Games Of State (1996)

by Tom - Op Center 03 Clancy

  Most of the time Bob Herbert felt like someone from Wheelie and the Chopper Bunch, a cartoon show he used to watch when he was in the rehab center. It was about a freewheeling hero in a souped-up stunt racer. Now, for the first time since he lost the use of his legs, Herbert felt like Rambo. A single-minded man with a mission and the will to enforce it.

  Over a half-century before, a black man, Jesse Owens, had embarrassed Hitler by outracing his Aryan athletes in the Olympics. Tonight, Karin's angry pursuit had shown just how much Jody's survival had undermined her authority. Now, if a man in a wheelchair managed to escape these tough guys, it could very well end the myth of the Nazi superman. Certainly among this group.

  FIFTY-NINE

  Thursday, 10:41 P.M., Toulouse, France

  Hood didn't know what to expect as they marched toward the fortress which had become a factory. As his own small group crossed the ancient walkway behind Ballon and his men, he wondered how many besieging armies had come this way over the centuries. How many of them had enjoyed success and how many had met with disastrous failure.

  There was very little discussion of what they would do once they got inside. Ballon said that his intention had always been to find evidence tying Dominique to the New Jacobins, then arrest him. His men had been trained to do that. However, Hausen and Hood had persuaded him to let Matt and Nancy take a look in the computers to see what they could find there. Lists of New Jacobin members or sympathizers perhaps, or maybe more evidence linking Demain to the hate games. Either one would help to bring Dominique down.

  There was also very little discussion about what Dominique might do to prevent all this from occurring. The man not only commanded a terrorist army, he himself had killed. He would probably go to any lengths to protect his empire.

  Why not? Hood asked himself as they neared the main entrance. Dominique would probably find himself above the law. Since the crippling rail strike of 1995, France had been reeling from public sector labor disputes and crippling unemployment. Who would dare take on a big employer like Dominique? Especially if he claimed that he was being harassed. Even Ballon' superiors would have to acknowledge that their man was a fanatic. And that was if they were inclined to be charitable, thought Hood.

  An iron gate had been added to the perimeter of the bastide. The only concession to the modern day were small, black video cameras which looked out from the tops of the arabesque designs on top. There was a large red brick booth behind the gate, designed in the style of the edifice. As the group approached, two men emerged. One was a uniformed guard, the other a young man in a business suit. Neither seemed surprised by the arrival of Ballon' party.

  "Colonel Bernard Benjamin Ballon of Le Groupe d'Intervention de la Gendarmerie Nationale," Ballon said in French as he reached the gate. He withdrew a leather wallet, unfolded a document, and held it open on his side of the gate. "This is a search warrant, executed by Judge Christophe Labique in Paris and countersigned by my commander, General Francois Charrier."

  The man in the business suit extended a manicured hand through the gate. "I am M. Vaudran of the law firm Vaudran, Vaudran, and Boisnard. We represent Demain. Show me your warrant."

  "You understand that I'm only required to present the document and explain the purpose of my visit," Ballon said.

  "I will take it and read it and only then will you be admitted."

  "The law says you can read it while we search," Ballon informed him. "You are familiar with the law? You may have it as a keepsake once we're inside."

  Vaudran said, "I must show it to my client before I can admit you."

  Ballon glared at him for a moment, then held the document up to the camera on top of the gate. "Your client sees it," he said. "This is a warrant, not a request. Open the gate."

  "I'm sorry," the attorney said, "but you need more than a piece of paper. You need cause."

  "We have that," Ballon said. "Proprietary elements have appeared in both Demain computer games and a hate game on the Internet called Hangin' with the Crowd."

  "What kind of elements?"

  "A level-select code. We have it on computer. You are entitled to see it before a trial, not before a search. It's all in the warrant. Now, M. Vaudran, open the gate. "

  The attorney regarded Ballon for a moment, then signaled his associate to return to the booth. The guard shut the wooden door and picked up a telephone.

