“We’ve already heard from Colonel Small. Bev, what do you think?”
Shumard managed a slight grin that dimpled her cheeks. “You know what I think, Admiral. But since we already have a clear majority, I’ll go along.”
Derringer glanced at Mrs. Springer, who was keeping notes. “Then it’s unanimous.” He turned to Wilmont and Carmichael. “Marsh, you can inform State that we’re proceeding. Sandy tell Steve Lee that it’s a go.”
36
Hurtubise was in the apartment less than one minute before he sensed trouble.
Gabrielle gave him a perfunctory kiss that set bells ringing — the farthest kind from romantic bells.
Alarm bells.
“What is it?” he asked.
She looked up at him — he was four inches taller — and bit her lip. He mistook it for a pout, and Gabrielle Tixier could pout with the best of them. A sensual, little-girl pout perfected over years. She used it to manipulate men.
When she turned away, he grasped her arm and spun her around. “I asked, what is it?”
“I feel terrible,” she replied.
“Yes, I can see that, Gabrielle.” He modulated his voice, allowing just enough flat tone to imply something pending. Something probably unpleasant.
“I did what you wanted,” she said, immediately regretting the defensive whine building at the end of the phrase. “I met the American woman again and we… talked.”
“You did more than talk. You drank. A lot.” It was a statement of fact; a certainty like magnetism or taxes.
She touched her forehead and flicked the light brown bangs. “Yes. All right. We drank. A lot. We learned about each other. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
He folded his arms — a sure sign of irritation — and leaned forward. “Don’t play games, Gabrielle! I set a hen to catch a hen, and now I am beginning to think that the American hen was a chicken hawk.” He stared her down; she never could meet his eyes for more than several seconds.
She plopped into the only comfortable chair and looked at him again. “I…” Her voice trailed off.
“What did you tell her?”
Her mouth opened. Nothing followed. Finally she swallowed and croaked, “I… I don’t know. Not everything.”
He sprang at her, raising a hand, and she flinched from long experience.
Hurtubise stopped in midstride. He realized that if he struck her again, this time she probably would leave. Personal considerations aside, she would also take any useful information with her.
He knelt before her, balanced on one knee. “Gabrielle. I’m sorry. I told you four years ago that I would never do that again. And I keep my word.”
She was crying now, tears tracking down both cheeks. “Marcel… I’m so sorry. I thought I could handle her. Honestly I did. But…”
The emotional dam burst and the sobs came. She leaned forward on her elbows, her slender torso visibly shaking with each painful exhalation.
He reached out, touched an arm, and squeezed. Harder than he intended, but a calming gesture nonetheless.
Inside, his mind was raging.
Marcel Hurtubise was nothing if not composed. He was aware of the American phrase “control freak.”
It was more like five.
When she had confessed all she could — everything she could remember or thought she could remember — she allowed herself to relax a bit. By now she was feeling more certain of herself. It had happened before — a long period of good to excellent behavior followed by an inevitable lapse leading to confession, contrition, and forgiveness. Sometimes Gabrielle wondered if Marcel had been a priest in a previous incarnation.
But there was always the penance. In this instance, it came on an icy wind.
“Good, Gabrielle. Very good. It is always best to tell the truth. I cannot make things better without knowing everything. You understand?”
She nodded briskly, not trusting her voice.
“Very well.” He stroked her hair, tracing the line of her cheek with the knuckles of one hand. “We must assume that she knows about the mine, so there is only one thing to do.”
“Yes?”
“Kill her.”
37
“Okay: here’s what we know,” Lee began. He pointed to a map of Chad propped on an easel. “The mine is here in the Aozou Strip up near the Libyan border. It’s been relatively inactive for a few years but apparently some of the equipment has been maintained, maybe with this time in mind. At any rate, our colleagues with Groupe FGN have been using their legitimate work through the French embassy to provide security for the clandestine operation that’s under way at the mine. We do not know the ultimate destination of the yellow cake, but it could be Iran.” He allowed that sentiment to linger in midair for a moment.
“Anyway, that really doesn’t matter. The important thing is, our people here and in D.C. do not want that product to leave the country. That’s why it’s such a hurry-up operation. We don’t know exactly when the yellow cake will be ready for export, but indications are that it’s imminent.”
Lee turned back to his audience and took three steps forward. “Gentlemen, I’ll repeat what I said before. This is strictly a volunteer basis. If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to. Personally, I’m convinced that it’s a low-risk operation, but there could be some shooting. Since you’ve all signed training contracts, you’re at liberty to stay here. But we need experienced leadership on the ground up there, and that’s why our team got the nod.” He looked at each man in turn. “Any questions?”
There were none so Lee nodded to Foyte. “Gunny will conduct the briefing since he’s been working on the op order.”
Foyte walked to the head of the room. “Thank you, Major.” He flipped his notebook open and ran through the standard headings.
“Mission: well, you know that. Secure the mine and prevent any yellow cake from getting out. After we’re done, a joint U.S., Chad, and IAEA team will move in.”
Bosco raised a hand. “Uh, what’s IAEA?”
“International Atomic Energy Agency. It’s a multinational inspection organization.”
“U.N.?” asked Bosco.
“It’s based in Vienna but is chartered by the U.N. Why?”
“Ah, I never trust anybody who wears baby blue berets,” Bosco replied. Some chuckles skittered through the room. Foyte ignored them.
“Enemy forces: probably twelve to twenty French or European mercs from Groupe FGN. That does not include the mine workers. Expect small arms and automatic weapons, and watch for imbedded explosives.
