by Alex Lukeman
Nick signaled with his fingers. Three. Two. One.
They stepped into the open. The ballroom was on the left. Tall double doors opening onto the room were thrown wide. Nick saw the Chancery through the ruined back wall. A gentle, tropical breeze came through the broken windows, smelling of honeysuckle and bougainvillea and the salt water of the bay.
One of the terrorists was prodding an American man with his rifle toward a video camera set up on a tripod. A terrorist waited in front of a black banner hung on the wall, pistol in hand. Hostages huddled on the floor by the ruins of the back wall. Nick recognized the ambassador.
The foyer and entrance to the embassy were to the right. Two men stood by the doors. One of them saw Nick and the others. He raised his rifle and shouted.
Ronnie cut loose with his AK and shot him.
Nick fired and killed the other. He heard the distinctive sound of the sniper rifle Lamont carried. The heavy bullet struck one of the terrorists in the ballroom and sent him flying sideways. The man by the camera raised his pistol and let off three quick shots.
Everyone began firing at once.
One of the hostages screamed. The air filled with death, dozens of rounds whining through the air. Selena was yelling, her AK bucking in her hands. Ronnie pivoted toward the ballroom and a burst of automatic fire struck him. He cried out. Blood sprayed into the air. He fell back onto the floor. The rifle flew from his hand.
"Ronnie!" Nick yelled.
He ran forward, firing at the man who'd shot Ronnie as he went. The rifle recoiled twice in his hand, then the bolt locked back. Empty. The man with the pistol ran for the detonator next to the wall. Nick saw him reach down.
There was time for Nick to think I should have shot him first before the world disappeared in a violent burst of sound and light. The shock wave lifted him up and tossed him through the air. He hit the floor, hard. Light and sound faded.
Selena's voice sounded from far away, as if she were at the end of a long tunnel.
"Nick. Nick. Come on, look at me."
He opened his eyes. Dull pain radiated through his body. The air was filled with clouds of smoke and dust. Selena knelt at his side. A Marine medic leaned over him.
"Take it easy," the medic said. "You got hit with debris and you've got a concussion. You're going to be banged up and sore but you'll be okay. Lie there and I'll be back."
He got up and walked away.
"Stay awake," Selena said.
He had a terrible headache. He tried to remember what had happened. Then he had it.
"Ronnie. He got hit."
"He's still alive but it's bad," she said. "The ambassador and most of the hostages are dead. Lamont is okay. So am I."
"What about the terrorists?"
"All dead."
"I screwed up," Nick said. "I should've figured out another way to go after them."
"There wasn't any other way. There was no way to stop them from killing more people without exposing ourselves. It's not your fault."
Nick could feel himself drifting away. He gripped her hand.
"I screwed up," he said again. Then he slipped into black, churning nothingness.
CHAPTER 26
Nick lay between crisp, white sheets in a hospital bed on Clark Air Force Base. His body was covered with bruises. He had a relentless headache that sent spots dancing before his eyes. His old wounds ached with dull, throbbing pain that clawed deep into his body.
Pointless. The word echoed in his mind.
The embassy was in ruins. Most of the hostages were dead. The American ambassador was dead. All of the terrorists were dead. Ronnie was fighting for his life. And for what? What had any of it accomplished?
He'd gone over what had happened again and again. Each time he came to the same conclusion, but it didn't help. There was nothing else he could have done. There wasn't any other way to get to that ballroom. There wasn't any way to rescue the hostages without getting in a firefight. It felt as though a relentless, dark force had wrapped itself around him like a cloud.
You should have shot the man with the pistol first. It's your fault.
He told himself the feeling would pass, that in a day or two things would seem almost normal.
It wasn't the first time he'd told himself that. It was a familiar, inner lie.
Pointless.
He'd spent his adult life telling himself that what he did had a purpose. That it made a difference. He'd taken an oath to defend his country. He'd honored that oath, even when there were times it seemed to him his country was wrong. It was a matter of integrity, of honor. Now it had all brought him here, to a hospital bed far from home.
