Clancy, Tom - Op Center 04 - Acts Of War

by Acts Of War [lit]

  "I think I'll live, Benny," Rodgers replied.

  Coffey hung up and walked toward Katzen. "Okay," he said gravely, "what I got from this is that Mike and the colonel have been caught by three people. They don't speak English very well. Apparently they read his Canton Knight ID and called him Kuhnigit. Sounds like Seden was shot and Mike was forced to call us. And since Mike isn't a swearing man, I'm guessing he mentioned the 'damn' accident for a very specific reason reason."

  "Like he stumbled on the guys who blew up the Ataturk," said Katzen, who was standing behind Mary Rose.

  "Or they stumbled upon him," Coffey said.

  "Here," Mary Rose said. "Captain John Hawkins. According to the database, Hawkins was an English sailor who was ambushed by the Spanish in Vera Cruz in 1568."

  Katzen shook his head slowly. "Only Mike Rodgers would know something like that."

  Coffey had slipped into Mike Rodgers's seat. He called Op-Center on the secure line built into the computer. "Mary Rose," he said, "Mike told me he's about a quarter mile up the dirt road. Can we get a closer look at that?"

  "Right away," she said. It took just over a second to bring up a map of the region. "They were going across the desert to the plains, which puts them right... here." She zeroed in on the region where the road began. "Do you have any other information?"

  "Yes," Coffey said. "He said that they were at a hill on the east side of the first rise."

  "I see it," she said. She called up the computer-simulated relief map. "That's north-south coordinate E, east-west coordinate H. I'll contact the NRO. See if they can get us visuals."

  "I'm going to brief Privates Pupshaw and DeVonne in case we have to move out," Katzen said.

  Coffey nodded as the seal of the National Crisis Management Center appeared on the screen---the organization's formal name, though no one at Op-Center ever used it. He typed in his personal access code, and a menu appeared offering all the different departments. Coffey selected Office of the Director. A prompt appeared asking him to input the full name of the person with whom he wished to speak, surname first. This procedure helped to screen crank calls from hackers who managed to get this far into the program.

  Hood, Paul David

  A computerized voice told him to wait a moment. Almost at once, Bugs Benet's face filled the screen.

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Coffey," Benet said.

  "Bugs, we've got a major situation here," Coffey said. "I need to talk to Paul."

  "I'll tell him," Benet said.

  Hood was on the secure digital uplink within seconds. "Lowell, what's up?" he asked.

  "Paul, we just heard from Mike out in the field," Coffey said. "From the sound of things, he found the terrorists he was searching for. And it looks like they've got him and the TSF colonel as their prisoners."

  "Hold on," Hood said. His expression darkened and his voice had dropped considerably. "Let me bring Bob Herbert in on this."

  A few seconds later the screen split down the middle. Hood was on the left side, Herbert on the right. The intelligence chief's thinning hair was disheveled. He looked even grimmer than Hood.

  "Talk to me, Lowell," Herbert said. "Do you have any idea what these bastards want?"

  "Not a clue," Coffey said. "All we're supposed to do is go out there and get Mike and the TSF officer who went with him."

  "Out where?" Herbert asked.

  "Into the plains," Coffey said.

  "Now?" Herbert asked.

  "Immediately," Coffey replied. "Mike was pretty explicit about us leaving at once."

  "Meaning the guys who are holding them must need a lift out of the area," Herbert said, "possibly out of the country. Maybe that chopper they had was too hot to keep flying."

  "Where are they located?" Hood asked.

  "About a ninety-minute drive north of here," Coffey said. "Mary Rose is in touch with the NRO to try and get some precise visuals."

  "Did Mike put a time limit on how long it should take you to get there?" Herbert asked.

  "No," Coffey said.

  "Did the captives make any other demands?" Hood asked. "Do you have to bring the ROC?"

  "No," Coffey said.

  "Is there any indication that they even know about the ROC?" Herbert asked.

  "None," said Coffey.

  "At least that's something," Hood said.

  "Excuse me," Mary Rose said, turning around. "Stephen Viens says he can give us an infrared photo in about two or three minutes. He's still got the 30-45-3 in the neighborhood."

  "Bless him," Coffey said. "Paul, Bob, did you hear that?"

  "I heard," said Hood.

  "Lowell, did Mike say anything else?" Herbert asked.

  "Not much," said Coffey. "He didn't seem to be in pain or under duress. He passed all the information along calmly, using oblique references to Benedict Arnold and some old English sea captain who we found out was ambushed. It was clear he was trying to tell us that he was being forced to say what he was saying and that we'd better watch out."

  "These jerks'll want hostages," Herbert said. "If we don't fire, chances are they won't either."

  "Are you saying that we should give them a ride?" Hood asked.

  "I'm just giving you the facts," Herbert said. "If it were up to me I'd shoot the bastards dead. Fortunately, it isn't up to me."

  "Are Privates Pupshaw and DeVonne ready to go out?" Hood asked.

