Tom Clancy – Op Center 5 – Balance Of Power

“What do you mean?” Hood asked.

“To put it bluntly,” Herbert said, “the Catalonians are male-supremacists who hate black Africans. It’s an animosity that goes back about nine hundred years, to the wars with the Moors of Africa. If someone wanted to get the Catalonians on their side-and who wouldn’t want the folks with the money in their camp?-they’d pick a black woman as a victim.” There was silence for a moment.

“That’s a bit of a reach, don’t you think?” Lanning asked.

“Not really,” the intelligence chief replied.

“I’ve seen longer shots pay off. The sad truth is, whenever I go looking for muddy footprints in the gutter of human nature, I’m rarely disappointed.” “What ethnic group does Serrador belong to?” Mike Rodgers asked.

“He’s Basque, General,” McCaskey’s voice came from the speakerphone, ” ‘with absolutely no record of antinationalist activity. We checked him out. To the contrary. He’s voted against every kind of separatist legislation.” “He could be a mole,” Lanning said. “The most damaging Soviet spy we ever had at State was raised in whitebread Darien, Connecticut, and voted for Barry Goldwater.” “You’re catching on,” Herbert said, grinning. He had a feeling what was coming: there was no one more passionate than a convert.

Lanning regarded Hood. “The more I think about what Mr. Herbert just said, the more troubled I am by all of this. We’ve had situations before where we’ve been set up by foreign interests. Let’s assume for the moment that that’s what happened. That Martha was lured to Spain to be assassinated, for whatever reason. The only way we’ll ever find that out is if we have access to all aspects of the investigation. Do we have that, Mr. McCaskey?” “I wouldn’t count on it,” McCaskey replied.

“Serrador said he’s going to look into it, but Aideen and I were both shuttled off to our hotel rooms and we haven’t heard anything since.” “Yeah, the Spanish government isn’t always very forthcoming about their private activities,” Herbert said. “During World War II, this supposedly neutral nation rode shotgun on trainand truckloads of Nazi booty sent from Switzerland to Portugal. They did it in exchange for future favors, which, luckily, they never got to collect on.” “That was Francisco Franco,” Ron Plummer said. “Professional courtesy, dictator-to-dictator. It doesn’t mean that Spanish people are that way.” “True,” Herbert said, “but the Spanish leaders are still at it. In the 1980’s the defense minister hired drug smugglers as mercenaries to kill Basque separatists. The government purchased guns for the team in South Africa. They let them keep the weapons afterward, too. No,” he said, “I wouldn’t count on any Spanish government to help the United States with anything.” Hood held up both hands. “We’re getting off the subject here. Darrell, for the moment I’m not concerned about Serrador, his motives, or his intelligence needs. I want to find out who killed Martha and why. Mike,” Hood looked at Rodgers-“you recruited Aideen. What’s she made of?” Rodgers was still standing behind Carol Lanning. He unfolded his arms and shifted his weight.

“She stood up to some pretty tough dealers in the drug trade in Mexico City. She’s got iron in her back.” “I see where you’re going, Paul,” Liz said, “and I want to caution you. Aideen’s under a lot of emotional stress. Throw her into a covert police action right now and the pressure could break her.” “It could also be just what she needs,” Herbert said.

“You’re absolutely right,” Liz replied.

“Everyone is different. Only the question isn’t just what Aideen needs. If she goes undercover and cracks, she could be the nail that cost the horse that cost the kingdom.” “Besides,” Herbert said to Hood, “if we send someone else over to follow the muddy footprints, we lose time.” “Darrell,” Hood asked, “did you hear that?” “I heard.” “What do you think?” “I think a couple of things,” McCaskey said.

“Mike’s right. The lady’s got backbone to spare. She wasn’t afraid to get right in Serrador’s face. And my gut tells me the same thing as Bob’s: I’m inclined to let her loose on the Spaniards. But Liz has also got a solid point. So if it’s okay with you, let me talk to Aideen first. I’ll know pretty quick whether she’s up to it.” Hood’s eyes shifted to the staff psychologist.

“Liz, if we decide to go ahead with something and Aideen’s involved, what should Darrell look for?

