Committee pretty much on her own. But
Op-Center's attorney Lowell Coffey knew
his way around the group and would give Plummer an
assist as needed.
"Is there anything else?" Hood asked.
The men shook their heads. Hood thanked them and they
agreed to meet again at six-thirty, just before the
BALANCE OF POWER 155
night shift came on. Though the day team officially
remained in charge as long as they were on the
premises, the presence of the backups allowed them
to get rest if the situation dragged on through the night.
Until things stabilized or got so far out of
control that crisis management gave way to open
war. Hood felt it was his duty to be onsite.
My duty,
he thought. Everyone had a different idea about what
duty was and to whom allegiance was owed. To Hood, the
bottom line was that he owed it to his country. He'd
felt that way ever since he first watched Davy
Crockett die at the Alamo on a Walt
Disney TV show. He'd felt that when he watched
the astronauts fly into space on TV during
Project Mercury, Project Gemini, and
Project Apollo. Without that kind of devotion and
sacrifice there was no nation. And without a safe and
prosperous nation the kids had no future.
The trick was not so much convincing Sharon of that. She was
a smart, smart lady. The trick was convincing her that
his sacrifice mattered.
He couldn't let it rest. Against his better judgment
Hood picked up the phone and called home.
THIRTEEN
Tuesday, 12:24 a.m. Madrid, Spain
Isidro Serrador's small eyes were like stones as
he watched the men walk into the room.
The congressional deputy was nervous and wary. He was
unsure why he had been brought to the police station and
had no idea what to expect. Had they somehow
connected him with the death of the American diplomat?
The only ones who knew were Esteban Ramirez and
his comrades. And if they betrayed him he'd betray
them right back. There was no point to that.
Serrador didn't recognize these men. He
knew from the chevrons on the sleeves of the sharp
brown uniforms that one was an army general and the other was
a major general. He knew from the general's
swarthy coloring, dark hair, flat black eyes,
and lithe build that he was of Castilian ancestry.
The major general stopped several paces away.
When the general was finally near enough so that Serrador could
read the white letters on the small black name-tag
attached to his breast pocket he knew his name:
amadori.
Amadori raised a white-gloved hand. Without
turn
BALANCE OF POWER 157
ing, he motioned crisply toward the major
general. The officer set an audiotape player
on the table. Then he left, shutting the door behind
him.
Serrador looked up at Amadori. He couldn't
read anything in the general's face. It was set
perfectly and inexpressively. All formal lines
like the creases in his uniform.
"Am I under arrest?" Serrador finally asked,
quietly.
"You are not." Amadori's voice and manner were
rigid-just like his lean face, like his unwrinkled
uniform, like the taut, creaking leather of his new
boots and twin holsters.
"Then what's going on?" Serrador demanded,
feeling bolder now. " "What is an army
officer doing at the police station? And what is this?"
He flicked a fat finger disdainfully at the tape
recorder. "Am I being interrogated for something? Do
you expect me to say something important?"
"No," Amadori answered. "I expect you
to listen."
"To what?"
"To a recording that was broadcast on the radio a
short time ago." Amadori stepped closer to the
table. "When you're finished, you will have the
choice of walking out of here or using this." He
removed the Llama M-82 DA pistol, a 9
X 19mm Parabellum. He tossed it
casually to Serrador, who caught it
automatically, noted that there was no clip in it, and
set it on the table between them.
There was a sudden queasiness in Serrador's groin.
"Use that?" he said. "Are you insane?"
"Listen to the tape," Amadori said. "And when
158 OP-CENTER
you do, keep in mind that the men you hear have joined the
American diplomat in the abode of the blessed. You
are apparently a dangerous man to know. Deputy
Serrador." Amadori stepped closer and smiled
for the first time. He leaned toward Serrador and spoke
in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "Keep
this in mind as well. Your attempt to capture the
government of Spain has failed. Mine will not."
"Yours," Serrador said warily.
Amadori's thin smile broadened. "A
Castilian plan."
"Let me join you," Serrador said urgently.
"I am Basque. Those other men, the
Catalonians-they never wanted me to be part of their
plan. I was convenient because of my position.
I was an expediter, not an equal. Let me work
with you."
"There is no place for you," Amadori said
coldly.
"There must be. I'm well connected. Powerful."
Amadori straightened and tugged down the hem of his
jacket. He nodded toward the tape player. "You
were," he said.
Serrador looked at the machine. Perspiration
collected under his arms and along his upper lip. He
jabbed a thick finger at the play button.
