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competition, that they can take a little nip in the
|i She felt a sob well suddenly into her throat and ched her teeth against it. Pushing it back down in- her. Banishing it. | “Anyway, back at the ranch, Megan and Pete and the ew are doing some sleuthing of their own. Trying to if they can find somebody who might have passed the bug. You know how they are, wanting to make |yerything right. I swear, they’d go to war with the uni- for you. And I know Pete would turn red in the if he ever heard me say this … Vince, too,… oh , especially Vince … but I think they love you al- st as much as I do. Really love you, Gord.” l\ She became aware of movement behind her, turned to ok over her shoulder.
A nurse. Signaling her from just inside the door. Ashley nodded, held up a finger. The nurse returned the nod and withdrew. Ashley leaned forward over the bed. “I’m getting the hook,” she said in a quiet voice. ey only give me a few minutes at a time. The docs, that is. You know how they are. So before I forget give you the best news … aside from the football dictions, naturally … before I forget, I want to an- nce that I’ve decided to lift the ban on flavored cof- It’s over. Finished. As of today. When you get out here, it’s hazelnut, French vanilla, mocha Java… iphatever you want. So you hang in there, okay? You ng in.” ; Ashley wiped her eyes with the back of her arm,
athed, heard the ventilator breathe for her husband. i Then she became aware of the nurse at the door again.
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In silence, she touched a rubber glove to her heart, gently touched it to his heart, and straightened.
They can’t be unjoined, she thought.
And slowly pulled herself away from him and turned to leave the room.
298
NINETEEN
VARIOUS LOCALES NOVEMBER 16, 2001
hernandez, the chief countersnoop, was
ged to lead Nimec and Ricci into Palardy’s office ninutes after Ricci returned from Sunnydale. Ashley lian had called with word of her husband’s rapid vnturn and isolation, and the two Sword ops couldn’t ord to lose any time. “You know anybody who fraternized with Palardy?” jfimec asked Hernandez. “Buddies from work, outside
ntacts, girlfriends … ?”
p Hernandez shook his head. He was a tautly built man his late forties with graying hair, skin the color of n-baked ocher, and intelligent brown eyes. “Don kept to himself,” he said. “Didn’t even mention used to be married till I noticed that snapshot over : and asked him about it.” He tipped his head toward small picture frame on Palardy’s desk. The photo awed a plump woman with a nice face and lively aile crouched on a beach blanket with two small chil- A boy and girl who might have been twins and
Tom Clancy’s Power Plays
were certainly very close in age. “Don told me he was divorced a few years ago. Wife took custody of the kids. I think she lives somewhere back East.” Another shake of his head, this time accompanied by a sigh. “Jesus, I suppose I’d better see if I can get her address from personnel, somebody’s got to notify his family.”
Ricci nodded. “If an asshole named VanDerwort gives you any flak-”
“VanDerwerf,” Nimec corrected.
“You let us handle him,” Ricci said.
Ricci glanced around the room. It was a tiny, win- dowlesj cubicle as unremarkable as Palardy’s condominium had been. A computer workstation stood against one wall. On a credenza opposite it were a pair of headphones and some other sweep equipment, mostly minor accessories. Heavy-duty apparatus like the Big Sniffer were kept under electronic lock and key in a secure storage locker elsewhere on the floor.
Nimec was looking at Hernandez. “Did Palardy’s behavior seem at all unusual lately?”
“Far as his health?”
“That, or anything else. In your opinion.”
Hernandez thought a moment, then shrugged.
“Nothing stands out in my mind,” he said. “The last time I saw Don must’ve been Friday. Maybe nine o’clock in the morning, after his sweep. He seemed a little quiet, but that’s how it was with him. I won’t say he got moody. You could ordinarily expect him to be pleasant. He just wasn’t the type to talk about his personal life.”
“So you’ve told us,” Nimec said.
Hernandez shrugged again.
