Acts of War

Circulating blood volume appears to be way down.'

Rodgers usually felt bad for fighting men who had been wounded, regardless of their beliefs. But this man was a terrorist, not a soldier. Everything he had done, from blowing up an unfortified dam to ambushing the ROC, had been worked in whole or in part against unarmed civilians. Rodgers felt nothing for him.

August was looking into Rodgers's eyes. 'General, come on. Sit down.'

'In a minute.' Rodgers moved to the next man. He had red, mottled burns on his arms, legs, and upper chest. He was awake and staring at the sky with angry eyes.

Rodgers idly pointed at him with the gun. 'What about this one?' he asked.

'He's the healthiest of the bunch,' Musicant replied. 'Must be their leader. People were protecting him. He's got second-degree burns and mild shock. He'll live.'

Rodgers stared at the man for a moment, then squatted beside him. 'This is the man who tortured me,' he said.

'We'll bring him back to the U.S. with us,' August said. 'He'll stand trial. He won't get away with what he did.'

Rodgers was still looking at Siriner. The man was dazed, but those eyes were unrepentent. 'And when he does stand trial,' Rodgers said, 'Americans working in Turkey will be kidnapped and executed. Or an American plane bound for Turkey will be blasted from the air. Or a corporation which does business with Turkey will be bombed. His trial and even a conviction will become America's ordeal. And do you know what's ironic?' Rodgers asked.

'No, General,' August answered warily. 'Tell me.'

'The Kurds have a legitimate complaint.' Rodgers stood. He was still looking down at Siriner. 'The problem is, a trial will give them a daily forum. Because they've been oppressed, the world will regard this man's terroism as understandable or even necessary. Holding a torch to a man's body and threatening a woman with violent abuse become acts of heroism instead of sadism. People will say he was driven to it by the suffering of his people.'

'Not all people will say that,' said August. 'We'll see to it.'

'How?' Rodgers asked. 'You can't reveal who you are.'

'You'll testify,' August said. 'You'll talk to the press. You're articulate, a war hero.'

'They'll say we made things worse by spying on them. That I invited retribution by killing one of them in Turkey. They'll say we destroyed their — what will they call this? A refuge. A bucolic retreat.'

The hum of the ROC's eight-cylinder engine reached them as it emerged from the road-cut. August stepped between Siriner and General Rodgers.

'We'll talk about this later, sir,' August said. 'We accomplished our mission. Let's take pride in that.'

Rodgers said nothing.

'Are you okay?'

Rodgers nodded.

August stepped away cautiously and turned on his field radio. 'Sergeant Grey,' he said, 'stand by to initiate countdown.'

'Yes, sir!'

August faced the Strikers. 'The rest of you prepare to—'

August jumped as Rodgers's pistol fired. The colonel looked over. Rodgers's bare arm was extended almost straight down. Smoke twisted from the barrel and rose into Rodgers's unblinking eyes. He was staring at Siriner as blood oozed slowly from a raw hole in the commander's forehead.

August spun and pushed the gun up. Rodgers didn't resist.

'Your mission was finished, Brett, not mine,' Rodgers said.

'Mike, what've you done?'

Rodgers looked at him. 'Got my pride back.'

When August released his arm, Rodgers walked calmly toward the road. The rest of the ROC crew had stood up at the gunshot and were looking over. Rodgers was able to smile now, and he did. He was looking forward to apologizing to Phil Katzen.

His face ashen, August ordered Musicant to finish with the Kurds and treat Colonel Seden as soon as they were onboard the ROC. Then he handed the gun to Private DeVonne, who had been looking at her fellow Strikers.

'Sir,' she said urgently, 'we didn't see that. None of us did. The Kurd was killed in a firefight.'

August shook his head bitterly. 'I've known Mike Rodgers for most of my life. He's never told a lie. I don't think he's planning on starting now.'

'But they'll break him for this!' said DeVonne.

'I know!' August snapped. 'That's what I was worried about. Mike is going to do exactly what he was afraid the Kurd would do. He's going to use his courtmartial as a forum.'

'For what?' DeVonne asked.

August took a quick, shaky breath. 'For showing America how to deal with terrorists, Private, and for telling the world that America has had it.' He headed for the road as the ROC arrived. 'Let's move it out! ' he shouted. 'I want to blow this goddamn cave to Hell'

SIXTY

Tuesday, 6:03 p.m.,

Damascus, Syria

A convoy of presidential security force cars pulled up at the American Embassy in Damascus at 5:45 p.m. Ambassador Haveles was escorted to the gates, where he was met by two United States Marine guards. A hearse took the bodies of the dead DSA operatives around to the back of the embassy. Haveles went directly to his office, composed despite the fright still in his eyes, and telephoned the Turkish Ambassador in Damascus. He explained to him his first-hand knowledge of what had happened in the palace, and also told him that it had been PKK soldiers, not Syrians, who had been behind the theft of the border patrol helicopter, the attack on the Ataturk Dam, and the incident at the Syrian border. He urged the ambassador to brief the military and ask them to stand down. The ambassador said he would pass along the information.

Paul Hood arrived a few minutes later. He, Warner Bicking, and Professor Nasr had been dressed in kaffiyehs and sunglasses and escorted to a bus stop. Hood had always found the idea of disguises a theatrical extravagance when they appeared in movies and novels. In real life, he walked the third of a mile as if he were born and raised on Ibn Assaker Street. He had to. If he were recognized by a journalist or foreign official, it would jeopardize the two women who had come with him.

But he wasn't spotted. Though buses were being diverted around the Old City, the three men reached the embassy in just a half hour. Stopped by two Marine guards, Hood felt like Claude Rains in The Invisible Man as he unwrapped his disguise to show the sentries that he was who he said he was. Watching the front gate on closed-circuit camera, a DSA agent hurried out to usher the three men inside.

Hood went directly to the nearest office to telephone Bob Herbert. He shut the door of Deputy Ambassador John LeCoz's chambers and stood alone beside the old mahogany desk. The heavy, drawn drapes cloaked the small office in deep dark and muted silence. Hood felt safe. As he punched in the number of Herbert's wheelchair phone, it flashed through his mind that Sharon and the kids might have heard about events in Damascus. They might be worried. He hesitated, then decided he'd call them next. He didn't want to rush them off the phone, but he had to know about the ROC.

Herbert answered on the first ring. He was uncharacteristically subdued as he told Hood the good news. The Tomahawk had been aborted. Striker had gone in, rescued the ROC and its crew, and all were now safely back at Tel Nef. Syrian Army forces had been alerted about the wounded Kurds and had gone to collect them. In a short interview with CNN, the leader of the SAA force had ascribed the explosion at the cave to PKK mishandling of munitions — but only after the U.S. had agreed to allow Syrian security officials to interrogate the survivors while insisting there weren't any. They wanted to know everything about how Syrian security had been breached in Damascus and at Qamishli. Haveles's deputy ambassador had agreed to that after consulting with General Vanzandt.