Clancy, Tom - Ballance of Power

by Balance of Power [lit]

  as quickly as we can. I don't think they'll shoot

  at us until we're down. They won't want

  to bring a chopper down on their heads. When we touch

  down, you fire to clear the field. The soldiers will

  run for cover. When they do, I go and get Maria

  before they can regroup."

  "Just like that," Luis said doubtfully.

  "Just like that," McCaskey nodded. "The simplest

  plans always work best. If you cover me and keep the

  soldiers ducking, I should be able to get in and out in

  about thirty seconds. The courtyard's not that big.

  If I can't get back to the chopper, you abort and

  I'll try to get her out some other way."

  McCaskey sighed and dragged his fingers through his

  hair. "Look, I know this is dangerous, Luis.

  But what else can we do? I'd

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  want to do this if any of our people were in trouble. I

  have

  to do it because it's Maria."

  Luis took a deep breath, nodded

  once, then turned to the gun rack. He selected

  a NATO L96A1 sniper rifle with an

  integral silencer and a Schmidt and Bender

  telescope. He handed McCaskey a Star

  30More Parabellum pistol, the standard issue of the

  Guardia Civil.

  "I'll have Pedro swing over the palace and then come

  straight down in the courtyard," Luis said. "As

  soon as we touch down I'll try to drive the

  firing squad back. Maybe I can hold them

  back without having to kill anyone." Luis's face

  fell slightly. "That's

  maybe,

  Darrell."

  "I know," McCaskey said.

  "I don't know if I'll be able to shoot a

  Spanish soldier, Darrell," Luis admitted.

  "I honestly don't know."

  "They don't seem to have a problem with that,"

  McCaskey pointed out.

  "I'm not them," Luis replied.

  "No, you're not," McCaskey said

  apologetically. "For what it's worth, I'm not

  sure I could shoot one of my own people either."

  Luis shook his head. "How did it ever

  come to this?"

  McCaskey checked the clip and sat back. He

  thought bitterly.

  It came to this the way it always does. Through the fierce

  hate harbored by a few and the complacency displayed by the

  rest.

  There were signs of that in the United States.

  McCaskey knew that if Striker succeeded the real

  work was just beginning- here and elsewhere. People like General

  Amadori had

  362 OP-CENTER

  to be stopped before they got this far. McCaskey

  wasn't as versed in aphorisms as Mike

  Rodgers, but he did remember hearing someone say

  once that all it took for evil to flourish was for men

  of conscience to do nothing. If he survived this,

  Darrell McCaskey vowed that he would not be one of

  those who did nothing.

  They would be passing over the northeastern corner of the

  palace in approximately fifteen seconds.

  There were no military helicopters in the immediate area

  though trucks and jeeps were coming and going along

  Calle de Bailen just below them.

  McCaskey was calm now after his initial urgency.

  Part of that was because he hadn't slept in over

  a day. Sitting still allowed a relaxing torpor

  to wash over him. Though his mind was sharp and his

  purpose true, the anxious finger-drumming,

  foot-tapping and cheekbiting that were a part of his

  impatient nature were missing. Part of his composure

  was also due to Maria. Relationships can be

  problematic and mistakes will be made and hindsight

  is frustrating. McCaskey didn't punish himself

  for being human. But it was rare and comforting to have an

  opportunity like this to set a wrong right. To tell

  someone you're sorry and to show them you care. Whatever it

  cost, whatever it took, McCaskey was determined

  to get Maria out of the courtyard alive.

  While McCaskey sat looking out his window,

  Luis leaned forward and spoke to Pedro. The pilot

  nodded, Luis squeezed his shoulder

  appreciatively, and then sat back.

  "Are you ready?" Luis asked McCaskey.

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  McCaskey nodded once.

  The helicopter descended and flew low over the

  eastern wall of the palace. Then it banked to the south

  and sped toward the courtyard between the Royal Palace

  and the Cathedral of the Almudena.

  There was a megaphone built into both

  sides of the chopper. Luis slipped on the

  headset, adjusted the mouthpiece, then lay the

  rifle across his lap. He looked outside and

  tapped McCaskey on the leg.

  "There!" Luis said.

  McCaskey looked over. He saw Maria being

  held against a fifteen-foot-tall pedestal, which was

  supporting four massive columns. The square,

  grayish pedestal projected about five feet out from

  the long, unbroken wall to the left. To the right was a

  short expanse of wall and then a series of arches

  that swept away from the wall at a right angle. The

  low, darkly shadowed arches formed the eastern boundary

  of the courtyard. Beyond them was the eastern wing of the

  palace which contained the royal bedchamber, the study,

  and the music room.

