by Tom Clancy
McCaskey returned with Aideen'.> decaf. She thanked him without taking her eyes off Rodgers.
"I'm putting together a new group," he said quietly. "Very low profile, doing the same kind of work you did with Maria. I was wondering if you'd consider being part of it."
She looked from Rodgers to McCaskey. "Will Maria be working with us?" she asked.
"We don't know yet," Rodgers said.
"I do," McCaskey replied. "When Mike asks that question, Maria won't hesitate. Not like she did when I popped mine."
"We haven't decided if Mike is even going to ask that question," Rodgers clarified.
Before they could discuss the team further, David Battat entered the cafe. Rodgers recognized him from his file photo and motioned him over. The general did not know what to expect from the man. He only knew what he had read in the dossier, that Battat had been a CIA liaison with the Mujahideen guerrilla fighters in Afghanistan. He worked his way up to running a field office in New York. He was sent back in the field when one of his operatives, Annabelle Hampton, helped the terrorists who attacked the United Nations Security Council. Stationed in Baku, Azerbaijan, he had recently worked with Op-Center to prevent war in the Caspian Sea.
The former CIA agent was short and scrappy, with none of the boot camp polish to which Rodgers was accustomed. But the general was not dealing with the military any longer. He felt like South Carolina's Edward Rutledge and the other Southern delegates to the Continental Congress must have felt when they first met their Yankee counterparts. No veneer, no respect for class or finery. Yet Rodgers reminded himself that they all managed to work together to gain American independence.
Battat reached the table. He was wearing a New York University sweatshirt and had the New York Times under his arm. He carried nothing else. Rodgers liked a man who traveled light.
Battat brushed back his short, thinning black hair. He introduced himself to Rodgers and McCaskey.
Rodgers introduced Aideen. Battat's heavy eyebrows rose behind his sunglasses.
"You must be the Aideen Marley who writes for the MCJ" Battat said.
"That's me," she said.
"I read your article on the impact of media hysteria on civic antiterrorist preparedness," Battat said. "We'll have to discuss it."
"You don't agree with my findings?" she asked.
"I do, as far as they go," he said. He pulled a stool underneath him and sat down. "You can't anticipate and preempt assaults. All you do is panic people, which can be worse than an attack itself. Hell, it is an attack itself."
"A mock attack," she said.
"Psychological assaults are not pretend assaults," Battat replied.
"No, but they are easier to defend against," she suggested. "Education always goes down harder than ignorance."
"Education is totally beside the point," Battat said dismissively. "Fear is the key. A dictator has to be afraid that he will lose his small kingdom if he attempts to expand it. Khrushchev didn't pull his missiles from Cuba because he suddenly thought, 'Hey, wait a minute! What am I doing?' " Battat said. "He was scared of mutual assured destruction. So forget that. You also can't just manage crises after the fact, which is what Aideen's article really suggests."
"What's your solution?" Aideen asked.
Rodgers was enjoying this. The great thing about pundits is that they were always right and wrong. There was no universal solution. But the debates were always fascinating.
"My solution is an aggressive offense," Battat replied. "An enemy hits a building, you knock out a city block. They hit a city block, you wipe out an entire town or city. They hit a city, you turn the country to landfill."
"What's wrong with the legal system handling the aftermath of an attack?" Aideen asked.
"Because that gives them a podium from which to spout their BS," Battat replied. "Who needs that?"
"It also lets people know that they are twisted individuals who need to be watched," Aideen said.
"You know what?" Battat replied. "TV is something you watch. I prefer our enemies dead."
"We will have to discuss this," Aideen said.
There was an edge in Aideen's voice. But again, the woman had been savvy enough to table the discussion before it became overly emotional. As for Battat, he sounded like any passionate Washingtonian with an opinion. That would not make him stand out. Just the opposite in fact. These two looked and sounded like ordinary citizens.
"David, can I get you anything?" McCaskey asked. "I mean, apart from a tactical nuclear weapon?"
