Games Of State (1996)

by Tom - Op Center 03 Clancy

  "Ja?" he said impatiently. "We've been following clues all day. I've only just arrived--"

  "We have the girl," Rodgers said.

  "Was?"

  "One of my men found her," Rodgers said. "They're in the woods near Wunstorf."

  "There's a rally in those woods," said Rosenlocher. "Karin Doring and her group. We believe Felix Richter may have gone there as well. My investigators were looking into it."

  "Your investigation was compromised," Rodgers said.

  "How do you know that?"

  "They tried to kill my man and the girl," Rodgers replied. "Hauptmann, they've been running for hours and there isn't time to get help to them. A large group of neo-Nazis is closing in on my man. If we're going to save them, I need you to do something for me."

  "What?"

  Rodgers told him. The Hauptmann agreed. A minute later, Op-Center's communications expert Rosalind Green was making the arrangements.

  SIXTY-SIX

  Thursday, 11:49 P.M., Wunstorf, Germany

  The phone beeped in the dark.

  The man nearest it, young Rolf Murnau, stopped and listened. When he heard the muffled beep a second time, he turned his flashlight to the left. Then he walked several paces, through closely knit branches. His flashlight beam formed a cone of light on top of a body. From the broad shoulders, he could tell the body was that of Manfred Piper. Beyond it lay Karin Doring's body.

  "Come here!" Rolf shouted. "My God, come quickly!"

  Several men and women ran over at once, their flashlight beams crisscrossing as they approached. Several gathered around Manfred's body and looked down as the phone rang a third time, then a fourth. Several others ran over to Karin Doring.

  Rolf had already bent beside the body. The blood had formed a large, dark blot on the back of Manfred's jacket, with tendrils reaching down the sides. Rolf turned the body over slowly. Manfred's eyes were shut, his mouth open and lopsided.

  "She's dead," a man said from Karin's side. "Damn them, dead!"

  The phone rang again and then again. Rolf looked up into the beams. "What should I do?" he asked.

  Footsteps crunched toward him. "Answer it," Felix Richter said.

  "Yes, sir," Rolf said. He was numb from the loss of his leaders, his heroes, as he reached into Manfred's jacket. He removed the phone. After a moment of feeling invasive, then ghoulish, he flipped open the unit and answered.

  "Ja?" he said tentatively.

  "This is Hauptmann Karl Rosenlocher," said the caller. "I want to speak with whoever is in command of you animals."

  Rolf looked up at the light. "Herr Richter? He wants to speak with the commander."

  "Who does?" Richter asked.

  Rolf said, "Hauptmann Karl Rosenlocher."

  Even in the dark Rolf saw Richter stiffen. More and more of the neo-Nazis were gathering as word spread of the deaths. Groups formed around Karin and Manfred as Richter stood there.

  Jean-Michel arrived as Richter took the phone. Slowly, the German brought it to his mouth.

  "This is Felix Richter."

  "You know my voice," said Rosenlocher. "I want you to hear this voice."

  A moment later a young woman said in English, "I told you you didn't beat me. You'll never win, any of you."

  Richter said, "Child, we will come after you."

  Rosenlocher came back on. "No you won't, Herr Richter. She's safe with me, along with the American who got her out. He called for me to collect them. As for you, this is one fire you won't be escaping."

  Richter's eyes peered through the dark woods as he motioned several men over. He covered the mouthpiece. "Guns," he said. "Get ready with your guns!"

  The men raised their weapons.

  Richter said, "I'll meet force with force of my own."

  "It won't do you any good," Rosenlocher said slowly, confidently. "This fire is from within."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "How do you think the American got to your camp tonight?" Rosenlocher asked. "He's one man in a wheelchair. Or is he?"

  Richter peered into the dark.

  "You were infiltrated, Herr Richter," said Rosenlocher. "My people are with you now. They helped him."

  "You're lying," Richter said tensely.

  "They've been with you all day," said Rosenlocher. "Watching. Preparing. Helping the American. You've lost key personnel tonight, haven't you, Herr Richter?"