  "You have sixty seconds," Ballon yelled to him. He looked at his watch. "Sergeant Ste. Marie?"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "You have charges to blow open the lock?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Prepare them."

  "Yes, sir."

  The attorney said, "You realize what you're doing, I hope?"

  Ballon continued to look at his watch.

  "Careers have been ruined by lesser mistakes," Vaudran pointed out.

  "There's only one career at risk," Ballon said. He looked directly at the attorney. "No. Two." He looked down again.

  Hausen had translated the exchange for Hood, Stoll, and Nancy. As Hood stood watching, he wondered what they were going to accomplish by this operation. Dominique had surely seen them outside and had concealed or destroyed anything incriminating. He was probably using these last minutes to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

  Less than a minute after leaving, the guard was punching a code into a panel in the booth. Ballon marshaled his men at the gate. A moment later the attorney had gone toward a side entrance of the main building and the French officers were inside. They marched up to a large golden door. One of the guards followed and opened the door by inputting a code in a box on the jamb. Ballon handed him the warrant before entering.

  As soon as Ballon's men were inside, they lined up at ease inside the front door. Ballon explained that if he found any material they wished to remove, the men would be called to collect it and carry it to the van. Hood guessed that they'd done this so often in drills they could do it blindfolded. In the meantime, they were told to watch the exits and make sure no one left.

  Ballon and his party continued into the factory. They crossed a hallway which, if this were a tour and he were a tourist, would have caused him to linger and stare at the spectacular arches and intricate tableaux carved in the stone.

  Ballon's voice brought him back to the reason they were here.

  "This way," the Colonel said softly but imperatively when they reached the end of the long corridor.

  Ignoring the eyes of other guards who had also obviously been advised to let them pass, the quintet walked through a short passageway with small, barred windows to the door which led to the programming rooms of the Demain factory.

  Hood hadn't expected to see employees wandering about at night. But there weren't even cleaning crews afoot. Just the occasional guard, who ignored them.

  Despite the addition of lights, alarms, cameras, and modern flooring, the edifice retained its ancient character. That is, until a guard admitted them to the computer room.

  The former dining hall had been turned into something which resembled the National Reconnaissance Office. The walls were white and the ceiling lined with recessed fluorescent lights. There were glass tables lined with at least three dozen computer terminals. A vacuum-formed plastic chair was attached to the floor at each station. The only difference between Demain and the NRO was, again, that there were no people. Dominique wasn't taking any chances. The warrant was due to expire in just over an hour. If no one were there to answer questions, it had to slow them down.

  "This is some playroom," Stoll said as looked around.

  Ballon said to him, "Start playing."

  Stoll looked at Hood. Hood nodded silently. Stoll took a breath and looked at Nancy. "Got a preference?" he asked.

  "It doesn't really matter," she said. "They're all hooked to the same master computer."

  Nodding, Stoll sat down at the nearest monitor, jacked his portable computer into the back of the computer, and powered up.

  "They've probably dro
pped inhibitors into the system," Nancy said. "How do you plan to get past those to the master system? I can probably help you with a few, but it will take time."

  "We don't need a lot of time," Stoll said. He slipped a diskette into his B drive and booted it. "I always carry the Bulldozer program I wrote. It starts with my fast-acting Handshake Locator, which works on finding the mathematical keys to undo encryption. It doesn't have to hit them exactly. If one-through-six and eight-through-ten don't work, it doesn't bother trying seven. Once Handshake learns some of the language, which only takes a few minutes, Bulldozer rolls in and searches for menus. Once I get those, I'm in. And while we look at the data here, I'll be dumping everything into Op-Center's computers."

  Ballon squeezed Stoll's shoulder, shook his head, and put a finger to his lips.

  Stoll drove his palm into his forehead. "Sorry," he said. "Loose lips sink chips."

  Ballon nodded.

  As Nancy gave Stoll some passwords to try, Hausen wandered over to Ballon.

  "Colonel, what are we going to do about Dominique?"

