“Oh, not here, not now,” said Dharma. “We should wait.”
“Wait? Why wait?”
“We’ll get a room upstairs. I’m sure there are plenty.”
“I think here is fine.”
I ran my hands down her back, exploring the delicate curves of her buttocks, then up the sides and around the front. They are doing wonderful things with wire these days.
“Take me then,” she said, pressing her lips into mine.
We tangled tongues. Then I stepped back, done frisking her.
OK, the kiss was just a bonus.
“The only thing I’m unsure of was how much you planned from the beginning,” I said.
“To seduce you? From the moment I saw you.”
“Clearly you didn’t want peace between Pakistan and India. But did you suggest putting the warheads all in one place?”
She frowned. “Oh, we really shouldn’t talk business tonight.”
I bent her back and took a kiss long enough to empty her lungs.
“It was such a bad idea, that it couldn’t have come from the Defense Ministry,” I whispered, letting her breathe.
“I may have suggested it to the prime minister,” she said, practically gasping for air. “Who remembers details?”
“You were always planning a fake attack? Or did you help India for Islam yourself?”
“I didn’t help them. Of course not.”
“Putting the bombs in one place would have helped them succeed.”
“Why do you think I suggested they be the target?”
She curled her arms around me, ready for another kiss. I obliged, bending her backward. Sometimes the job is too dangerous for words.
“You take my breath away,” she said when I let her up.
“So you were always planning some sort of fake attack on the nukes so you could break off the negotiations. You don’t want to disarm Pakistan.”
“They’re all liars. We could never trust them. And who wants to?”
“Why trust anyone?” I asked, hugging her close.
“That is the problem exactly.”
“Like Sergeant Phurem.”
“Phurem?”
“Was he one of the people you wanted on Special Squadron Zero?”
“Someone from Transport Ministry asked for him. He was a cousin. But he had a good background.”
“You checked it personally?”
“Oh, Dick, is that your gun?”
“Not exactly,” I whispered.
“Very nice,” she said.
“So you picked people for the squadron based on political connections, rather than ability.”
“I didn’t have time to check them all. Not like you.”
She kissed me this time. She wasn’t a bad kisser, I have to admit.
“Did you know that Phurem was selling information to People’s Islam?” I asked. “That he’d dealt with the Maoists for years?”
Actually, I suspected that she didn’t, but it’s always nice to get people’s ignorance on the record. She took a deep breath and drew back.
“This is too much business tonight,” she said. “We have other … affairs to concentrate on.”
“You may not have known that he was a traitor, but it was because of him that half a million people in Delhi nearly died today. People’s Islam had a plot to flood the air with VX gas.”
“What?”
“I guess I didn’t tell you about that, did I?” I put my finger on my chin, kind of like Shirley Temple, except maybe she used a different finger. “So your political decision could have led to a lot of innocent deaths.”
“The terrorists would have been responsible.”
“You would have, too. You used Special Squadron Zero for political gain. Because of that, you were negligent setting it up. The people weren’t vetted properly, and politics, not intelligence, was used to make the decisions. You’re as responsible as Phurem.”
She folded her arms in front of her breasts. A shame, really.
“I don’t believe that he was a traitor,” she said.
“He helped People’s Islam. I’m not saying he was in charge or even knew of the VX attack, though he must have suspected something. He was in contact with them right after the attack. You know what he said?”
“What?”
“He said all those deaths wouldn’t have mattered. They would have been a wake-up call for India.”
“That is true,” she said. “The Muslim bastards are a severe threat.”
Cursing with lips I had just kissed? My, my.
Dharma picked up the nearby glass.
“You of all people should know the dangers of dealing with your enemies,” said Dharma. “To accept peace with the Muslims? On what terms? They’re radicals, maniacs. Maybe not all — but just one in their midst. That’s all it takes.”
“Fake attacks on nuclear sites aren’t the best way to push your agenda. And letting terrorists kill thousands of your own people?”
“And what is it that you did with Special Squadron Zero? Were those not fake attacks? Did they not serve a greater purpose? My action helped our security — can you say the same even about your celebrated Red Cell antics?”