He'd been lying in a hospital bed when Harker offered him a job with the Project. He'd thought it would be different. A new start. A better way to serve his country. But it was the same old story. It was like the game where you hit a target with a hammer and a new one popped up on another part of the board. There was always another target to hit. No matter what he did, no matter where he went, there was always another enemy ready to take the place of the last one. There would always be another enemy. It was a war he could never win.
Selena came into the room.
"Hey." She pulled up a chair next to his bed.
"Hey. How are you doing?"
"I'm the one that's supposed to ask that," she said. "So, how are you doing?"
"I've got a hell of a headache. I get dizzy if I stand up too fast." He looked away for a moment then turned back. "I keep thinking about Ronnie."
"I know. I do, too."
"I don't know if I can keep doing this," Nick said. "I used to think I was fighting for something that had meaning. I don't think like that now."
"Because of Ronnie?"
"It's more than that. What we do seems meaningless. I don't know what I'm fighting for anymore."
Selena heard a note in his voice she'd never heard before. It made her uneasy. Nick was one of the most confident men she had ever known, but he didn't sound that way now. She chose her words with care.
"I've thought about this a lot," she said. "What we're fighting for. I think it's what Lincoln called increased devotion."
"What do you mean, increased devotion?"
"It's what Lincoln said at Gettysburg. I don't remember the exact words, but he was talking about the men who'd died on the battlefield and about taking increased devotion to the cause they died for. He said that they didn't die for the North or the South but for the idea of freedom. So the nation wouldn't perish."
Nick was silent. Then he said, "I'm not so sure what happened in the embassy was about freedom."
"What else would you call it? Abu Sayyaf and the other extremist groups hate the whole idea of freedom. They're the enemy of freedom. I'd say stopping them and everyone just like them is a job with plenty of meaning."
"Christ, Selena. Next thing you're going to tell me is that somebody has to do it."
Suddenly she was angry. She stood up. "That's right, somebody has to do it. You're angry about Ronnie, I get that, but don't you dare tell me that what we do has no meaning."
She stalked from the room.
CHAPTER 27
The private terminal at Geneva International Airport was reserved for the kinds of people who could afford private jets and who demanded discretion and privacy. Switzerland had a high regard for those who required such services. Entry into the country was made as painless as possible for men like Krivi. Formalities like passport control were cursory and courteous. A customs officer met Krivi at the foot of the steps as he descended from his Gulfstream. He saluted and stamped Krivi's passport. The blacktop pavement under the plane glistened from an afternoon shower that had left shallow puddles of water reflecting the pure blue of the Swiss sky.
A liveried chauffeur and a black Mercedes limousine waited nearby. The chauffeur took Krivi's bag and held the door open. Johannes Gutenberg greeted Krivi from the back seat.
"My friend, welcome."
"Hello, Johann
es."
The limo pulled away. Gutenberg pressed a button and a smoked partition of thick glass slid up behind the driver. The interior of the car smelled of leather and a hint of Gutenberg's expensive cologne. Krivi settled back in the comfortable seat. He was tired after the flight. As much as he hated to admit it, he was beginning to feel his age.
Gutenberg said, "Things seem to be going well."
"In general, yes. The Americans are incensed. It won't be long before they find convincing evidence that Pakistan was behind the attack. Rao has done a good job of misdirection. There is an unexpected complication, however."
"Oh?"
"There is always an unexpected complication," Krivi said. "There were members of the American Project at the embassy. They almost succeeded in stopping the attack."
In the past, the Project had created real trouble for the organization. The fact that there were now seven board members instead of nine was a direct result of their interference.
"They can't know anything," Gutenberg said.
"No. Even so, it would be unwise to ignore them."
"What action do you suggest?"
"Nothing at the moment. If we go after them now, it will only draw attention. Besides, it may not be necessary. If it becomes necessary we'll eliminate them."
