Rodgers looked at the phone. The thought of giving ground offended him utterly. His heart told him to crush the damn thing and be done with these three. He asked himself, What will your people think if you surrender for them? If you don’t give them the chance to fight or withdraw on their own? But this wasn’t a question of them not having a choice. By resisting he sentenced those people to death. By surrendering for now, he might be able to negotiate the release of some of the team or disable the ROC’s key technologies. At least that was something.
Rodgers hesitated as he swallowed the bile of self-reproach.
“Quickly!” said Hasan.
Rodgers looked at the phone. He reached down slowly and touched redial. He raised the telephone to his ear, and Hasan leaned close to listen.
As he did, Rodgers knew that everything he’d just told himself was nonsense. No one was going to hand him a telephone and order him to lead his countrymen into an ambush.
FIFTEEN
Monday, 6:58 p.m.,
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Lowell Coffey II was dozing in the driver’s seat of the ROC when the phone rang. He awoke with a jolt, fumbled with the phone for a moment before finding the right button to push, then answered.
“This is the mobile archaeological research center,” he said.
“Benedict, it’s Carlton Kuhnigit.”
Lowell wasn’t fully awake. But he was awake enough to recognize Mike Rodgers’s voice and to know that his own name wasn’t Benedict. In fact, the only Benedict he knew of was Benedict Arnold the traitor, who’d plotted to surrender West Point to the British during the American Revolution. Since Mike Rodgers had zero sense of humor, there had to be a reason he’d referred to him as Benedict. There also had to be a reason that Rodgers had intentionally mispronounced the name of his Carlton Knight pseudonym.
All of this the attorney considered in the instant it took him to reply with a jaunty, “Hi there, Mr. Kuhnigit.” At the same time Coffey pressed the record button on the top of the phone cradle. Then he opened the driver’s side window and snapped his fingers. Phil Katzen and Mary Rose were eating a chicken they’d bought in the market that morning and had cooked over a campfire. Coffey pointed to them and indicated that they should come in quickly but quietly. They put their paper plates down and hurried over. “How are things going?” Coffey asked.
“Not so well,” Rodgers said. “Benny, the colonel and I had this damn accident out here.”
“Are you okay?”
“More or less,” Rodgers said. “But I want you to tell Captain John Hawkins to pack up and get out here as soon as possible.”
Katzen and Mary Rose rushed in.
“I’ll tell Captain John Hawkins to do that,” Coffey replied. The attorney looked at Mary Rose. He pointed to the computer and wriggled his fingers as though he were typing.
Mary Rose gave him a thumbs-up “got-it” and sat down at the keyboard. She typed in the name.
“Where are you?” Coffey asked. Not that he needed Rodgers to tell him. Coffey would let Mary Rose and the ROC do that. But he wanted to give Rodgers the opportunity to talk, to pass along any other information.
“Have you got map Three P-as-in-perps handy?” Rodgers asked.
“Right here,” Coffey said. “Just let me open it up.” His mind was speeding. Someone who understood English was obviously listening in, but not someone who spoke colloquial English or knew American history. Otherwise, that person would have known that perps meant perpetrators. The person also would have known who Benedict Arnold was.
So what’s he saying? Coffey asked himself. Was Benedict Arnold Colonel Seden? Or did Mike mean that he was being forced to betray the ROC? In any case, there was treason afoot and three people were holding him.
“Ready with the map,” Coffey lied.
“Okay,” Rodgers said. “We’re off the road about a quarter mile after the dirt road begins. There’s a hill on the east side of the first rise. See it?”
“Sure do,” Coffey replied.
“I’ll be waiting for you there.”
“You need any medical supplies?” Coffey asked.
“Just a couple of bandages. Also a shot of whiskey for the colonel. I think you better hurry, okay?”
Coffey knew that Rodgers didn’t drink. He was guessing that someone had been shot. “I understand, Carlton. We’ll be there ASAP.” Coffey hesitated. “Are you sure you’ll be all right until we get there?”
“I think I’ll live, Benny,” Rodgers replied.