  "We wait."

  "For what?" Hausen asked.

  Ballon faced the German. He moved close to his ear. "For Dominique to get nervous. As I indicated to M. Stoll, Dominique is certainly observing us. Hopefully, we'll find something in the computer."

  "And if we don't?"

  Ballon said, "I have you."

  "Me?"

  "I'll ask M. Stoll and Ms. Bosworth to send out a message on the computer: your account of the murders in Paris. In either case, we will cripple Dominique." Ballon grinned. "Although there is a third possibility. Dominique has waited twenty-five years for you. If he fears that you may finally reveal secrets about his past, the temptation will be great not to let you walk out that door."

  "You really think he'd send his New Jacobins against us?"

  "I've ordered my men to stand back," Ballon said. "If Dominique thinks he can get you before they can move in, he'll surely be tempted. Once he does that, I'll get all of you out and bring this place down." He winked charmlessly. "As I've said, I've waited a long time for Dominique as well. I intend to have him."

  Ballon withdrew then to watch what Stoll and Nancy were doing. Hausen remained where he was, as though he were bolted to the hardwood floor.

  Hood was standing beside Stoll. He could tell from Hausen's expression that all was not well. The normally impassive face was taut, the brows dipped in concern. But he decided not to ask Hausen about it. The German liked to think things through before speaking. If he had anything to share, he'd share it.

  So Hood just stood there, silently watching with a mixture of fear and pride as the fate of the world was decided by a perspiring young man at a computer keyboard.

  SIXTY

  Thursday, 5:05 P.M., Washington, D.C.

  When data began coming into Eddie Medina's computer from Matt Stoll in France, the young man took off his coat, sat back down, and told his evening replacement, Assistant Deputy Operations Support Officer Randall Battle, to notify General Rodgers.

  Battle did, just as Stoll's :-) signature faded. It was replaced by a screen which announced a big file called L'Operation Ecouter.

  Rodgers had Battle send the material to his own computer. Then he too watched the feed with Darrell McCaskey and Martha Mackall.

  First up was a note from Stoll.

  Eddie: I don't want to eat up too much line-time with notes. Bulldozer cracked the Demain files. Primaries were erased but backups weren't. I'm going to download everything from this file.

  Following the note were photographs of people who served as models for characters in the game. After these came test segments showing white men chasing black men and women. White men raping a black woman. A black man being torn apart by dogs. Then there was a note from Stoll.

  Real games being hatched from a nest somewhere else. Point of origin well hidden.

  There were different angles of black men and women hanging from trees. A bonus round in which a kid raced against a clock while he used black boys on swings for target practice. Martha was stone-faced. McCaskey's lips were rolled tight, his eyes narrow.

  Ed--I must've set off an alarm of some kind. People running all around. Our French escort Colonel Ballon has got his hand full of gun. I'm supposed to get down--bye.

  The images continued to come in for a few moments longer but Rodgers wasn't watching them. He had switched to an alternate computer line, and within seconds had been patched through to the cockpit of the V- 22 Osprey.

  SIXTY-ONE

  Thursday, 11:07 P.M., Toulouse, France

  "Get away from that keyboard!"

  Using his left hand, Colonel Ballon pushed Matt Stoll to the floor and then pressed a button on his radio as the gunmen entered. In his right hand was his own weapon. It was the only weapon of any kind among the five of them.

  Squatting on the floor beside the others, Hood counted twelve ... fifteen ... a total of seventeen men passing by the door and taking up positions along the corridor wall. Except for the high windows which would require a small ladder to reach, that door was the only exit.

  Hausen was lying face-down between Hood and the crouching Ballon. "Congratulations, Colonel," he said. "Dominique has swallowed your bait."

  Hood knew he'd missed something which had passed between the men. Not that it seemed to matter at the moment. Certainly Ballon didn't seem to care. Alert and cool, he was preoccupied with watching the new arrivals.