Any physical signs?” “Extreme restlessness,” Liz replied. “Rapid speech, foot tapping, cracking the knuckles, heavy sighing, that sort of thing. She’s got to be able to focus. If her mind wanders into guilt and loss, she’s going to drop down a hole and not be able to get out.” “Any questions, Darrell?” Hood asked.

“None,” McCaskey said.

“Very good,” Hood said. “Darrell, I’m going to have Bob and his team look over any new intelligence that’s come in. If there’s anything useful, they’ll get it over to you.” “I’m also going to make a few calls over here,” McCaskey said. “There are some people at Interpol who might be able to help us.” “Excellent,” Hood said. “Anyone else?” “Mr. Hood,” Carol Lanning said, “this is not my area of expertise but I do have a-question.” “Go ahead,” Hood said. “And please-it’s Paul.” She nodded and cleared her throat. ” “Might I ask if you’re looking to gather intelligence to turn over to the Spanish authorities or-was She hesitated.

“Or what?” ” “Or are you looking for revenge?”‘” Hood thought for a moment. “Frankly, Ms.

Lanning, I want both.” “Good,” she said. Rising, she smoothed her skirt and squared her shoulders. “I hoped I wasn’t the only one.”

Monday, 10:56 p.m. San Sebastian, Spain

No one had survived the explosion of the Ramirez yacht.

Adolfo hadn’t expected anyone to be left alive. The blast had flipped the ship onto its side before anyone could get out. The men who weren’t killed in the explosion itself were drowned when the yacht capsized. Only the pilot of the runabout had escaped. Adolfo knew about the man. He was Juan Martinez, a leader of the Ramirez familia.

He had a reputation for being resourceful and devoted to his boss. But Adolfo wasn’t worried about Martinez-or any other Ramirez thugs. Very soon the familia would no longer exist as an adversarial force. And with their demise other familias would stay out of the General’s way. It was funny how power didn’t matter so much when one’s survival was threatened.

The fisherman and two other late-night trawlers had waited at the scene to provide police with eyewitness accounts of the explosion. When two young officers with the harbor patrol boarded Adolfo’s boat, he acted as though he were very upset by the evening’s events. The officers told Adolfo to calm down, which he didbut only slightly. He informed them that he had been looking toward the harbor when the ship exploded.

Adolfo said that all he saw was the dying fireball and then the wreckage showering down, the shards sizzling and steaming as they hit the water. He said that he had sailed for it immediately. One of the investigators wrote rapidly, taking notes, while the other asked questions. They both seemed excited to have something so dramatic occur in their harbor.

The police officers took Adolfo’s name, address, and telephone number and allowed him to leave. By that time Adolfo had pretended to calm enough to wish them well on the investigation. Then he went to the wheelhouse of his fishing boat and throttled up.

The engine chugged deeply as Adolfo turned the old vessel toward the harbor.

As Adolfo sailed the choppy waters, he plucked one of the handrolled cigarettes from his pants pocket. He lit it and drew deeply, feeling a greater sense of satisfaction than he had ever known.

This was not his first mission for the cause. In the past year he had prepared a letter bomb for a newspaper and had rigged a TV reporter’s car to explode when the gas cap was removed. Both of those had been successful. But this was his most important job and it had gone perfectly. Even better, he’d pulled it off alone. The General had asked Adolfo to do it by himself for two reasons. First, if Adolfo had been caught the cause would only have lost one soldier in the region. Second, if Adolfo had failed then the General would know who to blame. That was important. With so many important tasks ahead there was no room for incompetency.

Adolfo guided the boat swiftly toward shore, his right hand on the wheel and his left hand holding the well-worn string of the old bell that hung outside the wheelhouse. He’d fished these waters since he was a small boy working on his father’s vessel. The low, foggy sound of that bell was one of the two things that brought those days back to him vividly. The other was the smell of the harbor whenever he drew near. The ocean smell intensified the closer Adolfo came to shore. That had always seemed odd to him until he mentioned it to his brother. Norberto explained that the things that cause the smells-the salt, the dead fish, the rotting seaweed-always wash toward the land. That was why beaches smelled more like the sea than the sea did.

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