  Richter wasn't able to see very far in the thick night. "I don't believe this, and I don't believe you."

  "Come after me. Perhaps a firelight will ensue. People will be firing into the dark. Who knows who will fall, Herr Richter? From which side will the bullet come?"

  "You wouldn't dare murder me," said the neo-Nazi. "The truth will be discovered. You'll be ruined. There are laws."

  Rosenlocher said, "Karin ignored them when she attacked the movie set. Do you think the public will care, Herr Richter? Will they really care when they learn that cold-blooded murderers were slain?"

  Richer said, "You won't win, Hauptmann. If I terminate this chase or leave now, you can do nothing!"

  "It's out of my hands," said Rosenlocher. "I'm only calling to say good-bye. That, and to let you know I will not be among those who mourn."

  The Hauptmann hung up. Richter threw down the telephone. "Damn his blood!"

  "What is it?" someone asked.

  Richter shook a fist and glared at his accomplices. "Hauptmann Rosenlocher says that we have been infiltrated by members of the Hamburg Landespolizei."

  Rolf said, "Here?"

  "Here," Richter said. He looked around. "Of course he's lying. It's idiotic, insane!" He thought aloud, "But why lie? He has the girl and the American. What does he gain?"

  "Maybe he wasn't lying," one man said nervously.

  Richter looked at him. "Do you want me to call off the pursuit? Maybe you are one of his men!"

  "Herr Richter!" shouted another. "I have known Jorgen for years. He is true to the cause."

  "Maybe the policeman is lying," said another man.

  "Why?" Richter asked. "What does he gain? Fear? Dissent? Indecision? Panic?" He roared gutturally, "What does he gain?"

  Jean-Michel said from behind him, "Time."

  Richter spun on him. "What are you talking about?"

  "The Hauptmann gains time," Jean-Michel said smoothly. "We find the bodies, stop to take care of them, then stand around trying to figure out who may or may not be a traitor. And as we do, Rosenlocher puts more distance between himself and us."

  "To what end?" Richter asked. "He has what he came for."

  "Does he?" asked Jean-Michel. "I don't think the American and the girl have had enough time to reach the Autobahn. Perhaps the cripple had a phone with him and called the Hauptmann." The Frenchman came closer. "You did, after all, give a speech in which you named your worst enemy."

  Richter glared at him.

  Jean-Michel asked, "It isn't difficult to generate a conference call, to make it seem as if Rosenlocher, the American, and the girl are all together."

  Richter shut his eyes.

  "You made the kind of mistake a leader cannot afford to make," said Jean-Michel. "You told the American how to beat you, provided him with the name of the one man he could trust. And now you may be giving that enemy the chance to weaken you with an old psychological game."

  Richter bent slowly at the knees. Then he shook his fists at the sky and screamed, "Get them!"

  The Germans hesitated.

  "We should take care of the bodies," said one man.

  "That's what the Hauptmann wants you to do!" Richter screamed.

  "I don't care," said the man. "It's the right thing."

  Rolf was in turmoil, buffeted by grief and rage. But above all, there was duty. He turned his flashlight around and started out. "I'm going after the Americans," he said. "That's what Karin Doring and Manfred Piper would have wanted, and that's what I'm going to do."

  Several others followed wordlessly, then more and more of the
m joined in. They moved quickly to make up for lost time and also to burn off their anger.

  But as Rolf picked his way through the woods, tears rolled down his cheeks. The tears of a little boy who was still very close to the surface of the young man. The tears of someone whose dreams of a future with Feuer had just turned to ash.

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  Thursday, 11:55 P.M., Toulouse, France

  Colonel Brett August's primary job with NATO was to help plan maneuvers. Though his specialty was infantry assaults, he had been fortunate to work with experts in aerial and nautical attacks as well. One of the men with him, Airman Boisard, had worked on aerial extractions in Bosnia. August enjoyed working with men like him to see which maneuvers could be transplanted, mixed, and mutated to surprise the enemy.