“Absolutely. And none of my people died. And I didn’t wipe out half of Washington, D.C., or New York — if it weren’t for Red Cell International, a lot of Delhi would be a graveyard right now.”
“I don’t like the direction this is taking,” she said, sipping from her drink. “I have nothing more to say.”
“You’ve said quite enough.”
The booming voice didn’t come from me; it came from the man standing in the doorway behind me: the Indian prime minister.
Next to him was the U.S. Secretary of State, who looked like she had swallowed a cat.
I know, she always looks that way. But this time it was a really big cat.
Trace was next to her. Among the other dozen or so people were several members of the Indian government, the British prince, and my friend from the State Department, all crowded behind the prime minister. They’d seen everything through the mirrored window.
The other three or four hundred guests had to settle for the broadcast I had arranged with Trace’s help: my pillow talk with Minister Dharma had been piped through the band’s PA system.
That hadn’t been my gun, it had been my microphone.
“Let me explain,” said Minister Dharma.
“You will have to explain to the Indian people,” sputtered the prime minister. “Mr. Marcinko had this broadcast over the Internet on the Delhi Delhi Times’ Web site.”
Yes, the little runt behind Trace was my friend Kenyon Ganesh. Don’t you just hate those media people?
I gave Dharma a big smile. As I was about to turn away, she tried throwing her drink at me. But she’d drank all but the tiniest sip. A few drops of wine flew through the air … followed by a cigarette butt. She’d been sipping out of the drink the prince’s retainers had used to put out their cigarettes.
A shame, really. I would have gone in for one more kiss if that hadn’t been the case.
( IV )
I left India the next morning, flying back to the States with Junior and Shotgun. They headed off to whatever it is young bucks do when they have a few weeks of well deserved R & R — I’ll leave that to your imagination.
I’ll also leave to your imagination my homecoming with Karen, who met me at the airport. Let’s just say our arrival at Rogue Manor was pleasantly delayed.
Sean stayed in Karachi a few days longer, working on an interesting project that may have some promise in the future. He’d developed a little more information about Pakistan intelligence and its connections to India for Islam; I’ve integrated them all into the story.
Doc, Mongoose, and Trace made it back a few days later, after the field hockey competition ended. Mongoose had stayed to further relations with Argentina, or rather one Argentinean, Vina. What comes of that, only the future knows.
Scotland �
�� well, I suppose you read about how they did in the press reports. Trace has her own side of the story, and is threatening to write an expose-all story someday. But at least the controversy seems to have cured her of her desire to whack balls with sticks, at least for a while.
As for Doc, his wife St. Donna has him well in hand — he won’t be giving out massages except to her for quite a while.
The secretary of State has called several times to apologize, but I haven’t been quite able to reach the phone. And the less said about the Games themselves, the better.
Omar was recalled not long after my return. He and I had some words on account of that. But that’s a story for another day, as is Admiral Jones’s officially unofficial comments on my relationship with the secretary of State.
I will give Ken this much — he does pay for his drinks. One way or another.
ALSO BY RICHARD MARCINKO
FICTION
Violence of Action
With John Weisman
Red Cell
Green Team
Task Force Blue
Designation Gold
Seal Force Alpha
Option Delta
The Real Team
Echo Platoon
Detachment Bravo
With Jim DeFelice
Vengeance
Holy Terror
Rogue Warrior®: Dictator’s Ransom
Rogue Warrior®: Seize the Day
NONFICTION
Rogue Warrior (with John Weisman)
Leadership Secrets of the Rogue Warrior: A Commando’s Guide to Success
The Rogue Warrior’s Strategy for Success
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.
ROGUE WARRIOR®: DOMINO THEORY
Copyright © 2011 by Richard Marcinko and Jim DeFelice
All rights reserved.
A Forge® eBook
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Forge® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Marcinko, Richard.
Rogue warrior—Domino theory / Richard Marcinko and Jim DeFelice. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
“A Tom Doherty Associates book.”
ISBN 978-0-7653-2540-2
1. Rogue Warrior (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Special forces (Military science)—Fiction. 3. Nuclear terrorism—Prevention—Fiction. 4. India—Fiction. I. DeFelice, Jim, 1956– II. Title.