  In the quick glimpse he'd had of the gunmen, Hood made them out to be a ragtag bunch. They were dressed simply, in several cases shabbily, as if they didn't want to stand out in the street. And they were holding a variety of weapons. Hood didn't need Ballon to tell him that these were New Jacobins.

  "I guess these guys are the kind of evidence you were looking for, huh," Stoll said anxiously.

  "Levez!" one of the men shouted as they trained their weapons around the room.

  "He wants us to get up," Ballon whispered. "If we do, they may shoot us."

  "Wouldn't they have shot us already?" Nancy asked.

  "They would have to come in for that," Ballon said. "They don't know which of us might be armed. They don't want to take casualties." He leaned toward them and said more quietly, "I've signaled my men. They will be moving toward us, taking up positions."

  "By the time they're ready it may be too late," Hausen said.

  "Not if we keep concealed," Ballon said, "make the enemy come to us. We're prepared for this."

  "We're not," said Nancy.

  "If it happens that you're caught in cross fire," Ballon said, "and my men don't see you, shout 'Blanc,' 'White.' That will let them know there are unarmed personnel."

  Hausen said, "I'm going to give these animals a chance to shoot. Let's see what they're made of." With that, he stood.

  "Herr Hausen!" Ballon hissed.

  The German ignored him. Hood didn't breathe. He could only hear his heart thudding in his ears as he waited to see what happened.

  Nothing happened for a long moment. Finally one of the New Jacobins said, "Allons donc!"

  "He wants Hausen to leave," Ballon told Hood.

  "This room or the building?" Hood asked.

  "Or maybe this mortal coil?" Stoll added.

  Ballon shrugged.

  Hausen began walking forward. His courage impressed Hood, though a part of him couldn't help but wonder if it was courage or confidence. The confidence of a collaborator.

  * Ballon was also waiting. When Hausen was through the door, his footsteps stopped. They listened, heard nothing. He was apparently being detained.

  The New Jacobin called for the rest of the people to come out. Hood regarded Ballon.

  "You've dealt with these terrorists," Hood said. "What do they do in situations like this?"

  "They beat up or murder people in every situation," Ballon said. "Mercy is not a word they understand."

  "But they didn't kill Hausen," Nancy said.

  "Maintenan
t!" shouted the New Jacobin.

  "Until they get our weapons, they won't," Ballon said.

  "Then we should get Nancy and Matt out of here," Hood said. "Maybe they can get away."

  "And you," Nancy said.

  Ballon said, "It's probably worth a try. The danger is that they may use you as hostages. Shoot you one by one until I come out."

  "How do we prevent that?" Nancy asked.

  "If that happens," Ballon said, "I'll signal my men by radio. They're trained for situations like that."

  "But there are still no guarantees," Hood said.

  The New Jacobin shouted again. He said he would send his people in if everyone else didn't come out.

  "No," Ballon agreed, "there are no guarantees. But if that happens, they'll have to put each hostage in the doorway so I can see. And if I can see, I can shoot. And if I shoot, whoever is holding the hostage will go down. Then you had all better run."

  Hood envied the Frenchman his gall. From Mike Rodgers, he had learned that that was what it took to run an operation like this. He himself wasn't so confident right now. His thoughts were with his wife and children. He was thinking about how much they needed him and how dearly he cherished them. How it all could end here because of one wrong word or a misstep.

  He looked over at Nancy, who was wearing a sad half-smile. He wished he could make it all up to her, his part in the turns her life had taken. But there wasn't much he could do right now, and he wasn't sure there would be a later. So he just smiled at her warmly and her own smile broadened. For now, that would have to do.

  "All right," Ballon said to the others. "I want you to get up and walk slowly toward the door."

  They hesitated.

  "My legs aren't moving," Stoll said.

  "Make them," Hood said as he rose, followed by Nancy and very reluctantly by Stoll.

  "Here I thought we were the good guys," Stoll said. "Do we raise our hands or just walk? What do we do?"

  "Try and calm down," Hood said as they made their way between the banks of computers.