"Perhaps Secretary Rao may prove useful in that respect," Gutenberg said.
For a few moments the men were quiet, watching the streets of Geneva pass by. They took the road along the Rhone. The city began to give way to the countryside. Gutenberg's chalet was several miles outside of the city limits.
Gutenberg broke the silence. "Rao still thinks you represent some Hindu society?"
Krivi nodded. "The Eye of Shiva," he said. "In Hindu mythology, Shiva's third eye has the power to shatter the unrighteous with divine fire. Rao is obsessed with the concept. He hopes for the return of a jewel stolen centuries ago that formed the eye of an idol. It fits his longing for revenge."
"Speaking of divine fire, have you approached him yet?"
"About the missiles? Not yet, but I am sure there won't be a problem. His hatred of Pakistan runs deep. He sees me as his benefactor. The drugs I've given him make him grateful to me. They also make him susceptible to ideas that fulfill his need for revenge."
"When do you plan to approach him?"
"I'm flying back to India tomorrow, after our meeting. One of Kamarov's subsidiaries in Mumbai makes the control systems and guidance modules for the Agni III missiles. He's bringing a card to the meeting programmed with the launch and targeting codes. It will be a simple matter for Rao to insert the card on site and launch. He'll think the missile is going to hit Islamabad."
"But it won't, will it?"
"No," Krivi said. "The target is Chengdu. The Bank of China has located the majority of their servers there, as well as their gold reserves. Destruction of the city will cripple China's financial system."
The car slowed for an ornate iron gate set in a high, stone wall. The gate swung open as they approached and they turned onto a curved drive paved with gray flagstones. The drive ended at a circular courtyard in front of an elegant 18th century chalet. The mansion sat on a spit of land jutting out into the River Rhone. A fountain in the courtyard rained a constant spray of water on laughing nymphs frolicking with Pan.
A crest carved in stone marked the wall above the entrance to the chalet. It showed a central, radiant eye against the background of a nine-pointed star. A Latin inscription encircled the eye in raised letters.
AETERNA EST ORDO NOVUS
For an observer who understood Latin, the meaning was clear.
THE NEW ORDER IS FOREVER
Both Krivi and Gutenberg wore identical gold rings that repeated the motif. A tall, blond woman waved at them from the open door of the chalet as they got out of the limousine.
"Marta is looking forward to your visit," Gutenberg said. "She had the chef prepare a special meal for us tonight."
"Are the others here yet?"
"Hugh de Guillame flew in this afternoon from Paris. Thorvaldson and Halifax arrived this morning. Mitchell's flight from Washington was delayed but he should get here later tonight. I'm afraid he'll miss dinner."
"Kamarov?"
"Delayed in Moscow. He should get here after dessert."
"It's been quite a while since we all met face to face," Krivi said. "I'm looking forward to it."
"I thought it best," Gutenberg said. "We're entering a critical phase of our plans. Being together in the same room brings out thinking you can't get in a teleconference."
"That's true," Krivi said. "I confess I'm not looking forward to Kamarov's bad digestion."
"That man releases enough gas to float the Hindenburg," Gutenberg said.
Krivi laughed. The two men went into the chateau.
CHAPTER 28
Four days after the attack on the embassy, the Project team assembled in Harker's office. Sunlight streaming through the windows couldn't dispel the feeling in the room. Ronnie had been transferred back to the states and was in the intensive care unit at Bethesda. His absence hung over all of them. Even the cat knew something was wrong. Burps kept going from room the room looking for him.
A folder with an intelligence update from NSA lay on Elizabeth's desk. It put a different spin on Manila. She looked at Selena and Ronnie and Nick and paused, searching for the right words.
"Ronnie getting hit is a blow to all of us but we have to stay focused. This isn't over yet. Before we're done we may get a chance for payback."
Nick looked as though he hadn't slept for a week. There were dark shadows under his eyes. His lips were compressed in a thin line.
