Acts of War oc-4

by Tom Clancy

  "She is," said Rodgers. "At the police department there."

  "There are mountainous regions between us and Gazi Antep," Hasan said disdainfully. "Your telephone would not have gotten through them. The only flat lands are to the southeast."

  "This has a satellite uplink," Rodgers lied. "It goes over mountains."

  The man behind Colonel Seden said something in Arabic. Hasan nodded.

  "He says you're a liar," Hasan hissed. "This 'uplink' requires a plate a dish. We do not have time for this. We need to get to the Bekka Valley."

  The Arab turned angrily back to Colonel Seden. The officer was more alert than before and breathing heavily from his ordeal. Hasan knelt beside him again and flicked on the lighter. Rodgers could see the Turk's expression in the light of the flame. It was defiant, God bless him.

  Hasan asked Seden something in Turkish. The colonel didn't answer. Hasan jammed a handkerchief in his mouth, grabbed a handful of the officer's hair to hold his head steady, then put the flame under Seden's nose. The colonel kicked roughly at the ground, his cries muffled by the handkerchief. This time, Hasan didn't remove the flame. Seden's screams rose higher and he writhed violently to try and get away.

  Hasan shut the flame. He removed the handkerchief from Seden's mouth. He spoke closely into Seden's ear. The colonel was panting, his legs and arms trembling. Rodgers could tell from his condition that Hasan was about to "get inside" him. That was the point in torture when the pain and not the mind was in control of the body. The will had been broken and the conscious mind was only concerned with preventing further pain.

  Hasan put the handkerchief back in the colonel's mouth. He moved the lighter toward Seden's left eyebrow. Seden shut his eye, but Rodgers knew that wouldn't help.

  The flame burned the hair of his eyebrow and crept up along his forehead. Seden was about to break. Rodgers didn't want him to have to live with that guilt — if either of them survived.

  "Stop!" Rodgers said. "I'll work with you."

  Hasan removed the flame. He let go of Seden's hair. The Turk folded forward at the waist.

  "What do you want?" Rodgers asked. It was time to change tactics. He would stop stonewalling and try to compromise and disinform.

  "At first, General, we wanted you to come as our hostages," Hasan said. "But now we want something else."

  Rodgers didn't have to ask what. "I will help you hide or leave the country," Rodgers said. "But I won't take you to my camp."

  "We know this land. We can find it without you," Hasan said confidently. "But we will not need to. Your people must have vehicles where they are. You are going to tell them to come and get you."

  "I don't think so," Rodgers replied.

  Hasan walked toward the general. "If Mahmoud and I approach your camp in the dark with the colonel's motorcycle, wearing what is left of your clothes, do you think we will be stopped?"

  "My people will challenge you, yes."

  "But not before we get very close with our weapons. And they will hesitate before firing," Hasan said. "We will not hesitate. We cannot."

  Rodgers extrapolated quickly. Firebrand Private Pupshaw might not hesitate to open fire at the bike, but Private DeVonne might. And if Phil Katzen, Lowell Coffey, or Mary Rose Mohalley were taking the watch tonight, they might not even be armed. Rodgers couldn't justify the almost certain loss of life, especially if these men ended up taking the ROC anyway.

  "What guarantee have I that you won't kill the colonel and me after I place the call?" Rodgers asked.

  "We could have killed you already," Hasan replied. "We could have telephoned your camp, said we found you bleeding and unconscious. They would have come for you. No, General. The fewer deaths, the better."

  "The more hostages the better, you mean."

  "God is compassionate and merciful," Hasan said. "If you cooperate, then we will follow His example."

  "Your flood killed innocent people as well as believers," Rodgers said. "Where was your mercy then?"

  "The believers have gone to the High Pavilions of the Lord," Hasan replied. "The others were content to dwell in our stolen homeland. They are victims of their own greed."

  "Not their greed," Rodgers said. "The greed of generations long dead."

  "Nonetheless," said Hasan, "if they continue to live there, they will continue to die."

  Mahmoud spoke impatiently to Hasan, who nodded.