  "'They were eating when the call came in," Coffey said. "Phil is briefing them now. What do we do about the Turkish government? The TSF will be calling when their man doesn't check in."

  "You negotiated our way in there," Hood said. "What are we obliged to tell them?"

  "Depends what we decide to do," Coffey said. "If we start shooting we'll be in violation of about twenty different international codes. If we kill anyone, we're in deep doo. If it's a Turk, we're in very deep doo."

  "What if we shoot the terrorists who blew up the dam?" Hood asked.

  "If we can prove it, and let the TSF share credit, then we'll probably be heroes," Coffey said.

  "I'll have Martha get in touch with them," Hood said. "She can brief them and ask them to lay low."

  "Lowell," Herbert said, "Mike didn't promise them a certain kind of transportation."

  "Not as far as I know."

  "Which means if you go out there with the ROC," Herbert continued, "we can follow you even if we don't have satellite imaging. I can listen in through the computer."

  "Negative," said Katzen. "I think Mary Rose should lobotomize the hardware."

  "I disagree," Herbert said. "That'll leave you defense---"

  "Picture about to come in!" Mary Rose said. "NRO should be downloading it to you as well, Paul."

  In exactly .8955 seconds, the monitors filled with the same green-tinted photograph showing the site described by Rodgers. Op-Center and the ROC were still voice-linked.

  "There they are," Herbert said.

  Rodgers was sitting against the motorcycle. It looked as if his hands were tied to the handlebars. His feet were so bound. The TSF officer was lying on his belly, his hands lashed behind him. A third man was sitting on the side of the hill, smoking. There was a submachine gun in his lap.

  "They're still alive," Hood said. "Thank God for that."

  Katzen, Private Pupshaw, and Private DeVonne entered then. They stood between the two stations and had a look at the photograph.

  Coffey leaned toward the screen. "I only see three people."

  "Maybe Mike meant that there were only three people altogether," Hood suggested.

  "No," Coffey said. "He told me there were three perps. I can play back the tape if you want, but that's what he said."

  "The other two could be out on stakeout," Herbert said. "It would make sense for them to have gone ahead and see who comes in. Make sure Mike didn't send for the cavalry or something."

  "Even if they're out watching the road," Hood said, "we've got two Strikers they may not know about. If the captors think that Mike was a run-of-t
he-mill spook, they may not expect an armed escort to come for him. Especially one that knows exactly what they're riding into."

  "Which brings us back to whether you take the ROC," Herbert said. "I still think you should leave everything active. Paul?"

  Hood thought for a moment. "Phil, you're against it."

  "If anything happens to us, we'd be giving them the key to the candy store," Katzen said.

  "Lowell?" Hood asked.

  "Legally, Paul, we might have problems," Coffey said. "Our geographical playing field was pretty carefully delineated to both the Turks and Congress."

  "Jesus!" Herbert yelled. "Mike's being held hostage and you're talking about our legal limitations!"

  "There's something else," Katzen said. "The Strikers. If someone's watching the van, they may see them. If we dismantle some of the equipment, we can hide them in the battery compartment."

  "The battery compartment," Herbert said. "Privates, how do you feel about that?"

  "I like it, sir," Pupshaw said. "We go in completely unseen."

  Hood asked if everyone was finished with the photograph. They were. He had the face-to-face visuals restored.

  "Okay," Hood said. "We go in and we take the lobotomized ROC. Who runs the operation?"

  "We can't call it a military rescue," Coffey said. "We need Congressional approval for that and it'll never come in time. So on the books at least it has to be a civilian pperation."

  "Agreed," said Hood. "The Strikers dress-down, weapons handy but hidden: Who runs the operation?"

  No one answered. Coffey looked at the three faces on the green-lit screen. "I guess I'm elected," he said unenthusiastically. "I've got seniority."

  "By two days over Phil," Herbert said. "Shit, Lowell, you've never fired a gun. At least Phil has."

  "To scare away nesting harp seals," Coffey said. "He never shot at anybody. That makes us both virgins."

  "Not me," said Mary Rose. "When I was at Columbia I shot once a week at a pistol club on Murray Street in Manhattan. And I once pulled a gun on an intruder who busted into my dorm room. I don't care who goes and who runs this, but I'm going with them."

  "Thanks, M.R.," Hood said. "Phil, you did lead some pseudo-military Greenpeace escapades; didn't you?"

  "Very pseudo." Katzen grinned. "Shotguns with blanks. I did three in Washington State, two in Florida, two in Canada."

  "You feel up to running this?"

  "If it has to be done, I'll do it."

  "That isn't what I wanted to hear," Hood snapped. "Can you take command of this operation?"

  Katzen flushed. "Yes," he said. He looked at the determined faces of Mary Rose and the two Strikers. "Hell, yes, I can do it."

  "Good," Hood said. "Lowell, I'd prefer it if you stayed behind. Whatever happens, somebody's going to have to be on-site to smooth things with the Turkish government. You're the best man for that job."

  "I won't try to change your mind," Lowell said. He looked at his companions and then looked down. Even though he'd offered to go and been ordered to stay, he felt like a coward. "But in fairness to the mission, let's see how things look when we're ready to roll."

