“Sergeant,” Nikita said, saluting, “I want spotters on the tops of the train, two men on every car rotated in half-hour shifts.”
“Yes, sir,” said Versky.
“If there isn’t time to request instructions,” Nikita continued, “your men are to shoot anyone who approaches the train.” Nikita looked at the civilians, four men and three women they’d placed in this car at the last station. One of the men was sitting against a crate, napping. “And don’t leave the car unattended at any time, Sergeant. I won’t have my cargo compromised.”
“Of course not, sir.”
Nikita left, wondering where Rossky had gone … and whether, absent the Colonel’s orders, he could allow the crates to be turned over to his father.
FIFTY-ONE
Tuesday, 6:45 A.M., Washington, D.C.
“Another message from NRO,” Bugs Benet said as Hood and the rest of the Op-Center officers sat around the conference table in the Tank.
“Thanks,” Hood said to the video image of his assistant. “Put it through.” ,
Viens’s voice came on, but his picture did not. Instead, a black-and-white image was constructed on the screen at fifty lines a second.
“Paul,” said Viens, “we picked this up just three minutes ago. ”
Hood swung the screen partly toward Rodgers, then watched as the white, hazy, moonlike terrain appeared, followed by the train, which occupied roughly one-third of the center of the image. The image was extremely hazy because of the falling snow, but what should have been an unbroken expanse of white on top of the cars was not. There were shadows.
“Sorry for the quality,” said Viens. “It’s snowing a hell of a lot. But we’re certain those shapes on top are soldiers. They’re in camouflage whites, so you can’t see them per se-though you can make out the shadows.”
“Those are soldiers, all right,” Rodgers said tensely as he pointed a finger to the screen. “You can tell by the way they’re arrayed. Last one facing forward toward the left, next one facing back to the right, next one forward right, and so on. These shapes here–he traced a small line near one of the smudges- “appear to be a rifle. ”
Viens said, “That’s how we figured it, Mike.”
“Thank you, Stephen,” Hood said, then switched the NRO chief off. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the electronic grid surrounding it. “Can they know that Striker is on the ground?”
“Very possible,” Bob Herbert said as the phone on the desk beeped.
“For you,” Rodgers said as he glanced at the code number.
Because of the electronic field, Herbert couldn’t be reached on the cellular phone attached to his wheelchair. He picked up the phone built into the side of the conference table, punched in his code number, and listened. When he hung up, his face looked waxen.
“The 76T is being escorted home by a pair of MiGs,” Herbert said. “They’ll start leaking oil and head for Hokkaido, but it won’t be going back into Russia.”
Rodgers looked at his watch, then reached for the phone near him. “I’m going to have the Mosquito go in from Hokkaido.”
Herbert slapped the desktop. “No good, Mike. That’s a round-trip of one thousand miles. The Mosquito’s range is seven hundred
“I know what her range is,” Rodgers shot back. “Seven hundred and ten-point-two miles. But we can get a cruiser up from the Sea of Japan. She can land on the deck-”
“We didn’t get committee permission for the Mosquito to fly in solo,” Martha Mackall said.
“We also didn’t get approval for them to exchange fire with Russian soldiers,” Lowell Coffey added. “This action was supposed to be reconnoitering only.”
“I care about my soldiers,” Rodgers replied, “not about those blowhards.”
“Let’s see how we can try to please everyone,” Hood said, “and disappoint them all. Mike
“Yes, sir?” he said, breathing deeply.
“What do we do with Striker if we abort now?”
Rodgers took a long, deep breath. “The Mosquito goes in anyway,” he said. “The nearest Agent-in-Place who could possibly sneak them out of Asia is in Hegang, Heilongjiang, about two hundred miles away, and I won’t have them make that trip.”
“In China?” Coffey said. “No one in Russia?”
“Our people in Vladivostok became repatriated when the Iron Curtain came down,” Rodgers said. “We haven’t had the resources to recruit others.”
