Clancy, Tom - Ballance of Power

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by Balance of Power [lit]


  helicopters. McCaskey stopped. He looked

  to his left, toward the palace. The soldiers also

  looked over. A moment later six

  choppers flew over the southern wall. They hovered

  over the courtyard, blocking the sun and sending out an

  ear-splitting roar.

  It was the sweetest sound McCaskey had ever

  heard. The sweetest sight McCaskey ever saw

  was what looked like police sharpshooters leaning from the

  open doors and aiming CETME assault rifles

  down at the soldiers.

  BALANCE OF POWER 441

  McCaskey heard sirens along the avenues

  alongside the palace. Aideen and Striker must have

  gotten out and given the police enough intel to send in the

  cavalry-serious business cavalry.

  McCaskey started walking again. "Come on. Father,"

  he said. "They're on our side."

  The dual air and land approach suggested

  to McKaskey that the police were waiting for the army

  to split up like this so they could pin both parts down. That

  would significantly weaken resistance.

  McCaskey and Father Norberto finished crossing the

  courtyard as the sirens neared and the choppers held the

  soldiers back. McCaskey ached to embrace

  Maria. But in his present condition it would probably

  cost him his lungs. She was also hurt, and Luis

  needed attention.

  "It's good to see you again," Maria said, smiling.

  "Did I hear correctly? About Amadori?"

  McCaskey nodded as he looked at Luis. The

  officer was ashen, his breathing very shallow. McCaskey

  checked the improvised bandage. Then he took off

  his own shirt and began tearing it into fresh strips.

  "Father," McCaskey said, "we have to get Luis

  to a hospital. Please-would you flag down a car?"

  "I don't think that will be necessary," Norberto said.

  McCaskey looked toward the street. A police

  car had pulled up to the curb and four men had gotten

  out. They were dressed in distinctive dark blue

  berets, white belts, and spats.

  "The Guardia Real," Maria said. "The Royal

  Guard."

  442 OP-CENTER

  A fifth man got out as well. He was a tall,

  whitehaired gentleman with a proud military bearing.

  He approached quickly.

  "It's General de la Vega," McCaskey

  said. Then he shouted, "We need help here. Luis

  needs a doctor!"

  was l'Ambulancia!"

  Maria added.

  The Royal Guard members began running

  toward them. One of them shouted something to Maria.

  She nodded then turned to McCaskey. "They're

  setting up a mobile field hospital in the

  Plaza de Oriente," she said. "They're going

  to take him there."

  McCaskey looked down at Luis. He finished

  bandaging the Interpol officer then took his hand and

  squeezed it hard. "Hold on, partner,"

  McCaskey said. "Help's here."

  Luis squeezed back weakly. His eyes remained

  shut. Father Norberto knelt beside Luis to pray for

  him. The priest was obviously hurting. It was also

  obvious that he had no intention of letting that stop

  him.

  A moment later gunfire erupted once again from

  inside the palace. McCaskey and Maria

  exchanged glances.

  "Sounds like the government's playing for keeps,"

  McCaskey said.

  Maria nodded. "We're going to lose a lot of good

  people today. And for what? One man's insane vision."

  "Or his vanity," McCaskey said. "I'm never

  sure which one motivates a dictator more."

  As they spoke, the police arrived. Two men

  lifted Luis up gently and carried him

  toward the plaza. The

  BALANCE OF POWER 443

  general thanked McCaskey and Maria for all they

  had done, then ran after them. The other two Royal

  Guardsmen stopped and lifted Maria.

  "An honor guard." She grinned.

  McCaskey smiled and rose, assisted by Father

  Norberto. They walked alongside Maria as she

  was carried away. McCaskey felt a

  knifelike jab with every step he took. But he

  kept up with the guards. It was rare to get a second

  chance at anything, whether it was the opportunity to fix

  a wrong choice at a moment of crisis or

  to reclaim a lost love. McCaskey had

  experienced both. He knew what it was like to be

  tortured by events his indecision or fear or weakness

  had caused.

  If Maria Comeja would have him, there was no way he

  intended to lose her again. Not even for a minute. The

  pain of blowing a second chance would be much, much

  worse.

  Maria sought and found McCaskey's hand. A moment

  later her eyes found his. And at least one pain

  stopped when it became clear that she felt the same.

  FIFTY

  Tuesday, 7:20 a.m. Washington, B.c.

  Though he hadn't slept much over the past

  twentyfour hours, Paul Hood felt

  surprisingly refreshed.

  He had spoken with Colonel August and Aideen

  Marley when they returned to Interpol headquarters.

