  Blair House and, from 1948 to 1952, new foundations were laid and the

  decaying wooden struts were replaced by steel girders. A basement was

  also excavated, ostensibly to provide more storage space. In fact, it

  was created to provide safe areas for the president and members of his

  staff and family in the event of nuclear attack. Over the years, the

  basement was secretly expanded to include offices, command headquarters,

  medical facilities, surveillance posts, and recreational areas. It is

  now comprised of four levels that go down over two hundred feet. All

  four basement levels are only accessible by a pair of elevators. These

  are located in both the East and West Wings. The West Wing elevator is

  located a short distance west of the president's private dining room, in

  a corner that is halfway between the Oval Office and the vice

  president's office. The carriage is small and wood paneled and holds

  six people comfortably. Access to the elevator is gained by thumbprint

  identification. There is a small green monitor to the right of the door

  for this purpose. Since the White House recreation areas are down

  there, all the members of the First Family have access to the elevator.

  Hood went to the vice president's office and waited outside. Because the

  vice president was at the White House, there was a secret service agent

  standing a little farther along the corridor. The vice president's

  office was close to the State Dining Room, where the original White

  House meets the newer, century-old West Wing. Hood was there less than a

  minute when Megan Lawrence arrived. The First Lady was dressed in a

  medium-length white skirt and a red blouse with a blue scarf. She was

  wearing very little makeup. Her fair skin made her silver hair seem

  darker. The secret service agent wished the First Lady a good morning as

  she passed. Megan smiled back at the young man and then continued on.

  She embraced Hood warmly.

  "Thank you for coming down," Hood said. Megan put her arm through his

  and turned toward the elevator. That gave her a reason to stand close

  to Hood and talk quietly. The secret service man was behind them.

  "How are you going to handle this?" she asked.

  "It's going to be a tough, uphill fight," Hood admitted.

  "Back in the Oval Office, the president was very focused. If your

  husband has had doubts about his ability to function, then what Fenwick

  and the others have given him is the perfect remedy. A crisis. They

  couldn't have planned it better. The president seemed to be putting a

  lot of trust in what Fenwick was telling him. He needed to. It was

  helping him get his confidence back."

  "So you said," the First Lady remarked.

  "And they're all lies."

  "I'm certain of it," Hood assured her.

  "The problem is, I don't have hard evidence."

  "Then what makes you so sure they are lies?" the First Lady asked.

  "I called Fenwick's bluff when we were alone in the Cabinet Room," Hood

  said.

  "I told him we had the terrorist who orchestrated the situation

  overseas. I told him the terrorist is going to tell us who he was

  working for. Meaning Fenwick. Fenwick told me I'll never get the

  information to the president." They reached the elevator. Megan gently

  put her thumb on the screen. There was a faint hum behind it.

  "Fenwick will deny he ever threatened you," she pointed out.

  "Of course he will," Hood said.

  "That's why I need you to get the president away from the meeting. Tell

  him you need to see him for five minutes. If I did that, Fenwick and

  his people would chew me up. But they'll be very reluctant to attack

  you. That would turn the president against them."

  "All right," Megan replied. The door slid open. The First Lady and

  Hood stepped in. She pressed button Sl--Sublevel One. The door closed,

  and the elevator began to move.

  "There's a guard downstairs," Megan said.

  "He's going to have to call ahead. I don't have access to the Situation

  Room."

  "I know," Hood replied.

  "Hopefully, someone other than Fenwick or Gable will answer the phone."

  "What if I can only get my husband alone? Just the two of us," Megan

  asked.

  "I get his attention. Then what?"

  "Tell him what you've noticed over the past few weeks," Hood said.

  "Talk to him honestly about what we're afraid of, that Fenwick has been

  manipulating him. Buy me time, even if it's only two or three hours.

  I need that to get the evidence to stop a war." The elevator stopped.

  The door opened. Outside was a brightly lit corridor. The walls were

  white and lined with paintings of American military officers and famous

  battles from the Revolution to the present. The Situation Room was

  located at the end of the corridor behind two black double doors.

  A young, blond, fresh-faced marine guard was seated at a desk to the

  right of the elevator. There was a telephone, a computer, and a lamp on

  the desk. On a metal stand to his left were several security monitors.

  The guard rose and looked from Hood to Megan.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Lawrence," he said.

  "Up kind of early for a swim," he added with a smile.

  "Up kind of late. Corporal Cain," she smiled back.

  "This is my guest, Mr. Hood. And I'm not going for a swim."

  "I didn't think so, ma'am," he replied. The guard's eyes shifted to

  Hood.

  "Good morning, sir."

  "Good morning," Hood said.

  "Corporal, would you please phone the president?" Megan said.

  "Tell him I need to speak with him. Privately, in person."

  "Certainly," the guard said. Cain sat and picked up the phone. He

  punched in the extension of the Situation Room. Hood did not often pray,

  but he found himself praying that someone other than one of Fenwick's

  people was there to answer the phone.

  A moment later, the guard said, "The First Lady is here to see the

  president." The guard fell silent then. Hood and Megan stood still in

  the quiet corridor. The only sound was a high faint whine that came

  from the security monitors. After a moment, the guard looked up.

  "No, sir," he said.

  "She's with a gentleman. A Mr. Hood." The guard fell silent again.

  That wasn't a good sign. Only one of Fenwick's people would have

  thought to ask that question. After several seconds the guard said, />
  "Yes, sir," and hung up. He rose and looked at the First Lady.

  "I'm sorry, ma'am. I've been told that the meeting can't be

  interrupted."

  "Told by whom?" she asked.

  "Mr. Gable, ma'am."

  "Mr. Gable is trying to keep Mr. Hood from delivering an important

  message to the president," Megan said.

  "A message that may prevent a war. I need to see my husband."

  "Corporal," Hood said.

  "You're a military man. You don't have to take orders from a civilian.

  I'm going to ask you to place the call again. Ask to speak to an

  officer, and repeat the First Lady's message."

  "If Mr. Gable gives you trouble, I will take responsibility," Megan

  said. Corporal Cain hesitated, but only for a moment. He picked up the

  phone and remained standing as he punched in the extension.

  "Mr. Gable?" he said.

  "I would like to speak with General Burg." General Otis Burg was the

  chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

  "No, sir," Cain said after a moment.

  "This is a military matter, sir. A security issue." There was another

  pause. Hood tasted something tart in the back of his throat. He

  realized, after a moment, that it was blood. He was biting his tongue.

  He relaxed.