“Striker’s on alert and ready,” Hood said. “The delay isn’t likely to do much harm and it may give us some valuable onsite intel.”
“I disagree that the delay isn’t likely to do much harm,” Burkow said. “General VanZandt believes that it may also give Amadori a chance to punch up his own security. And getting him is the
Hood looked up at Rodgers. They both knew what Burkow was implying: this wasn’t the time to be cautious.
Hood agreed, to a point. The blitzkriegs, purges, and murders seemed to put Amadori in a class with Hitler and Stalin, not Fidel Castro or Francisco Franco. He couldn’t be allowed to rule Spain.
“Steve,” Hood said, “I agree with you. Amadori is the primary objective. But the Strikers are the only resource we have. If we use them recklessly, that’ll endanger their lives and also jeopardize the mission.” He looked at the computer clock. His assistant Bugs Benet had programmed it to give him the local time as well as the time in Madrid. “It’s nearly eleven A.M. in Spain,” he continued. “Let’s see what the situation is at noon. If we haven’t heard anything from Maria Corneja by then, Striker will move in.”
“A lot can happen in an hour, Paul,” Burkow complained. “A few key endorsements could make Amadori unstoppable. Remove him then and you kill a world leader instead of a traitor.”
“I understand that,” Hood replied. “But we need more information.”
“Look,” Burkow pressed, “I’m starting to get pissed off. Your team is one of the best strike forces in the world. Don’t sit on them. Let them loose. They’ll collect their own intel as they proceed.”
“No,” Hood said emphatically. “That isn’t good enough. I’m going to give Maria the extra hour.”
“Afraid?” Hood snapped. “That bastard sat back and let one of my people die. I can eat what’s on the plate. Gladly.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is we’ve been so damned target focused we haven’t worked out an exit strategy for Striker.”
“You don’t need Maria for that,” Burkow said. “They go out the same way they go in.”
“I don’t mean we need an exit strategy from the palace,” Hood said. “I’m talking about culpability. Who’s going to take the heat for this, Steve? Did the President work that out with the king?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t in on the conversation.”
“Are we supposed to disavow Striker if they’re caught?” Hood asked. “Say they’re mercenaries or some kind of rogue operation and then let them twist in the wind?”
“Sometimes that has to happen,” Burkow said.
“Sometimes it does,” Hood agreed. “But not when there’s an alternative. And the alternative we have here is to let a Spaniard be involved somewhere. A patriot. Someone Striker is there to support, even if that’s just smoke- and-mirrors for public consumption.”
Burkow said nothing.
“So I’m going to wait until noon to see if we get anything from Maria,” Hood said. “Even her whereabouts in the palace will do. If Striker can scoop her up on the way to Amadori, then no — I won’t have any problem giving the order to waste the son-of-a-bitch.”
There was a long moment of thick silence. Burkow finally broke it.
“I can tell the President it’ll happen at noon?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Hood.
“Fine,” Burkow said coldly. “We’ll talk then.”
The National Security chief hung up. Hood looked up at Rodgers. The general was smiling.
“I’m proud of you, Paul,” Rodgers said. “Real proud.”
“Thanks, Mike.” Hood closed down the computer file and rubbed his eyes. “But God, I’m tired. Tired of all of this.”
“Close your eyes,” Rodgers said. “I’ll take the watch.”
“Not till this is over,” Hood said. “But you can do me a favor.”
“Sure.”
Hood picked up the phone. “I’ll get on top of Bob Herbert and Stephen Viens, tell them I want that woman found and pinpointed. Meantime, see if there’s anything else Darrell can do. An hour’s not much time, but maybe somebody once bugged the palace. See if he can scare up any enemies of the king.”
“Will do.”
“And make sure he briefs Striker about what we’re waiting on.”
Rodgers nodded and left, shutting the door behind him. Hood made the calls to Herbert and Viens. When he was finished, he folded his arms on his desk and rested his forehead on them.
He was tired. And he wasn’t particularly proud of himself. To the contrary. He was disgusted by his eagerness to tear down Amadori as payback for Martha Mackall — even though it was someone else who had planned and carried out her murder. It was all part of the same inhuman tableau.
Eventually, though, it would all be over. Amadori would be dead or Spain would be Amadori’s — in which case it was the world’s problem and not his. Then Hood would leave here and go home to nothing. Nothing but a few private satisfactions, some awful regrets, and the prospect of more of the same for as long as he stayed at Op- Center.
That wasn’t enough.
He would never get Sharon to see things his way. But as he sat there, his mind fuzzy and his emotions clear, he had to admit that he was no longer sure his way was right. Was it better to have big professional challenges and the respect of Mike Rodgers? Or was it better to have a less demanding job, one that left him time to enjoy the love of his wife and children and the small satisfactions they could all share?
Because the price of being one of the power elite in any field was time and industry. If he wanted his family back he was going to have to take back some of those things. He was going to have to join a university or a bank or a think tank — something that left him time for violin recitals and baseball games and snuggling in front of the boob tube.
Hood raised his head and turned back to his computer. And as he waited for news from Spain, he typed:
Mr. President:
I herewith resign the office of Director of Op-Center.
Sincerely,
Paul Hood
THIRTY-THREE
When Maria finally reached the corridor outside the Hall of the Halberdiers, she was no longer able to proceed cautiously. The room was located toward the near end of the long hallway. The corridor was crowded with groups of soldiers, who were methodically searching the palace rooms. She had no doubt that they were looking for her.
It had been relatively easy getting this far. There were a number of interconnected rooms along the way and she’d been able to stay out of the corridor. The only stop she’d made was to try to telephone Luis to brief him. But the palace phones had been disconnected and she didn’t want to risk trying to get a radio from one of the communications officers.
Swallowing her pain, she marched ahead quickly, purposefully. Her arms swung stiffly at her sides, her cap
