“I think so, sir.”
“I’ll put it another way,” Squires said as he sat up and buckled up for the landing. “Keep everything open except your mouth and you’ll do just fine.”
Sondra slipped on her own shoulder harness and leaned back. She was still a little deflated and somewhat annoyed that the Lieutenant Colonel had chosen this time and this way to share his philosophy, but feeling more confident than ever that here was a man she could follow into battle ….
THIRTY-THREE
Monday, 4:30 P.M.,Washington, D.C.
While Rodgers sat in his office, reviewing the latest Striker plans from TAS, Stephen Viens E-mailed the AIM-Satellite report on the crates:
CONTENTS OF EACH CRATE APPEARS TO BE A SOLID
MASS. PROBABLY NOT MACHINERY. EASY FOR TWO
MEN TO LIFT. SENT PHOTO RECON TO MATT STOLL
FOR ANALYSIS.
Rodgers muttered to himself, “Bricks of cocaine or packets of heroin would fill the bill. And I’d love to make the bastards eat each and every one of them.”
There was a knock on the door. Rodgers buzzed Lowell Coffey in.
“You wanted to see me?” Coffey asked.
Rodgers waved him to a chair. Coffey removed his black trench coat and planted himself in the leather armchair. The attorney had bags under his eyes, and his hair wasn’t as carefully combed as usual. This had been a long, tough day for him.
“How did it go with the Congressional Intelligence Oversight Committee?” Rodgers asked.
Coffey tugged his LC cuff links out from under the sleeve of his jacket. “I went over our revised outline with Senators Fox and Karlin, and was told we’re crazy. Senator Fox said it twice. The answer was no change in the original Striker mandate. I think they have a problem with the prospect of engaging the Russian Army, Mike.”
“I can’t worry about the problems they have,” Rodgers said. “I need my team in there. Go back and tell them we’re not talking about an engagement, Lowell. We’re just reconnoitering.”
“Just reconnoitering,” Coffey said dubiously. “They’ll never buy that. I don’t buy it. I mean, reconnoitering to find out what?”
“Where the soldiers are headed and exactly what they’re guarding.”
“You’ll have to get on the train for that,” Coffey said. “That’s some pretty close reconnoitering. And if Striker is found out? What do I tell the Senators? Do we surrender or fight?”
Rodgers said bluntly, “Striker doesn’t surrender.”
“Then forget my even going back,” he said.
“All right,” Rodgers said. “Tell them we won’t fight. Tell them we won’t use anything stronger than flash/ bang grenades and tear gas. We’ll put everyone to sleep, no one gets hurt.”
“I still can’t do it,” Coffey said. “I can’t take that to the committee.”
“Then screw ‘ern,” Rodgers said. “Hell, we’re still breaking international law even if we get their approval.”
“True,” Coffey said, “but if we get caught then, it’s Congress in the hot seat and we don’t get crucified. Do you have any idea how many national and international laws and treaties you can conceivably break with this one action you’re proposing? The good news is, you’ll never go to jail. You’ll spend forty years in court fighting each of the charges.”
Rodgers thought for a moment. “What if you tell the -committee that it isn’t the Russian government we’ll be going up against?”
“In Russia? Who else would we be fighting?”
“We believe a rogue official, very high up, is in bed with drug lords,” Rodgers said.
“Then why haven’t we told the Russian leaders?” Coffey asked. “If he were to invite us in-”
“He can’t,” said Rodgers. “The election didn’t leave President Zhanin strong enough to deal with the rebel faction. ”
Coffey considered the new information. “Rogue officials. Elected ones?”
Rodgers shook his head. “Appointed by the last President and sure to be gone when Zhanin finds the broom.”
Coffey chewed the inside of his cheek. “That plus the drug angle could work. Congress likes tackling bad guys the constituents can hate. What about the President? Is he behind us on this, or are we on our own?”
“Paul told him what we’re proposing to do,” Rodgers said. “He doesn’t like the downside, but he’s itching to hit someone for what happened in New York.”
“And Paul’s behind you, I assume?”
“He is,” said Rodgers, “as long as you can get me CIC approval.”
Coffey crossed his leg. He shook a foot nervously on his knee. “I assume you’re going to use something other than the StarLifter to get Striker in?”