  "Mahmoud is correct," Hasan said to Rodgers. "We have talked enough. It is time to telephone." He opened the phone and handed it to Rodgers. "Press only the redial button. And don't try and warn them. It will only lead to bloodshed."

  Rodgers looked at the phone. The thought of giving ground offended him utterly. His heart told him to crush the damn thing and be done with these three. He asked himself, What will your people think if you surrender for them? If you don't give them the chance to fight or withdraw on their own? But this wasn't a question of them not having a choice. By resisting he sentenced those people to death. By surrendering for now, he might be able to negotiate the release of some of the team or disable the ROC's key technologies. At least that was something.

  Rodgers hesitated as he swallowed the bile of self-reproach.

  "Quickly!" said Hasan.

  Rodgers looked at the phone. He reached down slowly and touched redial. He raised the telephone to his ear, and Hasan leaned close to listen.

  As he did, Rodgers knew that everything he'd just told himself was nonsense. No one was going to hand him a telephone and order him to lead his countrymen into an ambush.

  FIFTEEN

  Monday, 6:58 p.m.,

  Sanliurfa, Turkey

  Lowell Coffey II was dozing in the driver's seat of the ROC when the phone rang. He awoke with a jolt, fumbled with the phone for a moment before finding the right button to push, then answered.

  "This is the mobile archaeological research center," he said.

  "Benedict, it's Carlton Kuhnigit."

  Lowell wasn't fully awake. But he was awake enough to recognize Mike Rodgers's voice and to know that his own name wasn't Benedict. In fact, the only Benedict he knew of was Benedict Arnold the traitor, who'd plotted to surrender West Point to the British during the American Revolution. Since Mike Rodgers had zero sense of humor, there had to be a reason he'd referred to him as Benedict. There also had to be a reason that Rodgers had intentionally mispronounced the name of his Carlton Knight pseudonym.

  All of this the attorney considered in the instant it took him to reply with a jaunty, "Hi there, Mr. Kuhnigit." At the same time Coffey pressed the record button on the top of the phone cradle. Then he opened the driver's side window and snapped his fingers. Phil Katzen and Mary Rose were eating a chicken they'd bought in the market that morning and had cooked over a campfire. Coffey pointed to them and indicated that they should come in quickly but quietly. They put their paper plates down and hurried over. "How are things going?" Coffey asked.

  "Not so well," Rodgers said. "Benny, the colonel and I had this damn accident out here."

  "Are you okay?"

  "More or less," Rodgers said. "But I want you to tell Captain John Hawkins to pack up and get out here as soon as possible."

  Katzen and Mary Rose rushed in.

  "I'll tell Captain John Hawkins to do that," Coffey replied. The attorney looked at Mary Rose. He pointed to the computer and wriggled his fingers as though he were typing.

  Mary Rose gave him a thumbs-up "got-it" and sat down at the keyboard. She typed in the name.

  "Where are you?" Coffey asked. Not that he needed Rodgers to tell him. Coffey would let Mary Rose and the ROC do that. But he wanted to give Rodgers the opportunity to talk, to pass along any other information.

  "Have you got map Three P-as-in-perps handy?" Rodgers asked.

  "Right here," Coffey said. "Just let me open it up." His mind was speeding. Someone who understood English was obviously listening in, but not someone who spoke colloquial English or knew American history. Otherwise, that person would hav
e known that perps meant perpetrators. The person also would have known who Benedict Arnold was.

  So what's he saying? Coffey asked himself. Was Benedict Arnold Colonel Seden? Or did Mike mean that he was being forced to betray the ROC? In any case, there was treason afoot and three people were holding him.

  "Ready with the map," Coffey lied.

  "Okay," Rodgers said. "We're off the road about a quarter mile after the dirt road begins. There's a hill on the east side of the first rise. See it?"

  "Sure do," Coffey replied.

  "I'll be waiting for you there."

  "You need any medical supplies?" Coffey asked.

  "Just a couple of bandages. Also a shot of whiskey for the colonel. I think you better hurry, okay?"

  Coffey knew that Rodgers didn't drink. He was guessing that someone had been shot. "I understand, Carlton. We'll be there ASAP." Coffey hesitated. "Are you sure you'll be all right until we get there?"