  The fate of Darrell McCaskey, Maria

  Comeja, and Luis Garcia de la Vega hadn't

  been known then- although General Manolo de la

  Vega had assured him that when the time was right, a

  police assault squad would be going in even if

  he had to kick each butt in personally.

  McCaskey finally called from a field hospital

  only to say that they were all right. A more detailed

  report would have to wait until they were on a secure

  line back at Interpol.

  Hood, Rodgers, Herbert, Coffey, and

  Plummer celebrated with a fresh pot of coffee and

  congratulations all around. There was a call from

  Ambassador Abril, who said that the king and the

  prime minister had been informed and would be addressing

  Spain at two p.m. local time. Abril could not

  tell them whether the Royal Palace had been

  taken from General Amadori's troops. He said

  that that information would be provided to the

  BALANCE OF POWER 445

  White House when it was available and would have to make

  its way through channels.

  Abril also could not tell them what the future of

  Spain might be-not only because it would be

  inappropriate to, but because he truly didn't

  know.

  "Deputy Serrador and General Amadori both

  released some very powerful opposing forces," he said.

  "Ethnic and cultural differences have been inflamed.

  I hope-yet am not hopeful-that they can be doused."

  "We'll all be praying for the best," Hood said.

  The ambassador thanked him.

  After Hood hung up, Herbert muttered a few

  graphic Southern expressions for the ambassador and

  his secrecy-though Ron Plummer reminded him that

  Abril was acting according to protocol.

  "I remember how upset Jimmy Carter was when the

  American hostages were released from Tehran," he

  said. " The Iranians waited until Ronald

  Reagan had
been sworn in to let them go. When former

  President Carter telephoned the White House

  to find out if the Americans were free, he was told

  that that information was classified. He had to find out about

  it much later."

  Herbert was not appeased. He picked up the phone

  on the armrest of his wheelchair and called his office.

  He asked his assistant to phone Interpol and ask

  the spotters for an update on the situation at the

  palace. Less than two minutes later he was

  informed that the shooting had stopped and, in the few areas

  of the courtyard they could see, the police seemed to be

  in control. A call to Stephen Viens and a check with

  NRO satellites confirmed that soldiers were being

  dis-

  446 OR-CENTER

  armed in other parts of the compound and civilians were being

  led out to a Red Cross facility that was being set up

  outside the Cathedral of the Almudena.

  Herbert grinned triumphantly. "What do you say

  we inform Abril that "diplomatic channels"

  include a lot more stations than they used to."

  The call from McCaskey finally came at

  sevenforty-five. Hood put it on the

  speakerphone. McKaskey said he was whipped and

  suffering from three broken ribs and a bruised

  kidney. Otherwise, he said, he was in good spirits.

  Maria and Luis were in surgery but both were expected

  to pull through.

  "I'll be staying here for a while

  to recover," McCaskey said. "Hope that isn't

  a problem."

  "No problem at all," Hood said. "Stay

  until you recover everything you feel you need."

  McCaskey thanked him.

  They did not discuss McCaskey's role in

  killing General Amadori. That would not be discussed

  until someone from Op-Center-probably Mike

  Rodgers- flew over to debrief him. It was

  understood among intelligence agents that assassination

  must be treated with an almost ceremonial reverence.

  Debriefing must be done face to face, like confession.

  That helped to ensure that killing a leader or spy,

  while sometimes necessary, would never be taken casually.

  "There is one thing I'd like to do as soon as

  possible," McCaskey said.

  "What's that?" Hood asked.

  "There's been a lot of religious unrest here,"

  McCaskey said. "General de la Vega tells

  me that it appears that General Superior

  Gonzalez, leader of the

  BALANCE OF POWER 447

  Jesuits in Spain, was a strong supporter of

  General Amadori. The General Superior was

  overcome with tear gas in Striker's

  assault-he'd been meeting with the general in the throne

  room. There is certain to be a Vatican

  investigation."

  "That's going to make a lot of Spaniards very

  unhappy," Rodgers said. "Especially if the

  General Superior denies the charges and

  loyalties are strained between the Jesuits and other

  Roman Catholics."

  "It's all going to help contribute to the collapse

  of Spain as we knew it," McCaskey said, "which

  everyone here believes is imminent. Someone who

  spoke directly with the prime minister told

  General de la Vega that a new constitution is

  already being worked on-one that will allow the different

  regions virtual autonomy under a very loose

  central government."

  Herbert folded his powerful arms. "Why don't we

  call old Abril up and let him know what's

  gonna happen in his own country."