  For the bastide, however, he had decided to go with a simple, proven two-by-two assault. Two men advance while two men cover, then the two covering men move in while the forward pair covers them. Even if eight or ten or twenty men were going in, four men were always responsible for each other. It enabled the assault to remain tight, focused, and to strike with laser accuracy. If a man fell, the squad switched to a double-leapfrog assault. The rear man moves to the middle while the front man covers, then moves to the front while the rear man covers. That way, he isn't accidentally shot by his own teammate. If two men fell, the remaining two went in leapfrog. If three men fell, the last man hunkered down and tried to keep the enemy pinned down.

  Twenty-two NATO troops entered the Demain factory under August's command. One man caught a slug in the hand, another in the knee. Among the Gendarmerie personnel, only Colonel Ballon was hurt with a bullet in the shoulder. Three of the twenty-eight New Jacobin terrorists died and fourteen were wounded.

  August would later testify before a special committee of the French National Assembly that the casualties among the New Jacobins occurred because they fought too hard and too chaotically.

  "They were like chess players who knew the moves but not the game," he would read from a statement he and Lowell Coffey II prepared. "The terrorists charged from the factory without a plan, divided their forces, and got chewed up. When they retreated into the building and tried to regroup, we closed in. Finally, after they'd been flanked, they attempted to punch their way out. We tightened the knot until they surrendered, and that was that. The entire operation, from first shot to last, took twenty-two minutes."

  It had seemed much longer to Paul Hood.

  When the massive V-22 Osprey had descended on the compound and the New Jacobin leader had ordered the execution of his captives, gunfire popped not only from where the doorknob had been removed. It also came from a hole which had been cut in the pasteboard of the false ceiling and from a window to which one of the Gendarmerie officers had rappelled. It was a perfect triangulation and it accounted for three of the New Jacobin wounded: the three men who had been ordered to execute Paul Hood, Nancy Bosworth, and Matt Stoll.

  As soon as the men fell, Hood threw himself atop Nancy and Matt dove for the ground. Ballon received his wound as he ran out to cover Matt.

  The prisoners were ignored in the madness which followed, as the New Jacobins scrambled to escape what had become a shooting gallery and get out into the open. They were back within ten minutes, trying to hold off the attackers. But by that time, Hood and his companions had retreated to a kitchenette, where Nancy cleaned and bandaged Ballon's wound as best she could and Hood struggled to keep him down. Despite the pain, the Colonel was anxious to get back into battle.

  Stoll stood aside, admittedly sickened by the blood and distracting himself with self-congratulatory palaver for having noticed the doorknob being removed and attempting to distract the New Jacobins with "my 'I'm just a computer guy' riff." Like the New Jacobin before him, Hood told Stoll to be quiet.

  Two NATO privates were the first ones into the kitchenette. By then, the corridor had been secured and a medic was summoned to take care of Ballon.

  Hood, Nancy, and Stoll were evacuated to the Osprey. August and his French interpreter had set up command headquarters beside the cockpit. After receiving a report that the team had secured the first floor and was moving to the second floor, he introduced himself. Then his attention turned back to the interpreter, who was on the radio as the NATO team closed in on the executive suites.

  Hood wanted to know if either team had found Dominique or Hausen, and he was desperate to talk to Rodgers. He was concerned about Herbert and wanted to know how he was faring. But it would have to wait. At least they were all safe.

  Stoll had already made himself comfortable in the Osprey cabin. Hood was about to invite Nancy inside when a light appeared in the sky. It was star-small and moving east to west. Suddenly, it turned toward them and grew larger, accompanied by the distinctive beating of a helicopter rotor.

  August also looked up.

  "One of yours?" Hood asked.

  "No," he said. "It could be the one that took off before we landed. We assumed some top-level instigators were getting out."

  Suddenly, a Gendarmerie officer approached from the edge of the field. A man in shirtsleeves was draped over his shoulder.

  "Sous-lieutenant!" the officer called to the interpreter.

  He placed the groaning man on the ground beside the Osprey and talked with the Second Lieutenant. After several moments, the French officer turned to August.

  "This man is a pilot, sir," he said. "He was warming up the helicopter for a M. Dominique when a blond man hit him."

  "Hausen," Hood said.

