communique via AL.
Mike Rodgers.
'Private,' August said, 'is there any way this could have come from the ROC?'
'Yes, sir,' Honda said. 'They could have used one of the phones built into the computer.'
'It would have to have been turned on, with someone typing the number into the keys.'
'That's right, sir,' Honda said. 'Or they could have patched a cell phone into the computer and pumped it out through the dish. That might have been easier to key up in private.'
August nodded. The ROC was being powered up again. One of the crew would probably have to have done that. Their hands would have to be free, which meant they might have had time to get out a message.
'Op-Center should have gotten this message as well,' August said. 'See what they make of it.'
'Right away,' Honda replied.
The radio operator sat down next to August. As Private Honda phoned Bob Herbert's office, August didn't even try to concentrate on the maps,while he waited for Honda to see what Op-Center made of it. But the fact that it was in code and very, very short did not give him a good feeling about Rodgers's situation.
TWENTY-FIVE
This time, Mike Rodgers did not have a choice.
Mahmoud had the desire to kill. Rodgers could see it in his eyes. The general didn't even wait the full count of three. As soon as Hasan had translated the order to cooperate, Rodgers had held up his hands.
'All right,' he said firmly. 'I'll tell you what you want to know.'
Hasan translated. Mahmoud hesitated. Rodgers stared into his eyes.
Mahmoud clearly liked having his foot on Rodgers's neck. Rodgers had allowed him to enjoy it even more by capitulating at once. For the Syrian, knowing that he'd won decisively might be all that prevented him from killing Mary Rose out of vengeance or pique. And there might still be a way to stop the Kurds, especially if Op-Center received and understood Rodgers's telephone message. The general had slipped the cellular phone from his shirt pocket where Hasan had placed it earlier that evening. He'd programmed it when he was bent over the pit. A few minutes later, when he'd stood and leaned against the computer station, he'd slipped the phone into its cradle. That automatically jacked it into the uplink. The connection overrode the phone's internal battery; it wouldn't start dialing until the computer came back on.
When Rodgers went back to the pit he connected the battery to several of the ROC's noisiest systems. When the computer snapped back to life, so did the ROC air-conditioner and the security system, which beeped unobtrusively because a window was open. The Syrians did not hear the faint click of the telephone dialing and redialing. Two minutes later all of the batteries were connected. Rodgers swung his bound legs from the battery well.
'Hasan,' Rodgers said gently, 'would you tell your colleague that everything is ready and that I'm going to cooperate? Tell him I'm sorry for having misled him about the nature of the van. Promise him that it won't happen again.''
Rodgers let his gaze slip down to Mary Rose. The poor woman was breathing slowly. She looked as if she were trying not to vomit.
Mahmoud pulled her up by the hair.
'Stow that, Private,' Rodgers warned. He was trying to ignore the knot of outrage in his own gut.
Hasan nodded approvingly in Rodgers's direction. 'I am pleased that you see this our way now.'
Rodgers didn't say anything. There was nothing to be gained by explaining how he felt about a gun-wielding man threatening a bound, unarmed civilian. All the general wanted to do right now was keep the terrorists in the front of the van, away from the computer station.
Mahmoud handed Mary Rose to Ibrahim, who held her tightly with one arm across her chest. The Syrian leader approached Rodgers. As he did, the general hopped forward. He stopped at the computer station opposite the one to which he'd connected the telephone. He lay a reassuring hand on Pupshaw's shoulder.
Mahmoud spoke to Hasan, who translated.
'Mahmoud wishes you to talk,' Hasan said.
Rodgers looked at Mahmoud. Some of the anger had left his face, which was good. Rodgers wanted to keep things slow and chatty, give Op-Center time to receive and decode the message. He also wanted to buy time for them to turn a satellite on the ROC if they hadn't already. And he suspected that if he told them some of what the ROC could do, they wouldn't imagine that it could do more — such as access highly secure computers in Washington. If the terrorists learned the full capabilities of the ROC, national security and undercover lives would be compromised. And dodgers would have no choice but to get to either keyboard and hit
'This is a United States surveillance facility,' Rodgers said. 'We listen to radio communications.'
As Hasan explained to Mahmoud, Rodgers felt Pupshaw squirm.
'General, let them kill us instead,' the Striker whispered.
'Quiet,' Rodgers reprimanded him.
Hasan turned back to Rodgers. 'Mahmoud wishes to know if you knew about the work we did today.'
'No,' Rodgers said. 'This is the first time our facility has been used. We're still working on it.'
Hasan translated. Mahmoud spoke and pointed to the small satellite dish.
'Can you send a message from here?' Hasan asked.
'A satellite message?' Rodgers asked hopefully.
'Yes. Yes, we can.'
'Computer messages as well as voice messages?' Hasan inquired.
Rodgers nodded. If Mahmoud saw the ROC as his personal megaphone, so much the better. Op-Center could keep track of them by watching or listening to them.
Mahmoud smiled and said something to Ibrahim. Ibrahim answered confidently. Mahmoud spoke again, and this time Ibrahim put his other arm around Mary Rose's chest and pulled her from the van.
'What are you doing?' Mary Rose asked fearfully. 'General!
'Leave her alone!' Rodgers demanded. 'We're doing what you want!'
He began hopping forward. 'If you want someone, take me,' he said.
Hasan held him back. Rodgers grabbed the Syrian's hair, but couldn't keep his balance. Hasan threw him down into the nearest battery well. Sondra reached out to help Rodgers, but he waved her away. If anyone was going to get knocked around, he wanted it to be him. She sat on the edge of the well.
'I have treated you well!' Hasan shouted. He spat in the general's face. 'Animal! You don't deserve it!'
'Bring her back,' Rodgers snarled at Hasan. 'I'm doing what you asked.'
'No!' Rodgers shot back. 'I thought we had an agreement.'
Mahmoud walked over and pointed the gun down at Rodgers. The Syrian's face was impassive as he spoke to Hasan.
Hasan ran his fingers through his hair. 'You angered me for nothing, Mr. Rambo,' he said. 'Ibrahim is taking the woman to the Turk's motorcycle. He will follow us at a distance. Mahmoud has ordered that you use these computers to turn off the satellite. If we are stopped, her eyes will be cut out and she will be left in the desert.'
Rodgers swore at himself. He'd blundered into this and made an enemy of Hasan. He had to step back and try to think logically.
Hasan pulled Rodgers up and threw him into the free chair by the computer station. As he did, Mahmoud spoke.
'Mahmoud says you have wasted too much time,' Hasan told him. 'We want to see this van from a
