weapons began firing from one of the windows. One of the American soldiers launched a grenade into the window; it burst with a cut-off boom and smoke curled out.
Lia glanced at Karr nervously. The experts said the warhead couldn’t explode if it was jostled by another explosion. She wasn’t so sure.
“Clear!” yelled someone in the building.
There were some more pops and rattles, but the main resistance was over. Six of the native guerrillas were dead; five others had surrendered or been captured after being wounded. They denied any knowledge of Tucume.
It took an hour for the troops to search the buildings. Karr was his usual good-natured self, waiting with his arms folded and his rucksack hanging off his shoulder. The ruck had the nuclear testing equipment — and tools he could use to dearm the bomb if necessary.
Finally cleared, they walked to join the soldiers searching the buildings.
Karr kicked at the metal door covering the cellar entrance in the old tool building.
“What do you think?” asked the sergeant in charge of the detail searching the place.
“It ain’t nowhere else,” said Karr. “Hang on.”
He bent down and ran his PDA around the side, looking for electrical or magnetic currents.
“What’s that thing?” said the sergeant.
Karr smiled but didn’t answer.
“There’s no electrical booby traps,” he said when he finished. “But I have a bad feeling about this. You got a rope? We’ll rig it so we can yank it open from outside.”
The soldiers quickly rigged the rope. Karr pulled; the door opened; nothing blew up.
“So much for feelings, huh?” said Karr, easing in.
“Look at this!” shouted the first man down in the hole. “It’s a wine cellar!”
“Bust, huh?” said Rockman as Lia and Karr waited for the soldiers to saddle up.
“Except for the wine,” said Karr.
“Catch a ride back to Iquitos and head down to Lima,” said Rockman. “There are enough Atomic Energy people in Peru now. We’re going to get you home.”
“Who says we want to go home?” protested Karr.
“I wouldn’t mind going home,” said Lia.
Karr laughed, as if she were joking.
Later, as they walked toward the helicopter, Lia glanced across the clearing toward the other riverbank. An eagle had just come out of one of the treetops. He seemed to stumble in the air, but after two strong strokes, began to soar, gliding upward.
She didn’t know why, but the sight cheered her up.
108
Deep Black missions were debriefed in a special area of the underground complex devoted to supporting Desk Three missions. Called the squad room by the ops, the facility looked like an oversize living room, and the process itself was designed to be as painless as possible for the ops. When the mission was complete, the agent took a small digital video camera and recorded the details in one of the two cubicles down the hall. They were outfitted like studies and reminded Charlie Dean of what a doctor’s or lawyer’s private office might look like; the books in the bookcases were English translations of classics, such as Plutarch’s Lives.
In the past, Dean handled the reports with the briefest possible accounts. He thought the famous “We came, we saw, we conquered” report delivered by Julius Caesar to the Senate after he defeated Pharnaces too long by a third. But this time Dean gave an especially detailed account, including the part where he left Karr and went to find and help Lia.
He’d spent the flight from Lima thinking about what he was going to say. What truly bothered him wasn’t the fact that he had made a mistake, but that even now he didn’t feel as if it were a mistake. His head said it was, but his gut didn’t agree.
And that, he decided, was a major problem.
“Mr. Rubens wants to see you,” said Montblanc when Dean handed the recorder to him.
“I want to see him, too.”
Montblanc’s mustache bobbed. “He’s up in his office. I’ll let him know you’re on your way.”
Rubens was still struggling to get through the mountain of paperwork that had piled up over the last few days when Dean knocked on his door. He had Dean wait while he folded the gray blanket over the papers on his desk. Then he called the op in.
“I was really surprised at you, Mr. Dean,” Rubens started as soon as Dean had sat down. “We do have a certain procedure and chain of command, and when we’re in—”
“That’s all right,” said Dean, putting up his hand. “I was wrong. I know it. I’ve written up my resignation.”
“What?”
“I don’t know if this is the right language to use,” he added, taking a folded letter from his shirt pocket. “I can adjust it if you want.”
“You’re quitting?”
“I can’t trust my judgment.”
“Charlie. Wait. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”
Dean stared at him dispassionately.
“You just need a rest,” Rubens told him. “A few days. You’ve been under considerable strain. A great deal of stress. On this mission and the others. You should take this under advisement.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Think about it.”
“I have.”
“You’re tired, Charlie. You’ve just come back from an exhausting mission. We push you all too hard; I realize that. But you shouldn’t—”
Rubens stopped, unsure of what words to use. “My family has a small cottage on Martinique. Why don’t you take two weeks off and have some fun there? Just yourself. The servants will see to your needs. You need a
“Trying to bribe me?”
“Bribe you?”
“I’m only kidding.” Dean got up. “Thanks anyway.”
“Charlie — take a few days off,” said Rubens. But Dean was already out of his office.
“How are you, Charlie?” said Montblanc when Dean went in to see him. “I hope Mr. Rubens didn’t come off too harsh. He thinks the world of you. That little confusion about your assignment isn’t going to affect you long- term. I’ve seen these things blow over time and again. Operatives are expected to use their own judgment — that’s why you’re here. Conflicts are inevitable.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Dean wasn’t sure how much of Montblanc’s manner was genuine and how much was intended to be therapeutic. He was a psychologist, and his job was basically to seem as reassuring as possible to the Deep Black ops. In a way, thought Dean, he was a bit of a rat, pretending to be your friend and then probably filing reports behind your back.
“You know, you’re due a lot of time off,” said Montblanc. “And it happens that I have some tickets to Disney World.”
“You, too?”