  There were two soldiers on either side of Maria,

  clasping her arms. An officer was standing in front of

  her. About one hundred fifty feet to the south, a

  line of military vehicles separated the courtyard

  from the church. There were no civilians in the courtyard

  and roughly sixty or seventy soldiers. Six of

  them were walking toward Maria in a line.

  "We'll land with those arches on your side," Luis

  said. "They may provide you with cover."

  "Right!"

  "I'm going to try and focus on the officer in

  front

  364 OP-CENTER

  of Maria," Luis said. "If I can control him,

  maybe I can control the group."

  "Good idea," McCaskey said. He held the

  Parabellum in his right hand, pointing upward. He

  put his left hand on the door handle. Pedro slowed

  the chopper's forward motion and they began to descend.

  They were less than one hundred feet above the

  courtyard.

  The soldiers were looking up now, including the officer

  in front of Maria. He wasn't moving; no one

  was. As McCaskey had suspected, they weren't

  going to shoot at a chopper bearing directly down

  on them. When they landed, though, he suspected it would

  be a much different matter. He looked over at

  Maria. Because there was an iron streetlamp between them

  and the pedestal, the chopper wouldn't be able to get as

  close as McCaskey would have liked. He'd have

  to cross about thirty feet of open courtyard to get

  to Maria. At least it didn't look like she was tied

  up though it did appear as though she might be hurt.

  There was blood on her left side and she

  was leaning in that direction. S
he wasn't looking up

  at the helicopter.

  The Spanish army officer-he was a captain,

  McCaskey could tell now-was swinging an arm at

  them to take off again. As they continued to descend, he

  unholstered his pistol and motioned more wildly for them

  to leave.

  The soldiers of the firing squad were on Luis's

  side. They stopped their approach as the chopper set

  down. The captain was on McCaskey's side.

  McCaskey watched him closely as he stalked

  toward them. He was shouting but his words were swallowed by the

  din

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  of the rotor. Behind him, the two soldiers were still

  holding Maria.

  "I'm going to open the door," McCaskey said

  to Luis when the captain was about fifteen feet

  away.

  "I'm with you," Luis said. "Pedro-be ready

  to lift off again at my command."

  Pedro acknowledged the order. McCaskey put his

  hand on the latch, pulled, and threw open the door.

  McCaskey got exactly what he was expecting.

  As soon as he placed one foot on the

  ground the captain lowered his gun without hesitation and

  fired at the helicopter. The bullet struck the

  rear of the cabin, just aft of the fuel tank. If it was

  a warning shot, it was a dangerous one.

  McCaskey didn't have the same reservations as

  Luis. McCaskey knew that if he shot the

  captain he would make Luis an accomplice. But

  they had to defend themselves.

  With the cool of a seasoned G-man putting in time at

  the shooting range, McCaskey swung his

  Parabellum around, leveled it at the captain's

  left leg, and fired two rounds. The leg folded

  inward, blood spitting from two wounds just above the

  knee. Ducking low, McCaskey jumped from the

  cabin and ran forward. Behind him, he heard the

  distinctive

  phut, phut

  of the silenced sniper rifle. He didn't hear

  any return fire and imagined that the soldiers of the

  firing squad, as well as the other soldiers in the

  rear of the courtyard, were doing just as Luis had

  predicted. They were scattering for cover.

  The soldiers holding Maria released her and ran

  to

  366 OP-CENTER

  ward the nearest arch. She dropped to her knees and

  then onto her hands.

  "Stay down!" McCaskey yelled as she tried

  to rise.

  She looked at him defiantly as she turned a

  shoulder toward the pedestal. Leaning against it, she got

  her legs beneath her and stood slowly.

  Of course she did,

  he thought. Not because he told her she shouldn't but because

  she was Maria.

  The gun had fallen from the captain's hand. He was

  attempting to get it back as McCaskey raced

  past him. He snatched it up and continued ahead. The

  officer's cries of rage and pain were quickly drowned

  by Luis's voice coming over the megaphone.

  His

  "Evacuen la area,""

  Luis warned them. His

  "Mas helicopteros estdn de trdnsito!"

  McCaskey had had four years of Spanish in

  high school but he got the gist of what Luis was

  saying. He was telling the soldiers to get out, that more

  helicopters were on the way. It was an inspired

  maneuver that could buy them the little extra time they

  needed. McCaskey didn't doubt that the

  soldiers would resist. If they were ready to execute

  Spanish prisoners, they wouldn't hesitate

  to attack Interpol operatives. But at least they

  wouldn't charge recklessly back into the courtyard.

  Occasional bursts of fire were met by Luis's

  rifle fire. McCaskey didn't look back

  but he hoped the chopper wasn't damaged.

  As he came closer to Maria, he saw that her

  side was thick with blood and that her face was bloody

  as well. The bastards had beaten her. Reaching her

  side, he ducked a shoulder under her arm.