Coffey hung up and walked toward Katzen. “Okay,” he said gravely, “what I got from this is that Mike and the colonel have been caught by three people. They don’t speak English very well. Apparently they read his Canton Knight ID and called him Kuhnigit. Sounds like Seden was shot and Mike was forced to call us. And since Mike isn’t a swearing man, I’m guessing he mentioned the ‘damn’ accident for a very specific reason reason.”
“Like he stumbled on the guys who blew up the Ataturk,” said Katzen, who was standing behind Mary Rose.
“Or they stumbled upon him,” Coffey said.
“Here,” Mary Rose said. “Captain John Hawkins. According to the database, Hawkins was an English sailor who was ambushed by the Spanish in Vera Cruz in 1568.”
Katzen shook his head slowly. “Only Mike Rodgers would know something like that.”
Coffey had slipped into Mike Rodgers’s seat. He called Op-Center on the secure line built into the computer. “Mary Rose,” he said, “Mike told me he’s about a quarter mile up the dirt road. Can we get a closer look at that?”
“Right away,” she said. It took just over a second to bring up a map of the region. “They were going across the desert to the plains, which puts them right… here.” She zeroed in on the region where the road began. “Do you have any other information?”
“Yes,” Coffey said. “He said that they were at a hill on the east side of the first rise.”
“I see it,” she said. She called up the computer-simulated relief map. “That’s north-south coordinate E, east-west coordinate H. I’ll contact the NRO. See if they can get us visuals.”
“I’m going to brief Privates Pupshaw and DeVonne in case we have to move out,” Katzen said.
Coffey nodded as the seal of the National Crisis Management Center appeared on the screen—the organization’s formal name, though no one at Op-Center ever used it. He typed in his personal access code, and a menu appeared offering all the different departments. Coffey selected Office of the Director. A prompt appeared asking him to input the full name of the person with whom he wished to speak, surname first. This procedure helped to screen crank calls from hackers who managed to get this far into the program.
Hood, Paul David
A computerized voice told him to wait a moment. Almost at once, Bugs Benet’s face filled the screen.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Coffey,” Benet said.
“Bugs, we’ve got a major situation here,” Coffey said. “I need to talk to Paul.”
“I’ll tell him,” Benet said.
Hood was on the secure digital uplink within seconds. “Lowell, what’s up?” he asked.
“Paul, we just heard from Mike out in the field,” Coffey said. “From the sound of things, he found the terrorists he was searching for. And it looks like they’ve got him and the TSF colonel as their prisoners.”
“Hold on,” Hood said. His expression darkened and his voice had dropped considerably. “Let me bring Bob Herbert in on this.”
A few seconds later the screen split down the middle. Hood was on the left side, Herbert on the right. The intelligence chief’s thinning hair was disheveled. He looked even grimmer than Hood.
“Talk to me, Lowell,” Herbert said. “Do you have any idea what these bastards want?”
“Not a clue,” Coffey said. “All we’re supposed to do is go out there and get Mike and the TSF officer who went with him.”
“Out where?” Herbert asked.
“Into the plains,” Coffey said.
“Now?” Herbert asked.
“Immediately,” Coffey replied. “Mike was pretty explicit about us leaving at once.”
“Meaning the guys who are holding them must need a lift out of the area,” Herbert said, “possibly out of the country. Maybe that chopper they had was too hot to keep flying.”
“Where are they located?” Hood asked.
“About a ninety-minute drive north of here,” Coffey said. “Mary Rose is in touch with the NRO to try and get some precise visuals.”
“Did Mike put a time limit on how long it should take you to get there?” Herbert asked.
“No,” Coffey said.
“Did the captives make any other demands?” Hood asked. “Do you have to bring the ROC?”
“No,” Coffey said.
“Is there any indication that they even know about the ROC?” Herbert asked.
“None,” said Coffey.
“At least that’s something,” Hood said.
“Excuse me,” Mary Rose said, turning around. “Stephen Viens says he can give us an infrared photo in about two or three minutes. He’s still got the 30-45-3 in the neighborhood.”