"What of the driver in Madrid?"
he heard someone say. It sounded like Carlos
Saura, head of Banco Modemo.
"Is he leaving Spain as well?"
" "No. The driver works for Deputy
Serrador.""
That was Esteban Ramirez, the bastard. Serrador
listened for a few moments more as the men on the tape
talked about the car and about the deputy being a
Basque.
BALANCE OF POWER 159
An
ambitious
Basque and willing to do anything to further the
cause and himself.
The stupid, careless bastard,
Serrador thought. He stopped the machine and folded
his hands. He looked up at Amadori. "This is
nothing," Serrador said. "Don't you see? This is
designed to discredit me because of my heritage. It's
blackmail."
"The men did not know they were being taped," Amadori
informed him. " "And your driver has already confessed
to his part in exchange for immunity from
prosecution."
"Then he lies," Serrador said dismissively.
A plug of something caught in his throat. He
swallowed it. "I still have a strong and loyal
constituency. I'll beat this."
Amadori's smile returned. "No, you
won't."
"You unremarkable
pig!"
Serrador flu
shed as fear shaded to indignation. "Who
are you?" It was a slur, not a question. "You bring me
here late at night and you force me to listen to a tape
recording of questionable merit. Then you call me a
traitor. I will fight for my life and for my
honor. You won't win this."
Amadori smirked. "But I already have won." He
stepped back, drew his own gun, and held his arm out
straight. The pistol was pointed down at
Serrador's forehead.
"What are you talking about?" Serrador demanded. His
stomach was liquid. Sweat glistened across his forehead
now.
"You took the gun from me," Amadori said. "You
threatened me with it."
"What?"
Serrador looked at the gun. And then he
160 OP-CENTER
realized what had happened, why he had been brought
here.
Serrador was right. He could very well have argued that the
Catalonians had set him up. That they'd bribed
his driver to testify against him. Had he been allowed
to defend himself he might have persuaded people that he
wasn't involved in the death of the American. With the
help of a clever attorney he might have convinced a
court that he was being framed. That this was an attempt
to turn people against him and his Basque supporters.
After all, Ramirez and the others were dead. They
couldn't defend themselves.
But that wasn't what Amadori wanted.
He needed Serrador to be what he really was: a
Basque who had joined with the Catalonians
to overthrow the government of Spain. Amadori needed
a Basque traitor for his plans.
"Wait a minute-please," Serrador said.
The deputy's frightened eyes turned toward the gun
on the table. He had touched it. That was something else
the general had needed. His fingerprints on the damn-
The general pulled the trigger. The slightly turned
head of Deputy Isidro Serrador snapped
back as the bullet pierced his temple. He was
dead before his brain could process the pain, before the sound
of the blast reached his ears.
The force of the impact knocked Serrador backward
onto the floor. Even before the sound of the shot had
died, Amadori had picked up the gun from the table,
inserted a full clip, and placed it on the floor
beside Serrador. He stood for a moment and watched as
BALANCE OF POWER 161
Serrador's dark blood formed a red halo under his
head.
A moment later the general's aides and police
officers crowded into the small room. A beefy
police inspector stood behind him.
" "What happened?"'" the inspector
demanded.
Amadori bolstered his pistol. "The deputy
grabbed my gun," he said calmly, pointing to the
weapon on the floor. "I was afraid that he might
try to take hostages or escape."
The police inspector looked from the body
to Amadori. "Sir, this matter will have to be
investigated."
Amadori's face was impassive.
"Where will you be-for questioning?" the inspector asked.
"Here," Amadori replied. "In Madrid. With
my command."
The inspector turned to the men behind him. "Sergeant
Blanco? Telephone the commissioner and let him know
what has happened. Tell him I await further
instructions. Let his office handle the press.
Sergeant Sebares? Notify the coroner. Have him
come to handle the body."
Both men saluted and left the room. Amadori
turned and walked slowly after them. He was followed
by the major general.
He was also followed by the stares of men who clearly
feared him, whether they believed his story or not. Men
who apparently sensed that they had just witnessed a
purge. Men who had watched a military
general take the first, bold steps to becoming a
military dictator.
FOURTEEN
Tuesday, 2:00 a.m. Madrid, Spain
Maria Comeja was already waiting in a dark, grassy
corner of the airfield when Aideen, Luis
Garcia de la Vega, and Darrell McCaskey
arrived in an unmarked Interpol car. The
helicopter that would ferry them north was idling some
two hundred yards away on the tarmac.