  Hood frowned and motioned him silent.

  "The reason I mentioned General Superior

  Gonzalez," McCaskey said, "is that there is a

  Jesuit priest who helped to save our lives.

  His name is Father Norberto Alcazar."

  "Is he all right?" Hood asked,

  writing down his name.

  "He was hurt getting me safely to Maria's

  side- couple of heavy-duty bruises from

  gunfire chopping up the courtyard. Nothing serious,

  though. But I want to do something for him. He

  doesn't strike me as the kind of priest who'd

  want to be kicked upstairs or anything like that. Father

  Norberto was telling me at

  448 OP-CENTER

  the field hospital that he lost his brother in this

  ordeal. He's had it pretty rough. Perhaps we can

  do something for his parish. Work it through the Vatican, if

  the White House can arrange that."

  "We'll certainly talk to them about that," Hood

  said. "We can set up a scholarship somewhere in the

  brother's name."

  "Sounds good," McCaskey said. "Maybe one for

  Martha too. Maybe from all of this madness a little

  good

  will

  come."

  After the other men in the room wished McCaskey

  well-"And I don't mean with just your health,"

  Herbert added-Hood hung up. Father Norberto's

  story reminded him of something that tends to get

  lost in events like these. It isn't only a nation whose

  destiny is changed. The ripples go outward,

  affecting the world-and the ripples go inward, affecting every

  citizen. It was not only an awesome

  metamorphosis to behold. It was damn near

  overwhelming to have been an integral part of the

  process. And without having left this office.

  It was time to hang that responsibility up.

  Hood buzzed Bugs Benet and asked him to call

  his wife. She was at her parents' home in Old

  Saybrook, Hood told him.

  Herbert looked at Hood. "Sudden trip?" he

  asked.

  Hood shook his head. "Long time in the works."

  Hood swung the computer monitor toward him. He

  went to his personal file.

  Bugs buzzed. "Sir?"

  "Yes?"

  BALANCE OF POWER 449

  "Mr. Kent says that Sharon and the kids left

  early this morning to go back to Washington," Bugs

  told him. "They were going to take the eight o'clock

  flight. Do you want to speak with him?"

  "No," Hood said. He looked at his watch.

  "Thank him and tell him I'll call

  later."

  "Shall I ring Mrs. Hood's cellular?"

  "No, Bugs," Hood said. "I'll tell her

  when I meet her at the airport."

  Hood hung up and finished his coffee. Then he

  rose.

  "You're going to the airport now?" Herbert asked.

  "Chief, I'm sure you're going to have to brief the

  President."

  Hood looked at Rodgers. "Mike, are you

  okay to handle that?"

  "Sure," Rodgers said. He patted his bandages.

  "I got myself rewrapped before I came here."

  "Good," Hood said. He took his cell phone out

  of his jacket pocket and put it in a drawer.

  "I'm going to get out of here before I get

  summoned.""

  "When will you be back?" Herbert asked.

  Hood looked at the monitor. He stood over the

  keyboard. "I'll see you at the service for

  Martha," he said.

  He looked at Rodgers then. The general's eyes

  were sharp and unblinki
ng. He understood.

  "I can tell you this, though," Hood continued.

  "Darrell was right. Good can come from madness.

  Through all the crises we've had to deal with, I

  couldn't have been blessed with a greater team."

  "I don't like the sound of that," Herbert said.

  450 OP-CENTER

  Hood smiled. Still smiling, he e-mailed his

  resignation to the White House. Then he turned from

  his desk, threw a respectful salute at Mike

  Rodgers, and walked out the door.

  ABOUT THE CREATORS

  Tom Clancy is the author of

  The Hunt for Red October, Red Storm Rising,

  Patriot Games, The Cardinal of the Kremlin,

  Clear and. Present Danger, The Sum of All

  Fears, Without Remorse, Debt of Honor,

  and

  Executive Orders.

  He is also the author of the nonfiction books

  Submarine, Armored Cav, Fighter Wing,

  Marine,

  and

  Airborne.

  He lives in Maryland.

  Steve Pieczenik is a Harvard-trained

  psychiatrist with an M.d. from Comell University

  Medical College. He has a

  Ph.d. in International Relations from M.i.t.

  and served as principal hostage negotiator and

  international crisis manager while Deputy

  Assistant Secretary of State under Henry

  Kissinger, Cyrus Vance, and James Baker.

  He is also the bestselling novelist of the

  psycho-political thrillers

  The Mind Palace, Blood Heat, Maximum

  Vigilance,

  and

  Pax Pacifica.

 

 

 


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