"I'm good," Battat said. "They gave out cookies on the plane." He looked at Rodgers. "How have you been?"
"I'm alive," Rodgers replied.
"I read about what happened overseas," Battat said. "You did us proud. Americans and everyone in the business."
"Thanks," Rodgers said. "I was just telling Ms. Marley that because of what happened, we've been forced to make a few changes."
"Nothing the unappreciative, buck-passing bureaucrats do surprises me," Battat said. "How can I help?"
"We're putting together a different kind of sports team, and I'm sounding out possible players."
"I'm in," Battat told him.
"That's it?" McCaskey said.
"That's it," Battat replied.
"Great," Rodgers said. He looked at Aideen. "What about you?"
She hesitated before replying. "I'm very interested," she said. "I'd like to discuss this some more."
"Sure," Rodgers said.
Rodgers did not know whether her hesitation was bitterness toward Op-Center, a desire to run her own life, or maybe even impatience with Battat. Possibly a little of everything.
"What I suggest is that we go back to the office and have a real chat," Rodgers said.
Aideen nodded.
"Question," Battat said. "When were you thinking of fielding this team? Just so I can work things out schedule-wise."
Rodgers finished his coffee and looked at his watch. He replied, "In about six hours."
Chapter Sixteen
Washington, D. C.
Thursday, 8:12 A. M.
The list of people who Bob Herbert trusted was short. The list of people he trusted absolutely was shorter still.
Edgar Kline was never on the very short list. Now, Herbert was not sure he was on the short list. Kline also had selfinterests to protect. The well-being of the Vatican and its inner circle was his top priority. Herbert understood and respected that. But Herbert also had interests to look after. That was why he called one of his freelancers, April Wright.
April was a professional watcher, one of the hundreds who walked the streets of the nation's capital every day. Some were hired by American agencies to spy on rival agencies. Others were hired by Americans to spy on foreigners and vice versa. They were dressed as delivery people, tourists, souvenir salesmen, or joggers. A few watchers worked in teams and pretended to be TV reporters or college kids making a student film. Some carried handbags that contained changes of clothes. If the watchers had to watch an area with a security camera, they did not want to stay in the same outfit all day.
April used to be an actress. She worked mostly in regional theater, so her face was not well known. She had been a close friend of Herbert's wife. Now the woman was married to a pilot and had a young daughter. During the course of a day, she went from posing as a nanny to being a mother out for a walk to being a homeless woman with a child. In all of her disguises, she carried a digital camera. When she was "homeless," she kept it hidden in the bottom of a brown paper bag. Whenever she needed to take a picture, she took a drink. April was good at what she did, and she loved it. It was also a secret only Herbert shared. April was only available when her husband was out of town.
Herbert asked April to keep an eye on the Watergate. He wanted to know where Kline went and who came to see him. She signed in at ten P. M. then came downstairs in her nanny guise and found a spot near the house phones. She rocked her baby until two A. M. and then became homeless, watching
Kline's window from the outside. Shortly after dawn, she was an early-rising mom out for a few turns around the lobby. She always made sure she was near the phone when anyone used it. If Kline had left the hotel, she would have followed him. The driver that had brought her there waited for that purpose.
Herbert had arranged for Kline to come to Op-Center at eight A. M. and brief Hood. At two A. M., April made an interim report. At seven forty-five, she made her final report. Herbert thanked her and told her to go home. In the meantime, he had asked Matt Stoll's computer group to check the flights from Spain to Botswana. There was something he needed to know.
Kline arrived in a taxi. Herbert greeted his old friend at the main level and took him directly to Hood's office. Kline sat in the armchair in front of Hood's desk. Herbert parked his wheelchair inside the door. Hood had also asked his political liaison, Ron Plummer, to attend the meeting. The former CIA intelligence analyst for Western Europe arrived just a minute after Herbert. He shut the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms tightly. Plummer was a short man with thinning brown hair and wide eyes. He wore thick, black-framed glasses atop a large, hooked nose. He was an intensely focused man, which was fortunate. His work on the delicate situation in Kashmir had been the key to keeping it from exploding.