  The helicopter began to spiral down. It was obvious that it was falling now, not flying.

  August told everyone to get down and cover their heads. Hood lay on top of Nancy, though August remained standing. The Colonel watched as the chopper leveled itself out at about two hundred feet, then pulled back toward the river.

  August asked, "Who's Hausen, Mr. Hood?"

  Hood stood. "A German politician and a flier. He hates Dominique, the man behind all this."

  "Hates him enough to risk his life stealing a chopper?"

  "More than enough," Hood told him. "I think Hausen would take himself out just to get Dominique."

  "Himself, the chopper, and everyone underneath," August said. He continued to watch the helicopter. It swooped off to the north in an arcing climb, then leveled off again. "I've seen this before, old rivalries getting out of control." The Colonel turned to the interpreter. "Are Manigot and Boisard still on the first floor?"

  The Second Lieutenant got on the radio and was given an affirmative. "Still on cleanup, sir," he said.

  August said, "Tell them to report back here at once. You're in charge."

  "Yes, sir," the officer said, saluting.

  August looked up at the cockpit and moved his index finger in a circle, over his head. The pilot saluted and fired up the vertical engines.

  "Colonel, what is it?" Hood asked.

  August ran toward the stairs which led to the cockpit. "Somebody wants that chopper to land and somebody else doesn't," he said. "If we don't get aboard it's going to do neither."

  "Get aboard?" Hood shouted.

  But the two NATO commandos arrived quickly and climbed on board, and the thunder of the powerful engines precluded an answer. Stoll jumped out of the Osprey's cabin. Hood and Nancy backed away, and less than two minutes after the helicopter had first been sighted the huge VTOL was airborne.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  Friday, 12:04 A.M., Wunstorf, Germany

  The police car raced along the Autobahn at over one hundred miles an hour. Hauptmann Rosenlocher was looking to his left, past the driver, watching for any sign of activity. He was running without a siren, the driver flashing his toplights briefly at anyone who happened to get in the way. One man sat silently in the backseat. He wore the blue uniform of the Landespolizei. Along with his commander, he was watching the road.

  Behind Rosenlocher's car were two other cars, designated Two and Three. Each one carried six men of his fiftee
n-man tactical force. Five of the men were armed with .30 M1 carbine rifles used for sniping. Five had HK 53 submachine guns. All carried long-barrelled Walther P1 pistols. All were watching for the young woman and the man in the wheelchair.

  The silver-haired, craggy-faced officer wondered if Richter had bought the bluff. Rosenlocher himself didn't have any experience in these PSYOPS, psychological operations. His expertise was in riot control and undercover operations. But General Rodgers assured him it had worked for one of his colleagues in a situation in 1976 involving the Croatian hijackers of a TWA jet over Paris. And what General Rodgers had said made sense. Most revolutionaries, especially new and insecure ones, could be convinced that there were traitors in their midst. Often, there were.

  The officer's phone rang. "Ja?"

  "Hauptmann Rosenlocher, it's Rodgers. We've finally got all of you on satellite. Bob and the girl are about three kilometers north of you, headed toward the Autobahn. The neo-Nazis were stopped but now they're moving again. It'll be close as to who reaches them first."

  The Hauptmann checked the odometer, then leaned toward his driver. "Go faster," he said softly.

  The baby-faced driver grunted.

  "Thank you, General," said Rosenlocher. "I'll call back the moment I have something to report."

  "Good luck," said Rodgers.

  Rosenlocher thanked him again, then peered ahead. The shotgun was in a rack on the back of his seat. He reached around and grabbed it. His palms were as sweaty as always before he went into action. Though unlike most situations, he ached for this one to develop into "a shooting war." He cherished any excuse to strike at the brutes who wanted to destroy his country.

  "A little bit faster," he said to the driver.

  The driver pursed his lips and leaned into the gas pedal.

  The night sped by. The other cars sped up. And then he saw two pale figures amidst the dark foliage on the left side of the road. They ducked back quickly.

  "That was one arm of Richter's team," the Hauptmann said. "I can smell those bastards at one hundred twenty miles an hour. Slow down."