  BALANCE OF POWER 367

  "Can you make it back with me?" he asked. He

  took a moment to look at her. Her left eye was

  bloody and swollen shut. There were deep cuts on

  both cheeks and along the hairline. He felt like

  shooting the bastard captain.

  "We can't go," she said.

  "We can," he insisted. "A team's inside hunting

  for-was

  She shook her head. "There's another prisoner in

  there." She pointed toward a doorway some thirty

  feet away. "Juan. They'll kill him. I

  won't leave without him."

  That too was Maria,

  McCaskey thought.

  McCaskey looked back at the chopper.

  Flashes of fire were increasing as soldiers got

  inside the palace and took up positions by the

  windows. Luis was able to drive them back but he

  wouldn't be able to hold them for long.

  McCaskey picked Maria up. " "Let me

  take you to the chopper," he said. "Then I'll go

  back and get-was

  Suddenly, there was a loud report from somewhere

  directly above them. It was followed by a gurgled

  cry from the chopper megaphone. A moment later

  Luis stumbled from the open door on McCaskey's

  side. He was holding the rifle in one hand and

  clutching a wound in his neck with the other. McCaskey

  looked up. A sharpshooter on top of the arches had

  managed to get a clear shot through the open door of the

  helicopter. McCaskey was furious with himself for

  having anticipated only groundfire. He should have

  had the goddamn chopper drop him off and then get the

  hell out of there.

  368 OP-CENTER

  Luis walked forward haltingly. The rifle

  clattered from his hand and he left it where it fell. His

  goal was obviously the captain, who was

  writhing painfully. Luis took two steps more and

  then fell across him. No one risked shooting at him

  now.

  Pedro looked desperately toward McCaskey,

  who waved him off. There was nothing else the pilot

  could do. A couple of bullets

  pinged off

  the rotor as the helicopter rose, but it wasn't

  severely damaged. The chopper headed away from the

  palace, toward the cathedral, and was quickly out of

  range.

  They, unfortunately, were not.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Tuesday, 11:11 a.m. Madrid, Spain

  To reach the throne room from the Hall of

  Tapestries, it was necessary to exit the long but narrow

  hall, go around the grand staircase, then pass through the

  Hall of the Halberdiers. Altogether it was a journey of

  slightly more than two hundred feet. The

  Strikers would have to cover the distance quickly, lest the

  noise of the explosion send General Amadori

  into hiding.

  For the seven soldiers and Aideen, however, it was also

  a foray against more than two hundred years of

  American tradition. Although the United

  States had clandestinely assisted or encouraged

  assassination attempts against the likes
of Fidel

  Castro and Saddam Hussein, only once in its

  history had the military targeted a foreign leader

  for assassination. That was on April 15, 1986,

  when U.s. warplanes took off from England to bomb

  the headquarters of Libyan despot Muammar

  al-Qaddafi. The attack was in retaliation for the

  terrorist bombing of a West Berlin discotheque

  frequented by American soldiers. Qaddafi

  survived that assault and the U.s. lost an

  F-111 and two airmen. Three hostages were

  murdered in Lebanon in reprisal for the American

  air raid.

  370 OP-CENTER

  Col. Brett August was aware of the lonely

  significance of the mission they were undertaking. In

  Vietnam, the base "padre," Father Uxbridge,

  had a word for it. The priest tried to keep the mood

  light by giving all his sermon themes a

  military-style acronym. He called ethical

  ambiguities like these M.i.s.t.: Moral

  Issues Sliced Thick. That meant there was so much

  to chew on that you could think about it forever and never do

  anything because you could never reach a

  satisfactory intellectual resolution. The

  priest's advice was to do what felt right. August

  hated bullies-especially bullies who

  imprisoned and killed those who disagreed with him. This

  felt right. The irony was that if they succeeded,

  credit for the deed would go to Spanish patriots

  loyal to the king, whose identities must be kept

  secret for security reasons. If they failed,

  they would be described as rogue operatives who had

  been hired by the Ramirez clan to avenge his death.

  When the dungeon door blew open, the Strikers

  found themselves behind what was left of a three hundred

  year old arras. The bottom of the tapestry had

  been torn off in the explosion and the top was still

  fluttering as they rushed through. The Strikers" orders

  were to disable opponents wherever possible and they were ready

  for the first wave of soldiers that came to investigate the

  blast. The Strikers' ski masks contained goggles

  and mouth filters which would protect them from the

  Orthochlorobenzylidene malononitrile

  grenades Privates DeVonne and Scott were

  carrying. The fast-acting agent caused burning eyes

  and retching. In an enclosed area like the palace

  rooms, the gas would disable an opponent for up

  to five minutes. Most peo-

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  ple couldn't stand the effects for more than a minute or

  two and attempted to get to fresh air as quickly as

  possible. During the leapfrog approach,