State of Siege

“Christ, Lowell — the terrorists broke that law!” Rodgers said.

“That doesn’t mean we can, too,” Coffey said. “Even if we’re willing to break international law, every Striker action to date has been executed according to Op-Center’s charter — U.S. law. Specifically, we’ve gotten the permission of the Congressional Intelligence Oversight Committee—”

“I’m not worried about a goddamn court-martial, Lowell,” Rodgers interrupted sharply.

“This isn’t about personal culpability,” Coffey said. “It’s about Op-Center’s survival.”

“I agree,” Rodgers said. “Its about our survival as an effective, counterterrorist force—”

“No,” Coffey said, “as a division of the United States government. We were chartered to act, and I quote, ‘when the threat to federal institutions or any constituents thereof, or to American lives in the service of those institutions, is clear-cut and immediate.’ I don’t see that here. What I do see is that if you go in, whether you succeed or fail is irrelevant—”

“Not to Paul and the other parents.”

“This isn’t about them!” Coffey snapped. “It’s about the larger picture. The American public will applaud. Hell, I’ll applaud. But France or Iraq or some member nation will pressure the administration to take us to task for overstepping our mandate.”

“Especially if the terrorists turn out to be foreigners and any of them are killed,” Herbert said. “American soldiers effectively executing foreign nationals on international territory with every media outlet in the world covering the event will destroy us.”

“And they’ll do it with American law, not international law,” Coffey added. “Congress will have no choice but to pull everyone in this room in front of the CIOC. Never mind our careers. If they vote to dissolve Op-Center or even just Striker, how many future lives will be lost? How many battles won’t we be able to fight that have a direct influence on the security of the United States?”

“I can’t believe this,” Rodgers said. “We’re talking about children being held hostage!”

“Unfortunately,” Herbert said, “as angry as it makes us all, the threat to the delegates and to Paul’s daughter doesn’t fall under those parameters. Saving her is a luxury we may not be able to afford.”

“A luxury?” Rodgers said. “Jesus, Bob, you’re talking like a goddamned Camp Fire girl!”

Herbert glared at Rodgers. “That was my late wife. She was the Camp Fire girl.”

Rodgers looked at Herbert and then looked down. The ventilators in the ceiling sounded very loud.

“Since the subject has been raised,” Herbert continued, “my wife was also a victim of terrorists. I know what you’re feeling, Mike. The frustration. I know what Paul and Sharon are feeling. And I also know that Lowell is right. The place for Op-Center in this fight is on the sidelines.”

“Doing nothing.”

“Surveillance, tactical assistance, moral support — if we can contribute those, they aren’t nothing,” Herbert said.

“ ‘They also serve who only stand and wait,’ ” Rodgers said solemnly.

“Sometimes, yes.” Herbert patted the arms of his wheelchair. “Otherwise, you could end up sitting and waiting. Or worse.”

Rodgers glanced at his watch. Lowell Coffey had made valid legal points. And Rodgers’s stumble about Yvonne Herbert had given her husband the right to sermonize. But that didn’t make either man right.

“I’ve got about fifteen minutes to meet the plane,” Rodgers said quietly. “Bob, I’ve already put you in charge. If you want to stop me, you can.” He looked at Liz Gordon. “Liz, you can have me declared mentally unfit, suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, whatever the hell you want. If you do, I won’t fight either of you. But barring that, I won’t stand and wait. I can’t. Not while a band of murderers is holding kids hostage.”

Herbert shook his head slowly. “This one’s not that black and white, Mike.”

“That’s no longer the issue,” Rodgers said to him. “Are you going to stop me?”

Herbert stopped shaking his head. “No,” he said. “I’m not.”

“May I ask why?” Coffey asked indignantly.

Herbert sighed. “Yeah. In the CIA, we used to call it respect.”

Coffey made a face.

“If a superior wanted to bend the rules, you bent them,” Herbert went on. “All you could do was try not to bend ’em so far that they came around and bit you in the ass.”

Coffey sat back. “I expect that from the Cosa Nostra, not the lawful government of the United States,” he said unhappily.

“If we were all so damn virtuous, lawful government wouldn’t be necessary,” Herbert said.

Rodgers looked at Liz. She was not happy either.

“Well?” Rodgers said.

“Well what?” Liz said. “I’m not a brick in Bob’s wall of silence, but I’m not going to stop you. Right now, you’re being headstrong, impatient, and you’re probably acting out, looking to hit someone hard for what your captors did in the Bekaa Valley. But unfit? From a psychological standpoint, not a legal one, I can’t say you’re unfit.”

Rodgers looked back at Herbert. “Bob, will you try to get me into the CIA shell?”

Herbert nodded.

Rodgers looked at Coffey. “Lowell, will you go to the CIOC? See if they’ll call an emergency meeting?”

Coffey’s thin mouth was tight, and his polished fingernails were tapping the table. But above all, the attorney was a professional. He hooked back his sleeve and looked at his watch.

“I’ll call Senator Warren on his mobile phone,” Coffey said. “He’s our most sympathetic ear over there. But those people are tough enough to reach on a weekday. On a weekend, at night—”

“I understand,” Rodgers said. “Thanks. You, too, Bob.”

“Sure thing,” Herbert replied.

Coffey was already looking up the phone number on his electronic pocket directory as Rodgers looked over at Matt Stoll and Ann Farris. The technical genius was staring intently at his folded hands, and the press liaison was quiet, her expression noncommittal. He thought he might get her approval since he was trying to help Paul Hood, but he wasn’t going to ask. He turned toward the door.

“Mike?” Herbert said.

Rodgers looked back at him. “Yes?”

“Whatever you need, you know you’ve got our support back here,” Herbert said.

“I know.”

“Just try not to destroy the Secretariat Building, okay?” Herbert said. “And one more thing.”

“What’s that?” Rodgers asked.

“I don’t want to find myself running this goddamned place,” Herbert said with the hint of a smile. “So make sure you get your headstrong, impatient, acting-out self back here.”

“I’ll try,” Rodgers said, smiling slightly himself as he opened the door.

It wasn’t exactly the endorsement Rodgers had hoped for but, as he hurried through the cubicles toward the elevator, at least he didn’t feel like Gary Cooper in High Noon—alone. And right now, that was something.

SEVENTEEN

New York, New York

Saturday, 10:11 P.M.

The short-lived but legendary Office of Strategic Services was formed in June of 1942. Under the leadership of World War I hero William Joseph “Wild Bill” Donovan, the OSS was responsible for collecting military intelligence. After the war, in 1946, President Truman established the Central Intelligence Group, which was chartered to gather foreign intelligence pertaining to national security. A year later, the National Security Act renamed the CIG the