The security here was of the more traditional kind. Armed, uniformed guards outside the door. Dana and Texas vanished.
He was underground. The limo had dipped without warning. He had been told the Pentagon was like this. You could recognize all the people who really counted by their pale skins. They rarely saw daylight or their families.
Fitzduane interrupted his musings to examine a large version of the logo that he had noticed on the shoulder patches of the uniformed guards and various other locations as he was ushered in.
In this case the logo was incorporated in an embossed shield that was mounted on the light oak paneling just behind the central chair at the head of the V. It showed a black Vietnam-era Cobra helicopter gunship head-on against a dark blue background. The contrast was slight. The helicopter silhouette was almost invisible. At the base of the shield were the letters ‘STSF.’
'‘Son Tay Semper Fi’' explained Cochrane as he emerged from a nearly invisible door in the paneling. It hissed closed behind him. They were alone in the room.
Fitzduane did not feel a whole lot wiser. Son Tay had been a famous U.S. raid into North Vietnam during the Vietnam war to rescue American prisoners. The raid had been a military success except that the prisoners had already been moved.
Semper Fidelis. Literally, “Always faithful.” The motto of the marines. “Keep the faith,” in modern parlance.
Easy to say. Hard to do.
There was a persistent rumor that the CIA had known in advance about the removal of the prisoners but had not told the raiding party. They had not wanted the North Vietnamese to be upset, so went the rumor, because the peace negotiations were at a difficult stage.
Fitzduane was far from sure he believed the rumor, but felt the story said a great deal about the chronic internecine warfare inside the U.S. military and intelligence communities. And that was before the administration and Congress got into the picture.
'STR – the STR Corporation,' said Cochrane, 'was founded by a Son Tay raider called Grant Lamar. Grant felt there were things that needed to be done in defense of this country that traditional structures were not really well- equipped to do. Too much red tape, too much oversight, too much media attention. His judgment was correct. His operation has been very successful. There are quite a number of companies like STR in and around Washington, but Grant is a major player though little known outside the community. He prefers discretion to prominence.'
'An interesting man,' said Fitzduane.
'He is,' said Cochrane simply, 'and he is a friend, which is why we are meeting here. The Hill has become all too public recently.'
'It's your party, Lee,' said Fitzduane.
Cochrane gave a slight smile. 'I hope to change that, Hugo,' he said, and Fitzduane felt conflicting emotions. There was the lure of the hunt, which brought a surge of adrenaline, and then there was an interjection of guilt and concern as he thought about Kathleen and Boots and Romeo and Julietta.
There were ventures he should not engage in now that he had a family. No matter how much he was tempted. He had, he knew, a high tolerance for risk, but for those who waited behind it was much worse.
Besides, he wanted to know without cheating which it would be. Romeo or Julietta. Boy or girl?
The conference room had filled up somewhat, though nowhere near its full capacity.
Dan Warner and Maury were both there. Fitzduane had also been introduced to Grant Lamar, and then Cochrane had said he would introduce other people in the course of the briefing. He wanted to move matters along.
Since Maury was actually sitting down, Fitzduane surmised he must either know all the assembled company or be on Prozac. When Maury got through the initial introduction stage, he was actually quite affable. It was breaking the ice that seemed to freak him out. Yet Fitzduane warmed to him. As he had sensed during the terrorist attack, Maury was sound.
Cochrane, head down, standing behind the lectern to one side of a giant screen, cleared his throat. The sound system was working. The room became silent, expectant. He looked up.
'Three days ago, Patricio Nicanor and five staff members of the Task Group were killed and others wounded. The purpose of this meeting is to cover the events leading up to it, discuss our findings, and to implement an appropriate response. As we know, no action is being taken elsewhere, for reasons which we will be discussing. I shall be covering some ground most of us are already familiar with for the benefit of our guest from Ireland, Hugo Fitzduane. I think everyone here knows his track record in counterterrorist work.'
There were approving nods and looks from various people around the table, and then Fitzduane caught the eye of a familiar-looking face. He was sure he had not met the man before, yet the cast of features undoubtedly rang a chord.
The man was in his forties, good-looking if somewhat overweight, with a tousled crop of graying black hair and a thick mustache. He wore half-glasses and looked over them when he spoke. He had the air of an academic. He eyed Fitzduane with some interest before turning back to Cochrane.
'The Task Force came into being because some of us were concerned that the United States of America was not taking terrorism seriously enough. And I would like to add that although as Americans our first concern is for this country, we feel many of our neighbors and friends face the same threats and we should work together to counter them.'
Here Cochrane made a gesture of acknowledgment toward the Hispanic-looking academic, and with a shock Fitzduane realized who he was. The man was Valiente Zarra, the founder and head of the Popular Reform Party of Mexico. He was generally considered the one man who was capable of toppling the PRI – the ‘Pree,’ the current ruling party in Mexico. The party that had ruled Mexico through fair means, and others decidedly more dubious, since the thirties.
Media reports all described Zarra as ‘charismatic.’
Right now he looked tired, as if he had slept in his clothes, but interested. Even involved. And this was significant, because the Mexican presidential elections were only months away and Valiente should have had other priorities than socializing secretly in Washington.
Fitzduane had strong doubts that ‘socializing’ was the appropriate term. He was more of the view that Zarra needed something. Needed it quite badly.
His followers, who worked with the same passion that supporters in the past had worked for John Kennedy, were known as ‘Zarristas.’
The Congress of the United States of America, Japanese terrorists, Mexico, and the Zarristas. It was becoming a decidedly rich stew. Nonetheless, Fitzduane had the strong feeling that there were more ingredients and he could just end up as one of them.
An Irish stew? Personally, he hated the stuff.
Cochrane was speaking.
'About three years ago, we started paying attention to Mexico and particularly to the state of Tecuno. There was the Camerena affair where a U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration agent was kidnapped, tortured, and killed. Definite links between narcotics and terrorism were established, and the term ‘narcoterrorism’ came into use.
'The upshot was that more and more terrorist activities and incidents seemed to have some links with Tecuno. However, these leads were either never firm or merely a link in a chain of locations. It always seemed to be ‘soft intelligence.’ Nonetheless, connections were established with drug smuggling, money laundering, forgery, and incidents of terrorist violence and political assassination. It began to look to us as if Tecuno was becoming a haven for terrorists, much like Cuba, or East Germany when it was around, or Libya or the BekaaValley.
'It did not occur to us at the time that Tecuno was becoming much more than this. It was not merely an element in these various problems. Tecuno was the very source of such activities.
'But we might still be in the dark if it had not been for our good friend Professor Valiente Zarra.' Cochrane