  "I think I'll live, Benny," Rodgers replied.

  Coffey hung up and walked toward Katzen. "Okay," he said gravely, "what I got from this is that Mike and the colonel have been caught by three people. They don't speak English very well. Apparently they read his Canton Knight ID and called him Kuhnigit. Sounds like Seden was shot and Mike was forced to call us. And since Mike isn't a swearing man, I'm guessing he mentioned the 'damn' accident for a very specific reason reason."

  "Like he stumbled on the guys who blew up the Ataturk," said Katzen, who was standing behind Mary Rose.

  "Or they stumbled upon him," Coffey said.

  "Here," Mary Rose said. "Captain John Hawkins. According to the database, Hawkins was an English sailor who was ambushed by the Spanish in Vera Cruz in 1568."

  Katzen shook his head slowly. "Only Mike Rodgers would know something like that."

  Coffey had slipped into Mike Rodgers's seat. He called Op-Center on the secure line built into the computer. "Mary Rose," he said, "Mike told me he's about a quarter mile up the dirt road. Can we get a closer look at that?"

  "Right away," she said. It took just over a second to bring up a map of the region. "They were going across the desert to the plains, which puts them right here." She zeroed in on the region where the road began. "Do you have any other information?"

  "Yes," Coffey said. "He said that they were at a hill on the east side of the first rise."

  "I see it," she said. She called up the computer-simulated relief map. "That's north-south coordinate E, east-west coordinate H. I'll contact the NRO. See if they can get us visuals."

  "I'm going to brief Privates Pupshaw and DeVonne in case we have to move out," Katzen said.

  Coffey nodded as the seal of the National Crisis Management Center appeared on the screen — the organization's formal name, though no one at Op-Center ever used it. He typed in his personal access code, and a menu appeared offering all the different departments. Coffey selected Office of the Director. A prompt appeared asking him to input the full name of the person with whom he wished to speak, surname first. This procedure helped to screen crank calls from hackers who managed to get this far into the program.

  Hood, Paul David

  A computerized voice told him to wait a moment. Almost at once, Bugs Benet's face filled the screen.

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Coffey," Benet said.

  "Bugs, we've got a major situation here," Coffey said. "I need to talk to Paul."

  "I'll tell him," Benet said.

  Hood was on the secure digital uplink within seconds. "Lowell, what's up?" he asked.

  "Paul, we just heard from Mike out in the field," Coffey said. "From the sound of things, he found the terrorists he was searching for. And it looks like they've got him and the TSF colonel as their prisoners."

  "Hold on," Hood said. His expression darkened and his voice had dropped considerably. "Let me bring Bob Herbert in on this."

  A few seconds later the screen split down the middle. Hood was on the left side, Herbert on the right. The intelligence chief's thinning hair was disheveled. He looked even grimmer than Hood.

  "Talk to me, Lowell," Herbert said. "Do you have any idea what these bastards want?"

  "Not a clue," Coffey said. "All we're supposed to do is go out there and get Mike and the TSF officer who went with him."

  "Out where?" Herbert asked.

  "Into the plains," Coffey said.

  "Now?" Herbert asked.

  "Immediately," Coffey replied. "Mike was pretty explicit about us leaving at once."

  "Meaning the guys who are holding them must need a lift out of the area," Herbert said, "possibly out of the country. Maybe that chopper they had was too hot to keep flying."

  "Where are they located?" Hood asked.

  "About a ninety-minute drive north of here," Coffey said. "Mary Rose is in touch with the NRO to try and get some precise visuals."

  "Did Mike put a time limit on how long it should take you to get there?" Herbert asked.

  "No," Coffey said.

  "Did the captives make any other demands?" Hood asked. "Do you have to bring the ROC?"

  "No," Coffey said.

  "Is there any indication that they even know about the ROC?" Herbert asked.

  "None," said Coffey.

  "At least that's something," Hood said.

  "Excuse me," Mary Rose said, turning around. "Stephen Viens says he can give us an infrared photo in about two or three minutes. He's still got the 30-45-3 in the neighborhood."

  "Bless him," Coffey said. "Paul, Bob, did you hear that?"