PS3563.A6362R6377 2011
813'.54—dc22
2011007884
First Edition: May 2011
eISBN 978-1-4299-6072-4
First Forge eBook Edition: May 2011
1 Do I have to explain what C2 means? Again?
The first C is “can’t.” The second C refers to a female anatomy part in the most impolite language possible.
I cunt use the word because some would be offended.
2 If you haven’t read Rogue Warrior yet — get your butt to the bookstore now.
3 To get around that, soldiers and marines are generally taught to toss grenades so they skip and bounce along the ground, making them difficult to catch and throw back. Easy in practice, a lot harder on the battlefield, believe me.
4 Don’t you kids know your history? Look him up. Hint: he wasn’t short.
5 Rogue Warrior: Seize the Day.
6 Note to copy editor: that’s bowls, not bowling. Or lawn balls, as Mongoose liked to call it.
7 Yes, that is an obscure pun.
8 Yes, I’m certain the Indians would hold back a few from negotiations, just on general principles. Wouldn’t you?
9 That would be Donna, aka Saint Donna. Because really, only a saint would put up with an unreformed SEAL.
10 Yes, I know there are in-theater personnel as well. Stop interfering with my story. And don’t bother mentioning the RQ-15, which a number of SEALs prefer. I’m not supposed to know about it.
11 The captain had trained with the British SAS at some point in his career, and used the British slang for helicopters.
12 He’s not a spook. Believe me.
13 Given that I don’t want my passport revoked, I’m not using his name.
14 He had an Indian accent, but otherwise I have no idea who he might have been.
15 So I lied about not knowing who they were. Arrest me.
16 I think it’s better that I don’t give his actual methods here.
17 You may think that this means there is a way to get around the standard sweeps for electronic bugs that Special Squadron Zero and others use. I have no comment on that.
18 There are several ways to tap into cell phones. The method we’re talking about here would have created what you might think of as a “party line” — we’d be on the same circuit as the caller.
19 See Holy Terror, et al.
20 Also known as the NSA = National Security Agency. They gather electronic intelligence. If your toaster’s bugged, blame them.
21 Note the use of the singular here. It will be important in the pages that follow.
22 See Rogue Warrior, p. 47, under flying without wings for fun and profit.
23 Part of my contract with the Indians required me not to name the facilities we were testing, for fairly sound reasons. If you’re curious though, you can probably figure it out from the description.
24 The scholars who really study this and similar groups will quibble with how much influence Marxism really has, but this is what Mohammad believed.
25 Apparently this is the wrong technical term, but I’m damned if I can understand Shunt’s explanation.
26 What did we say about ass-u-me? But why is it my ass that’s always getting bitten?
27 I’d give the Tamil script but the typesetter would surely take up drinking again in response.
28 Not his real name or initial.
29 The explanation of what happened is based on Mongoose’s descriptions and a subsequent examination of the wreckage. Frankly, as far as I’m concerned, God looked down and kicked them all in the butt for being assholes, Junior included.
30 Yes, I know that nukes are actually designed to do more damage when exploded at a certain altitude. But why quibble over ten or twenty thousand casualties? Port watches, border control — how long have I been talking about those things?
31 He was later traded in a diplomatic deal for two Indian “tourists” who had wandered over the border into China while hunting for snow leopards. Their story made about as much sense as his claim that he was testing the helicopter for an oil drilling company, so I guess the two countries were even.
32 He seems to have met with an unfortunate accident some weeks after I left India. I never met him, but I’m sure it was a great loss to humanity.
33 After considerable debate with the publisher’s legal brain trust — such as it is — we decided to go ahead and name the chemical involved. Chemists will understand if we leave out a few critical details regarding the synthesis.
Yes, the chemicals are not difficult to obtain, the process is relatively well understood though not easy for amateurs, and this could happen in the U.S.
34 Well, that or a competitor to Green Gro Perfect Anti-Magot Grass Fertilizer, which I’m sure there’s a lot of call for in the deserts of Sudan.
35 UAV = unmanned aerial vehicle. I told you that already.
36 We found it necessary to censor some information here. Sorry.
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