Tom Clancy – Op Center 3 – Games Of State

Dominique’s attorneys will see to it that he never goes to trial. But while that process is under way, I’ll go to the press with a catalogue of his crimes. Murders and rapes he has committed or ordered, taxes he hasn’t paid, businesses and properties he misappropriated, and more that I couldn’t reveal as a government employee.” “A dramatic gesture,” Hood said. “But if French law is anything like American law, you’ll be sued, drawn, and quartered.” “That is correct,” replied Ballon. “But my trial will be Dominique’s trial. And when it’s over he’ll be disgraced.

Finished.” “So will you.” “Only this career,” Ballon said. “I’ll find other honorable work.” “Do your teammates feel the same way you do?” “Not all,” he admitted. “They’re committed only to— what’s the word? The limitations? Boundaries?” “Parameters,” said Hood.

“Yes.” Ballon snapped his fingers. “They’re committed to the parameters of the mission. That’s all I ask of you as well. If you help me prove what Demain is doing, if you give me a reason to go inside, we can bring Dominique down.

Today.” Hood said, “Fair enough. One way or another, we’ll get there.” He added, “Et merci. ” Ballon replied with a gruff thank you of his own, then sat holding the handset. He dropped his finger on the plunger.

“Good news?” asked Sergeant Ste. Marie.

“Very good news,” Ballon replied without enthusiasm.

“We have help. Unfortunately, it’s an American and a German. Richard Hausen.” Ste. Marie moaned. “We can all go home. The Hun will take Dominique singlehandedly.” “We’ll see,” said Ballon. “We’ll see what his pluck is like when there are no reporters present to admire it.” With a short aftershock of outrage— “Americans and a German,” he declared— Ballon called the office of an old friend in the CDT, the Comite Departemental de Tourisme, to see if they could simply look the other way when the plane arrived, or if he’d have to tangle with the territorial carnivores in Paris.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE Thursday, 6:59 P.M., Hamburg, Germany

Martin Lang was on his cellular phone as Hood helped Matt Stoll gather together his equipment. Lang was phoning the airport outside of Hamburg, ordering the corporate jet to be readied. Stoll was zipping up his backpack and looking anxious.

“Maybe I missed something when you were explaining it to Herr Lang,” Stoll said, “but tell me again why I’m going to France.” Hood said, “You’re going to T-Ray the Demain factory in Toulouse.” “That part I got,” said Stoll. “But someone else is going to go inside, right? Professionals?” Hood looked from Stoll to Hausen. The German was standing in the doorway between the two offices, phoning to arrange for clearances for Lang’s Learjet 36A. The aircraft held two crew members and six passengers and had a range of 3,151 miles. At an average speed of four hundred miles an hour, they should arrive right on schedule.

“Done,” said Lang, hanging up. He checked his watch.

“The plane will be waiting at seven-thirty.” Hood was still watching Hausen as a thought occurred to him. One which chilled and then annoyed him. Hausen’s aide had turned on him. What if the office was bugged?

Hood pulled Stoll aside. “Matt, I’m getting sloppy. That kid who worked for Hausen, Reiner. He could have left a bug here.” Stoll nodded. “You mean, like this one?” He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a folded-over piece of cellophane tape. Inside was a gumdrop-shaped object slightly larger than a pinhead. “I did a sweep of the room while you were away. I forgot to tell you in the heat of the hate game showing up and all that.” Hood sighed and squeezed Stoll’s shoulders. “Bless you, Matt.” “Does that mean I get to stay here?” he asked.

Hood shook his head.

“Just thought I’d ask,” Stoll said disconsolately.

As he walked away, Hood was angry with himself for having overlooked that. He turned to Nancy, who had walked over. They were going into a potentially dangerous situation where a screwup could cost them the mission, a career, or a life.

You’ve got to focus on the job, he remonstrated himself. You can’t be distracted by Nancy and all the mighthave- been scenarios.