  "I heard," said Hood.

  "Lowell, did Mike say anything else?" Herbert asked.

  "Not much," said Coffey. "He didn't seem to be in pain or under duress. He passed all the information along calmly, using oblique references to Benedict Arnold and some old English sea captain who we found out was ambushed. It was clear he was trying to tell us that he was being forced to say what he was saying and that we'd better watch out."

  "These jerks'll want hostages," Herbert said. "If we don't fire, chances are they won't either."

  "Are you saying that we should give them a ride?" Hood asked.

  "I'm just giving you the facts," Herbert said. "If it were up to me I'd shoot the bastards dead. Fortunately, it isn't up to me."

  "Are Privates Pupshaw and DeVonne ready to go out?" Hood asked.

  "'They were eating when the call came in," Coffey said. "Phil is briefing them now. What do we do about the Turkish government? The TSF will be calling when their man doesn't check in."

  "You negotiated our way in there," Hood said. "What are we obliged to tell them?"

  "Depends what we decide to do," Coffey said. "If we start shooting we'll be in violation of about twenty different international codes. If we kill anyone, we're in deep doo. If it's a Turk, we're in very deep doo."

  "What if we shoot the terrorists who blew up the dam?" Hood asked.

  "If we can prove it, and let the TSF share credit, then we'll probably be heroes," Coffey said.

  "I'll have Martha get in touch with them," Hood said. "She can brief them and ask them to lay low."

  "Lowell," Herbert said, "Mike didn't promise them a certain kind of transportation."

  "Not as far as I know."

  "Which means if you go out there with the ROC," Herbert continued, "we can follow you even if we don't have satellite imaging. I can listen in through the computer."

  "Negative," said Katzen. "I think Mary Rose should lobotomize the hardware."

  "I disagree," Herbert said. "That'll leave you defense—"

  "Picture about to come in!" Mary Rose said. "NRO should be downloading it to you as well, Paul."

  In exactly.8955 seconds, the monitors filled with the same green-tinted photograph showing the site described by Rodgers. Op-Center and the ROC were still voice-linked.

  "There they are," Herbert said.

  Rodgers was sitting against the motorcycle. It looked as if his hands were tied to the handlebars. His feet were so bound. The TSF officer was ly
ing on his belly, his hands lashed behind him. A third man was sitting on the side of the hill, smoking. There was a submachine gun in his lap.

  "They're still alive," Hood said. "Thank God for that."

  Katzen, Private Pupshaw, and Private DeVonne entered then. They stood between the two stations and had a look at the photograph.

  Coffey leaned toward the screen. "I only see three people."

  "Maybe Mike meant that there were only three people altogether," Hood suggested.

  "No," Coffey said. "He told me there were three perps. I can play back the tape if you want, but that's what he said."

  "The other two could be out on stakeout," Herbert said. "It would make sense for them to have gone ahead and see who comes in. Make sure Mike didn't send for the cavalry or something."

  "Even if they're out watching the road," Hood said, "we've got two Strikers they may not know about. If the captors think that Mike was a run-of-the-mill spook, they may not expect an armed escort to come for him. Especially one that knows exactly what they're riding into."

  "Which brings us back to whether you take the ROC," Herbert said. "I still think you should leave everything active. Paul?"

  Hood thought for a moment. "Phil, you're against it."

  "If anything happens to us, we'd be giving them the key to the candy store," Katzen said.

  "Lowell?" Hood asked.

  "Legally, Paul, we might have problems," Coffey said. "Our geographical playing field was pretty carefully delineated to both the Turks and Congress."

  "Jesus!" Herbert yelled. "Mike's being held hostage and you're talking about our legal limitations!"

  "There's something else," Katzen said. "The Strikers. If someone's watching the van, they may see them. If we dismantle some of the equipment, we can hide them in the battery compartment."

  "The battery compartment," Herbert said. "Privates, how do you feel about that?"

  "I like it, sir," Pupshaw said. "We go in completely unseen."

  Hood asked if everyone was finished with the photograph. They were. He had the face-to-face visuals restored.

  "Okay," Hood said. "We go in and we take the lobotomized ROC. Who runs the operation?"