“We’ve taken an II-76T from mothballs in Berlin and sent it to Helsinki
“Wait a minute,” Coffey said. “Ambassador Fil- minor got the government to okay a Russian incursion?”
“No,” Rodgers said. “Bob went to the Minister of Defense.”
“Niskanen?” Coffey shouted. “I told you this moming he’s crazy! That’s why the Finns keep him in office. He actually scares Moscow. But he can’t give the final okay for something like this. You need approvals from President Jarva and Prime Minister Lumirae.”
Rodgers said, “All I needed from Niskanen was permission to get the plane in. Once my team is airborne, he or you or the Ambassador can deal with the President and Prime Minister.”
Coffey shook his head. “Mike, you’re all over the map on this one, and every inch of it’s an earthquake zone.”
There was a knock on the door and Darrell McCaskey entered. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Yes,” said Coffey, “but that’s okay.”
Rodgers said, “I heard about the agent in Tokyo. Sorry.”
The short FBI liaison and crisis management expert scratched his prematurely gray hair and handed papers to Rodgers. “He died with his boots on,” McCaskey said. “I guess that’s something.”
Coffey shut his eyes as Rodgers turned his attention to the papers.
“These were faxed from Interpol,” McCaskey said. “Maps drawn up just after the fall of Poland showing the basement of the Hermitage. The Russians knew they’d be going to war, so they gutted the cellars, reinforced them to bunker strength, and drew up plans to move the local government and military command down there in the event of an attack. You’ve got eighteen-inch- thick cinder-block walls and ceilings, plumbing, ventsvery little would have to have been done to turn it into a secure area for intelligence work.”
Rodgers looked over the architectural plans. “That’s what I would’ve done with it. I wonder why they waited so long.”
“Interpol says the basement was, in fact, used on and off over the years for radio surveillance around the world,” McCaskey said. “But you know the Russians. Wherever possible, they prefer on-site intelligence over electronic surveillance.”
“The peasant mentality,” Rodgers said. “A potato in the hand is worth a dozen in some rosy five-year plan.”
“Basically, yes,” said McCaskey. “But with moles being sniffed out and the collapse of the KGB, that may be changing now.”
“Thanks,” Rodgers said. “Get this over to Squires so he can review them with the man going into St. Petersburg.” He looked at Coffey. “For people operating on fault lines, we appear to be doing some pretty good spy work. How about working on getting those clearances we’ll need as soon as Striker is airborne again, which will be–he looked at his computer clock-“in about an hour.”
Coffey looked numb. He nodded as he rose, then tugged his cuff links again and looked at Rodgers. “One more thing, Mike. As an attorney and a friend, I should point out to you that according to our charter, section seven, ‘Accountability of Military Personnel to Civilian Commanders,’ subsection b, paragraph two, Striker reports to the ranking military officer. That’s you. The Director can’t countermand an order you’ve given.”
“I know the charter almost as well as I know Cae- sar’s Commentaries on the Gallic War. What’s your point, Lowell?”
Coffey said, “If I fail to get congressional approval and Paul takes their thumbs-down seriously, the only way he can recall Striker is by dismissing you and appointing another Deputy Director. If he needed to do that quickly, he could go to the duty officers.”
“I wouldn’t put him in that position,” Rodgers said. “I’d recall Striker if he asked me to. But in here–he stood and touched his gut-“I don’t think Paul will do that. We’re a crisis management team, and as long as we do everything we can to ensure the safety of our Striker force, we’re going to manage this crisis.”
“You guys may end up out there all alone,” Coffey told him.
“Only if it doesn’t work out,” Darrell McCaskey observed. “Our asses were supposed to be grass after North Korea, but we won that and no one complained.”
Rodgers patted Coffey on the arm and returned to Hood’s desk. “Don’t go writing any epitaphs, Lowell. I’ve been reading Churchill lately, and something he told the Canadian Parliament in December 1941 seems appropriate. He said, ‘When I warned them that Britain would fight on alone whatever they did, their Generals told their Prime Minister and his divided Cabinet: In three weeks England will have her neck wrung like a chicken.”‘ Rodgers smiled. “Churchill’s answer, gentlemen, may just become Op-Center’s new motto: ‘Some chicken! Some neck.”‘