“Anything wrong?” Nancy asked.

“No,” he said.

“Just standing around, beating yourself up.” She smiled. “I remember the look.” Hood flushed. He glanced up to make sure that Stoll wasn’t watching.

“It’s okay,” Nancy said.

“What is?” he asked impatiently. He wanted to get out of here, break the tempting closeness.

“Being human. Making a mistake now and then or wanting something that isn’t yours. Or even wanting something that was yours.” Hood turned toward Hausen so as not to make it seem as if he were turning away from Nancy. But he was. And she obviously knew it because she stepped between the men.

“God, Paul, why do you put this burden on yourself?

This burden to be so perfect?” “Nancy, this isn’t the time or place—” “Why?” she asked. “You think we’ll have another?” He said bluntly, “No. No, we probably won’t.” “Forget me for a moment. Think about you. When we were younger, you worked hard so you could get ahead.

Now you are ahead and you’re still pushing. Who’s it for?

Are you trying to set an example for your kids or your subordinates?” “Neither,” he said with an edge. Why was everyone always on his back about his ethics, work and otherwise?

“I’m only trying to do what’s right. Personally, professionally, just what’s right. If that’s too simple or too vague for everybody, it isn’t my problem.” “We can leave,” Hausen said. He put the phone in his jacket pocket and walked briskly toward Hood. He was obviously pleased, and unaware that he was interrupting anything. “The government has given clearance for us to leave at once.” He turned to Lang. “Is everything set, Martin?” “The jet is yours,” Lang said. “I won’t be joining you.

I’d only be in the way.” “I understand,” Hausen said. “The rest of us had better be going.” Stoll strugged into the backpack with the T-ray imaging unit. “You betcha,” he said glumly. “Why go to the hotel where I can have room service and a hot bath, when I can go to France and fight terrorists?” Hausen extended an arm toward the door. He had the eager, impatient manner of someone hurrying dinner guests out into the night. Hood hadn’t seem him so animated all day. Was this, as he suspected, Ahab finally closing in on the White Whale— or was it, as Ballon believed, a politician about to score an unprecedented public relations coup?

Hood took Nancy’s hand and started toward the door.

She resisted. He stopped and turned back. She was no longer the confident woman who strode toward him in the park. Nancy was a sad and lonely figure, seductive in her need.

He knew what she was thinking. That she should be opposing them, not helping them destroy what was left of her life. As he watched her stand there, he flirted with the idea of telling her what she wanted to hear, of lying to her and saying that they could try again. His job was to protect the nation and he needed her help for that.

And once you tell that lie, he thought, you can lie to Mike and your staff, to Congress, even to Sharon.

“Nancy, you’ll have work,” Hood told her. “I said I’d help you and I will.” He was going to remind her again who walked out on whom, but what was the point? Women weren’t consistent or fair.

“But that’s my problem, not yours,” Nancy said. It was as if she’d read his mind and was determined to prove him wrong. “You say you need my help if you get inside. Fine. I won’t walk out on you a second time.” Snapping her head the way she did in the hotel lobby, she walked toward Hausen. The long, blond hair swept to the side, as if it were brushing away doubt and anger.

Hausen thanked her, thanked them all, as the five of them entered the elevator for the quick ride to the lobby.

Hood stood beside Nancy. He wanted to thank her, but just saying it didn’t seem to be enough. Without looking at her, he squeezed her hand and quickly released it. From the corner of his eye he saw Nancy blink several times, the only break in her otherwise stoic expression.

He couldn’t remember when he felt both this close and this far from a person. It was frustrating being unable to move in one direction or the other, and he could only imagine how much worse it felt for Nancy.

And then she let him know by reaching over and squeezing his hand and not releasing it as tears crept from her eyes. The ping of the elevator as they reached the lobby broke their touch but not the spell as she released him and they walked, eyes ahead, toward the waiting car.

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