Herbert asked how Kline's evening had gone. The Vatican security officer said that it went well. He had met with Cardinal Zavala before Mass this morning. Kline said that when he was finished here, he was going directly to New York to meet with Cardinal Murrieta.
"Did you get what you wanted from the cardinal?" Herbert asked.
"I did," Kline told him. "We arranged to have Bishop Victor Max go to Botswana. He's flying to New York to meet me."
"Max is a big human rights advocate, isn't he?" Herbert asked.
"He is," Kline said. "The bishop is going to take Father Bradbury's place in a show of support. He will fly to Gaborone and then take a shuttle to Maun. We have asked two of the deacons not to leave but to meet him there."
"That could be dangerous for the bishop and the deacons, you understand that," Herbert said. "They understand that."
"Of course."
"Is there going to be press coverage?" Hood asked.
"We absolutely will not solicit coverage, but we will make an announcement," Kline said. "We want Dhamballa to know he cannot scare us away. We're sure some press will be in Gaborone, but there will be no additional statements, no press conferences. The Church has a narrow line to walk between supporting its mission and defying the will of a native faction."
"What kind of precautions are you arranging for the bishop's security?" Hood asked.
"We're working with local authorities," Kline said.
"Is that all?" Herbert asked.
Kline regarded the intelligence chief. "We have other options open to us," he replied. "The bishop will be safe."
"I have no doubt," Herbert said.
"Why is that?" Kline asked.
"Because, Edgar, I'm betting you've invoked the Madrid Accords," Herbert replied.
It was the first time Herbert had ever seen Edgar Kline seem surprised. "You've been busy," Kline said.
"We both have," Herbert replied.
"Back up," Hood said. "I'm not familiar with the accords."
"Three years ago, the Vatican signed a secret agreement with the Ministerio de Defensa de Espana," Herbert said. "In exchange for aggressive support from the Vatican, tha, prince promised to provide ground troops in the event of action undertaken against the Church in any developing country."
Kline waved his hand dismissively. "The Madrid Accords are not a secret," he said.
"Not if you happen to read the Fraternal Vatican Minutes, which is not available on-line or outside the Hall of Records in Rome. Or you might have read about it if you had access to the Spanish Alliance file at the Defense Ministry in Madrid," Herbert pointed out. "/ only know about the arrangement because at two-fifteen this morning, I called one of our people in Spain. I asked her to look into the existence of any such agreements."
"What prompted you to do that?" Kline asked.
"A visit you had from Deputy Chief of Ministry Rodriguez very early this morning," Herbert replied.
Kline's pleasant features darkened. "You had me watched."
"That's right."
"I'm very disappointed, Bob."
"So am I," Herbert replied evenly. "You asked for my help, but you didn't tell me everything."
"There wasn't much to tell," Kline replied.
"There was enough for you to withhold it," Herbert pointed out.
"We have security issues that I did not wish to discuss or disclose," Kline replied. "The ramifications of another nation lending that kind of support go beyond the current crisis."
"Gentlemen, now I'm the only one who's confused," Hood said. "Bob, would you tell me what's going on?"
"I've pretty much told you all I know for certain, Paul," Herbert said. "Edgar wanted our help locating Father Bradbury. I brought Mike aboard, set things in motion, then found out that there are other players. That this situation may be bigger than we were led to believe."
Herbert did not want to say anything to Kline about the call from Shigeo Fujima. For all he knew, there might not be a connection. If there were a connection, he wanted to keep that contact to himself.
Hood looked over at Kline. "Mr. Kline?"
"The involvement of the Spanish military is a very delicate aspect of this 'situation,' as Bob describes it," Kline said. "The Vatican does have a defense arrangement with the Spanish military. The agreement does not affect the main body of the military. It is only with the Grupo del Cuartel General, Unidad Especial del Despliegue."
"That's the Spanish military's equivalent to Striker," Herbert said. "A rapid deployment unit about two hundred commandos strong. They're based in Valencia, on the Mediterranean."