“What about lying low until things quiet down,” Phil Katzen asked. “The terrain is survivable-”
“The Russians know Striker’s there, dammit!” Rodgers said. “They’ve got satellites too, and they’ll find them!” He looked at Hood. “Paul, the best way out of this is straight ahead, as planned.”
“Straight ahead,” said Martha, “to a showdown with Russian soldiers at a time when the country’s a tinderbox waiting for a match.”
“The only way you’d keep that quiet,” Coffeywarned, “is to kill everyone on the train.”
“Is it better to let a war happen,” Rodgers countered, “one that would suck in Europe and probably the Chinese? Why do I feel like I’m back in 1945, listening to all the arguments about why we shouldn’t use the Abomb to save American lives?”
Hood said, “Mike, the issue here is American lives. Striker lives-”
“Don’t lecture me about Striker lives, Paul,” Rodgers said through his teeth. “Please.”
Hood sat quietly for a moment. “Fair enough.
Rodgers’s hands were folded on the table. His thumbs were red and pressing down hard.
“You all right, Mike?” Liz asked.
He nodded and looked at Hood. “Sorry, Paul. I was out of line.”
“Forget it,” Hood said. “You and I could both use a movie and popcorn.”
“Whew!” said Coffey. “Who’s the family man here?”
Hood and Rodgers both smiled.
“All right,” said Hood. “An R-rated movie.”
“Hey, the guy’s out of control,” Coffey said. “Someone call the excitement police!”
Everyone but Ann was chuckling, and Hood tapped a finger on the table to bring them back. “What I was about to say a moment ago,” he continued, “is that the diplomats haven’t given up on solving this, and no one knows what President Zhanin will do. Do we jeopardize that by going ahead with the mission?”
“Whatever they do,” Rodgers said evenly, “the crates on that train represent a lot of power for corrupt people. Even if it doesn’t start a war, the cargo places influence in the hands of gangsters. Don’t we have a responsibility to try and take that away?”
Coffey said, “Our first responsibility is to Striker and the laws we’re all supposed to live by.”
“Laws passed by your friends on the Hill,” Rodgers said, “not moral law. You did what was necessary up there, but like Benjamin Franklin said, ‘Necessity never made a good bargain.’ ” Rodgers looked at Hood. “You know me, Paul. Striker is dearer than my own life, but doing what’s right is more important than both. And stopping that train is right.”
Hood listened carefully. Rodgers and Coffey were coming at the problem from two directions, and neither of them was wrong. But the call was his, and he hated the fact that he was sitting here in comfort and security deciding the fate of seven people on a frozen cliff on the opposite side of the world.
He input Bugs’s code on the computer, and his assistant’s face appeared on the monitor.
“Yes, Paul?”
“Signal Striker on the TAC-Sat, see if Lieutenant Colonel Squires is free to come on. If not, when it’s convenient.”
“Will do,” Bugs said, and his image winked off.
Rodgers didn’t look happy. “What are you going to do, Paul?”
“Charlie’s the commander in the field,” Hood said. “I want his input.”
“He’s a professional soldier,” Rodgers said. “What do you think he’s going to say?”
“If he can take the call, let’s find out.”
“You don’t do that to a soldier,” Rodgers said. “That’s not leadership, it’s management. The only question we should be asking is, are we behind Striker or aren’t we? Can we make this commitment and stick to it?”
“We can,” Hood replied coolly. “But after your Korean mission, I went back and read the white papers you wrote as part of the ad hoc joint task force planning the rescue of our hostages from Khomeini’s Revolutionary Guards. You were right about our forces being ready on paper and not in practice. And you were also right to be very concerned about extracting the advance party of Special Forces soldiers that would infiltrate Teheran a few days before the Eagle Claw mission. Without your prompting, the agents wouldn’t have had a plan to get them out of the Mehrabad International Airport on Swiss Air if things went wrong. Why did you come up with that?”
“Because sneaking them out, one at a time, from the safe house would have given the Iranians more time to find them,” Rodgers said. “It made more sense to buy commercial airline tickets and get them the hell out together.”
“Who did you work that out with?” Hood asked.’