‘The job’s repetitious. You come in, make your
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3s, do your paperwork. Most of the guys walk ugh the door in the morning, pour their coffees, can’t ait to tell each other whether they had a good night, a ;sy one, saw a movie, won at poker, got drunk, got
you know. And I encourage that.” It “Relieves the tedium,” Nimec said.
A nod. “I’d rather have my people happy than un- py. The priorities, though, are that they’re reliable . thorough. And Don is. Was. Kept his men on their es.”
5 “In what way?” Ricci said.
“Every way you’d want from a team leader. Don was : about his records. A stickler for equipment main- nee. And nobody was more up on the latest antibug nologies. He knew his stuff, was always requisition; upgrades.”
The first time we talked, you acted like it wasn’t nything to set off air-raid sirens about when he stopped ling after Monday. Somebody’s that diligent, how
you didn’t think it was a bigger deal?” Hernandez looked abashed.
|| “Honestly, I was damn concerned,” he said. “But I ured that whatever could make him act so out of char- had to be pretty serious, and I wanted to give him ||!ittle slack. In case it was something personal, know
at I mean?” p Ricci regarded him steadily. “He’s one of your own,
look out for him.” iJSfHernandez nodded.
“Listen, if you hadn’t beat me to it, I would have down to his place tonight myself,” he said, the one to find the poor guy.” “Lucky me,” Ricci said. He expelled a sigh. “Pa301
Tom Clancy’s Power Plays
lardy’s records … where’d he keep them?”
Hernandez waved at the computer against the wall.
“In there. He entered his reports every day, sent copies directly to my terminal at the end of each week. Once a month I’d get his assessment of our surveillance countermeasure protection level, which is standard practice for all team leaders.”
“Sounds like a lot of typing,” Nimec said.
“That’s true,” Hernandez said. “But it’s how we plug holes. And avoid new ones.”
Ricci was rubbing his chin. “The reports get written up in the building? During business hours?”
“Depends,” Hernandez said. “Sometimes when they’re making their monthly assessments, the team leaders would rather take the work home with them than park it here.”
“Palardy, too?”
“Sure,” Hernandez said. “Detailed as his were, he’d never have left this office otherwise.”
“He must have had a desktop PC at his condo, then.”
Hernandez gestured vaguely with both hands.
“You’re the only person I know who’s seen the inside of the place,” he said. “I can tell you that he brought in a notebook computer every so often.”
“He ever leave it behind?”
“I really have no idea. Suppose it’s possible.”
Ricci glanced around the little room. There was no sign of the notebook and not many spots where it could be. He went over to the workstation, pulled open its drawer. It was rilled front to back with carefully labeled file folders. Nothing else. Questions picking at his mind, he recalled the two disconnected cables under Palardy’s bedroom desk.
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|He turned to Hernandez.
|”I need to sit down at his computer and check out at’s on Palardy’s hard drive,” he said. “Might take ; a while.”
I, Hernandez’s expression showed reluctant acceptance. H^You call the shots,” he said. “If I asked you why,
aid you tell me?” pRicci looked at Nimec, got his nod, looked back at
dez.
| “The boss is in bad shape,” he said. “Nobody’s sure has him down, but we’re afraid it might be the thing that took out Palardy. And we want to trace iy’s contacts. Try to connect the dots before this lion gets any worse.” IHernandez stood without saying anything for a mo- nt. Then he stepped over to the computer and turned
:/'”It’s all yours,” he said. “You need any help, call me ; my office. If I’m not there, page me.” ||Ricci nodded. He was thinking Hernandez was okay. “Appreciate it,” he said, and sat behind the monitor t-see what he could see.
cio Salazar met them in Tecate, a small border town smuggler’s gateway on the Baja Peninsula, about a ‘ hour’s drive east of Tijuana. ^Despite the necessity of the trip, Lucio supposed it only as his driver pulled over to the drab motel on enida Benito Juarez that he altogether believed he was ut to arrange for the death of Enrique Quiros, son of told friend Tomas, with whom he’d pilfered fruit and from the outdoor market stands of Tijuana when were ragged strays without a whole pair of shoes