  "All right," Hood said. "It'll be your call."

  "Thanks ever so much." Coffey frowned.

  "You realize, Paul," Herbert said, "that by running even a civilian operation covertly, both Turkey and Congress will be up our butts for a very long time. And that's just if things go right. If they go wrong, we'll all be making license plates for the government."

  "I understand," Hood said. "But getting Mike out is my only concern."

  "And there's something else," Herbert said. "Our sources in Ankara tell us that the Turkish Presidential Council and Cabinet are meeting now to mobilize the military. They want to prevent any further attacks. The ROC may run into some pretty skittish patrols."

  "Once we pull the batteries we'll be limited to eyes and ears," Katzen said. "But we'll keep them open."

  "I'll see if Viens can keep a satellite eye on things too," Herbert said.

  "Thanks, all of you," Hood said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to phone Senator Fox so she doesn't find out about it from someone in the Ankara bureau of the Washington Post."

  Hood clicked off. After saying that he was going to find out what other intelligence agencies had on the dam attack, Herbert also excused himself.

  When the ROC team was alone, Katzen rubbed his hands together.

  "All right, then," he said. "Mary Rose, would you kindly print out the map? You're going to drive. Sondra, Walter---we three are going to have a strategy session with input from the NRO." He turned and offered Coffey his hand. "As for you, wish us luck and then go finish my chicken for me."

  Coffey looked at the four and smiled. "Good luck," he said. "You're really, really going to need it."

  "Why is that?" Katzen said.

  "Because I can deal with the Turks just as well by phone." He took a long, anxious breath. "I'm coming with you."

  SIXTEEN

  Monday, 12:01 p.m.,

  Washington, D. C.

  Paul Hood was preoccupied with Mike Rodgers's plight when he received a call from Deputy Chief of Staff Stephanie Klaw at the White House. Hood was being ordered to report to the Situation Room by one o'clock to discuss the crisis on the Euphrates. He left at once, telling his assistant Bugs Benet to notify him immediately if there were any developments in Turkey. In the absence of both Hood and Mike Rodgers, Martha Mackall would be in charge of Op-Center. Bob Herbert wouldn't be happy about that. She was the kind of career politician he disliked and distrusted. But he'd have to live with it. Martha knew her way around the corridors of power both domestically and abroad.

  At this time of day it would take an hour for him to drive from Op-Center headquarters at Andrews Air Force Base to the White House. Op-Center usually had a helicopter at its disposal for quick, fifteen minute trips into the capital. However, there had been trouble with the rotor heads in other Sikorsky CH53E Super Stallions and the entire government fleet had been grounded. That was fine with Hood. He preferred to drive.

  Hood hopped right onto Pennsylvania Avenue, which was located just a short distance northeast of the base. Though most government officials had private cars and drivers to take them around the city, Hood eschewed the privilege. He'd also refused it when he was Mayor of Los Angeles. The idea of being chauffeured was just too ostentatious for him. Security didn't concern Hood. No one wanted to kill him. Or if they did, he'd rather have someone try to do him harm instead of going after his wife or children or mother. Besides, driving himself, he could still conduct business by phone. He also had the opportunity to listen to music and think. And what he was thinking about now was Mike Rodgers.

  Hood and his second-in-command were very different types of men. Mike was a benevolent autocrat. Hood was a thinking-man's bureaucrat. Mike was a career soldier. Hood had never even fired a gun. Mike was a fighter by nature. Hood was a diplomat by temperament. Mike quoted Lord Byron and Erich Fromm and William Tecumseh Sherman. Hood occasionally remembered lyrics from Hal David and Alfred E. Neuman's quotes from his son's copies of Mad magazine. Mike was an intense introvert. Hood was a guarded extrovert. The two men often disagreed, sometimes passionately. But it was because they disagreed, it was because Mike Rodgers had the courage to say what was on his mind, that Hood trusted and respected him. Hood also liked the man. He truly did.

  Hood maneuvered patiently through the thick lunch-time traffic. His suit jacket was folded across the seat and his cellular phone lay on top of it. He wanted it to ring. God, how he wanted to know what was going on. At the same time, he dreaded finding out.

  Hood stayed in his lane in the slow-moving traffic. As he did, he ruminated over the fact that death was an inescapable part of intelligence work. This was something Bob Herbert had pounded into him during the early days of Op-Center. Undercover operatives in domestic as well as foreign situations were frequently discovered, tortured, and killed. And sometimes the reverse was tr
ue. Often, operatives had to kill to keep from being discovered.

  Then there was Striker, the military wing of Op-Center. Elite teams lost members on secret missions. Op-Center's own Striker had lost two so far. Bass Moore in North Korea and Lieutenant Colonel Charlie Squires in Russia. Sometimes officers were murdered at home and sometimes they were ambushed abroad. Hood's own life had been in jeopardy recently when he and French undercover operatives had helped to break up a ring of neo-Nazis in Europe.