"What kind of payback?" he said.
She tapped the folder on her desk. "NSA thinks the attack on the embassy was more than just an Abu Sayyaf operation. So do I."
"What do you mean, more?" Lamont asked.
"Abu Sayyaf had help from ISOK."
"You mean weapons?" Selena asked. "We already knew ISOK was giving them money."
"That's another issue. We'll talk about that later," Elizabeth said. "This report says it was ISOK behind the embassy seizure all along. They planned the attack, using Abu Sayyaf as a surrogate."
"What's the Intel that backs that up?" Lamont said.
"Three cell phone calls between Abdul Afridi, the leader of ISOK and Omar Madid, the terrorist who led the attack and shot the hostages."
Selena picked a bit of lint off her skirt. "That doesn't make sense. ISOK wants India out of Kashmir, that's their focus. Why attack our embassy in the Philippines?"
"Are they allied with Al Qaeda?" Lamont asked. "That might explain it."
Elizabeth said, "I don't think this has anything to do with Al Qaeda."
"What's Rice going to do?" Selena asked.
"He hasn't decided yet. I've never known him to be this angry. Ambassador Cathwaite was a personal friend of his. I talked with him yesterday. What complicates things is Pakistan."
"Pakistan?" Nick said. "How do they come into it?"
Elizabeth picked up her pen and set it down again. She was trying to break her habit of tapping it on the desktop.
"ISOK wouldn't attack us without permission from Islamabad. If they planned it, it means Pakistan has declared a covert war on us."
"Not much new about that," Lamont said. "They've been lying to us and helping our enemies for years."
"Yes, but we ignored it because we wanted access through their border with Afghanistan. This is different. Politically, it's a perfect storm. The media, Congress and everyone else wants to know who's responsible. Everyone is calling for retaliation. Suppose it gets out that Pakistan used a proxy to blow up our embassy and kill one of our ambassadors? It could trigger a war. If a war starts, it would end up involving the entire Muslim world."
"You said if it's true. That ISOK is behind the attack," Nick said. "Does that mean you have doubts?"
"Something about this doesn't feel right," Elizabeth said, "even though w
e know ISOK is in bed with Abu Sayyaf."
"So where does the doubt come in?" Lamont asked.
"Like Selena said, it doesn't make sense. Why would Pakistan tell ISOK to help Abu Sayyaf attack our embassy? It doesn't get them anything except trouble. It's a major incident that guarantees retaliation when we find out Islamabad is behind it."
"Abu Sayyaf wanted their prisoners released," Nick said. "It could be Pakistan has nothing to do with it."
"The cell phone intercepts between ISOK and Omar Madid are damning," Elizabeth said. "It's the classic smoking gun. The calls leave no doubt that the attack is being carried out in return for ISOK providing funds for their so-called Islamic revolution."
"That seems clear enough," Selena said.
"That's the problem. It's too clear, too pat. ISOK and Abu Sayyaf have been around a long time. They aren't amateurs in the terrorist game. Both have years of experience avoiding detection by our surveillance. They practice strict communication discipline and they're good at it. They don't use cell phones that can be tracked. Then all of a sudden we find these convenient intercepts and a trail a mile wide pointing straight back to ISOK and Islamabad."
"You think it's a set up." Selena sat up straighter in her chair.
"My intuition says yes, it's a set up. Someone wants us to think ISOK and Pakistan are behind the attack. I think the calls are fake."
Elizabeth's intuition was one of her major strengths. She was seldom wrong. It was eerily accurate, almost a sixth sense. When it kicked in she'd feel an electric tingling all over her skin. She'd learned long ago to pay attention when she had that feeling. She had it now.
"Who would have the resources to fake those calls and not get caught?" Lamont asked.
"That's the magic word, Lamont. Resources. It takes a lot of sophistication to set up an operation like this."
"Qui bono?" Selena said. "Who benefits?"
"Someone who doesn't like Pakistan," Nick said.