"Correct," Kline replied. "The only time we ever expected to call on them is if there were an imminent threat against His Holiness or the Vatican itself. I didn't tell you about their involvement because they're not going into Botswana in an official capacity."
"They're going to Father Bradbury's parish in Maun as tourists," Herbert replied.
Kline seemed even more surprised than he had been a minute before. "What makes you think that?" he asked.
"It makes a whole lot of sense," Herbert told him. "I knew you'd want the soldiers in place before the bishop arrives tomorrow. But you don't know who may be helping the Brush Vipers, so you couldn't risk sending in a Spanish military aircraft. I had our computer group check flights from Spain to Botswana. Reservations for several Spanish men came up on the hop from Valencia to Madrid and then to Gaborone. The names were aliases, but they used their personal telephone numbers for E-ticket security. That data was in the Pentagon's files from last year's war-sim exercises on the Mediterranean. They don't share tactical information with people they can't find again. The name that stood out was Major Jose Sanjulian. He's an antiterrorist specialist with the Grupo del Cuartel General, Unidad Especial del Despliegue."
"Now you know everything I did," Kline remarked. "In fact, you knew more than I did."
There was resentment in his voice. Herbert was sorry to hear it. But this was not a profession where friendship could come before national security or the lives of one's coworkd done, and he would recover. Especially if he wanted OpCenter to help in the search for Father Bradbury.
"Now that everything is on the table, Mr. Kline, what wo'uld you like from us?" Hood asked.
Kline regarded Herbert. "Is everything on the table, Bob?"
"You mean, have I done any other snooping?" he asked.
"No," Kline replied. "Is there anything else I should know to protect lives in Botswana?"
"Not at the moment," Herbert said.
Kline did not look as though he believed him. Herbert did not care.
"Edgar, what do you want from us?" Hood asked.
"Broadly, we would like any quiet intel
ligence assistance you can provide," Kline told Hood.
"That's a pretty big canvas to work on," Hood said. "We have the present activities of the perpetrators and whoever might be backing them, as well as the history of Mr. Seronga and his own associates."
"It's extremely big and volatile," Kline agreed. "We are dealing with what we see as a three-part problem. One is the situation involving Father Bradbury. That's the one we're most concerned with. Getting him back. But his abduction is obviously not an isolated action. Father Bradbury was provoked into asking his missionaries to leave Botswana. That seems to be a very clear prelude to an anti-Catholic movement relating to the activities of this Dhamballa individual."
"The cult leader," Hood said.
"Correct," Kline replied. "The second part of the problem is, if we cannot quickly secure the safe release of Father Bradbury, we need to know what Dhamballa's plans for him are."
"I assume there's been no contact between the cult and the Vatican?" Hood said.
"None at all," Kline told him. "Dhamballa does not have any kind of office or even a physical church that we are aware of. We don't even know what the man's name was before he founded this cult."
"What's the third problem, Mr. Kline?" Hood asked.
"That one is not so much a Vatican issue but a potential problem for Botswana and the rest of the region," Kline replied. "That's the problem you pointed out earlier, that of who may be backing Dhamballa. We do not know whether Albert Beaudin is involved in this movement. If he is, it's extremely doubtful he is there for religious enlightenment."
"He would want to stir things up for his own reasons," Hood said.
Kline nodded.
"Bob, do we know whether Beaudin has access to the same NATO files we used?" Hood asked.
"He probably does," Herbert said. "At the very least, whoever is behind this would probably assume that the bishop will not be unprotected."
"Mr. Kline, what does the Vatican risk by letting this play out a little longer?" Hood asked.
"A great deal. If this were simply about the return of Father Bradbury, I would agree to let the church go untenanted for a time," Kline replied. "But it isn't. It's about the credibility of the Vatican and its commitment to those who have literally put their faith in us, not just in Botswana but around the world. These are volatile, militant times. The Church cannot afford to be as passive as it has been in the past."