Air traffic was extremely light. In his speech
to the nation in six hours, the prime minister would
announce that flights to and from Madrid were going to be
cut by sixty-five percent in order to ensure the
security of planes leaving the airport. But
foreign governments had been informed of the plan
shortly after midnight and flights were already being
canceled or rerouted.
Aideen had gone back to her hotel room and
pulled together some clothes and tourist
accoutrements-including her camera and Walkman
tape recorder, both of which could be used for
reconnaissance. Then she went to Interpol
headquarters with Luis while McKaskey phoned
Paul Hood. Luis reviewed maps
of the region in addition to briefing her on the character of the
people up north and providing her with up-to-the-
BALANCE OF POWER 163
minute intelligence. Then they went back to the
hotel, collected McCaskey-who had obtained
an okay from Hood for Aideen's participation in the
mission-and drove out to the airport.
Aideen didn't know what to expect from Maria.
Little had been said about her, apart from the brief
exchange in the hotel room. She didn't know
whether she'd be welcomed or whether being an
American and a woman would work for her or against her.
Maria had been sitting astride her ten-speed
bicycle, smoking. Flicking the cigarette onto
the asphalt, she dropped the kickstand of the
bicycle. She walked over slowly, with an
athlete's easy grace. She stood about
five-foot-seven but seemed taller because of the way
she held her square jaw high: high and set. Her
long brown hair hung down her neck, the fine
strands stirred by the wind. The top two buttons of
her denim shirt were open over her green wool
sweater and the bottoms of her tight jeans were tucked
into well-worn cowboy boots. Her blue eyes
swept past Luis and Aideen and came
to rest on McCaskey.
His
"Buenas noches,""
she said to him in a husky voice.
Aideen didn't know whether that was intended as a
greeting or a dismissal. Obviously
McCaskey wasn't sure either. He stood
stiffly beside the car, his expression blank. Luis
hadn't wanted him to come to the airport, but he
insisted that it was his duty to see Aideen off.
They watched Maria as she approached. Her eyes
didn't flinch or soften. Luis put his hand around
Aideen's arm. He stepped toward Maria, drawing
Aideen with him.
164 OP-CENTER
" "Maria, this is Aideen Mariey. She works
with OpCenter an
d was present at the shooting."
Maria's deep-set eyes shifted to Aideen but
only for a moment. She walked past her and stopped in
front of Darrell.
Luis called after her. "Maria, Aideen will be
accompanying you to San Sebastian."
The thirty-eight-year-old woman nodded. But she
didn't take her eyes off McCaskey. Their
faces were only inches apart.
"Hello, Maria," McCaskey said.
Maria was breathing slowly. Her thick eyebrows
formed a hard, rigid line like a bulwark. Her
pale, sensuously arched lips formed another. "
"I prayed that I would never see you again," she said.
Her accent, like her voice, was thick and deep.
McCaskey's own expression hardened. "I
guess you didn't pray hard enough."
"Maybe not," she replied. "I was too busy
crying."
This time McCaskey did not respond.
Maria's eyes ranged over him. Other than that,
her features didn't change. It seemed
to Aideen that the woman was looking for something. A man
she once loved, memories to soften the hate? Or
was she searching for something different? Something
to revitalize her anger. The sight of arms, a
chest, thighs, and hands she had once held and
caressed.
After a moment Maria turned and walked back to her
bicycle. She snatched her grip from the basket
behind the seat.
"Keep this for me, Luis," she said, indicating the
BALANCE OF POWER 165
bicycle. She walked over to Aideen and
offered her hand. "I apologize for my rudeness,
Ms. Marley. I'm Maria Comeja."
Aideen accepted her hand. "Call me Aideen."
"I'm glad to know you, Aideen," Maria said. She
looked at Luis. "Is there anything else I
need to know?"
Luis shook his head. "You know the codes. If
something comes up, I'll call on your cellular
phone."
Maria nodded and looked at Aideen. "Let's
go," she said and started toward the helicopter. She
made a point of not looking at McCaskey again.
Aideen slung her own backpack over a shoulder
and scurried after her.
"Good luck to both of you," McCaskey said to the
women as they passed.
Aideen was the only one who turned and thanked him.
The Kawasaki chopper revved up as the women
approached. Though they wouldn't have been able to hear one
another over the din, Aideen found the bitter silence
awkward. She also felt torn. As
McCaskey's colleague she felt she should say
something on his behalf. But as a woman she felt like
she should have ignored him too-and, while she was at it,
Clancy, Tom - Ballance of Power Page 16