Balance of Power o-5 Read online

  Being the senior official, Hood answered first. “Except for the attack against Martha — or perhaps because of it — there have been no reports of additional hostilities against American tourists,” he said. “Nor do we expect there to be. The people of Spain will be extremely sensitive about straining relations further. Besides, whatever the region, Spain’s economy depends upon tourism. It’s very unlikely that they’ll want to do anything to jeopardize that. As for additional political attacks against Americans, we all know that Martha was assassinated because she worked for Op-Center. We believe that she was murdered as a singular warning to the United States not to do exactly what we’re discussing: become involved in Spanish politics. As long as we keep our distance, politically and militarily, we don’t expect any more such attacks.”

  “Paul’s on the money about the tourist situation,” Marius said. “We’ve been very carefully monitoring the actions of the Spanish police and military. They respond very quickly to put down violence in popular tourist centers. Of course,” he added, “that may change if the conflict takes on a life of its own or if the police are provoked the way they were at the Traitor’s Gate.”

  “Which,” Burkow interrupted, “is the heart of the matter. It’s the reason the President is considering sending troops. There’s a point in every internal conflict when protest becomes open warfare. When emotion takes over from common sense. When expectations change from ‘I want to preserve my economy’ to ‘I want to preserve my life.’ When that happens—”

  “If it happens,” Manni pointed out.

  “Fine,” Burkow said. “If it happens, tourists — American and otherwise — will have no one looking out for them.”

  As Burkow was speaking, Hood received a secure e-mail message from McCaskey. He motioned Rodgers over as it came through. They read it together.

  Paul, it read. Field Ops report Basque yacht bomber murdered by Catalonian team. FOs going to talk to hit squad. Assessment: motive was revenge, not politics. I’ve warned FOs that one of them may still be in danger if she’s recognized as survivor of the MM situation. She doesn’t think these people are carrying on that agenda. I’m inclined to agree that circumstances have changed. Inform if you want her recalled.

  The yacht bomber apparently was backed by army general named Amadori. Checking on him now. Not surprisingly, local NATO files on the general appear to have been purged.

  Hood sent an acknowledgment along with his congratulations to Aideen and María for their intelligence work. He didn’t like the idea of her being out there with members of the team that had had Martha killed. Especially after having inadvertently left her and Martha open to the attack in the first place. But María was a crack agent. With her there to back Aideen — and vice versa — Hood informed Darrell to let the women make the call.

  “Mr. Burkow,” Manni said, “your concerns are well founded. But I believe we should wait to see whether the Spanish government can put this down themselves.”

  “So far, they haven’t exactly instilled confidence,” Burkow said. “They couldn’t even keep Deputy Serrador alive long enough to interrogate him.”

  “Mistakes were made,” Manni agreed. “Everyone was caught off guard. But we mustn’t compound those mistakes.”

  “Paul Hood here. What do you recommend, Mr. Secretary-General?”

  “My advice, Mr. Hood, is to give the prime minister another day to work things out. He has called in his military advisor on civil unrest and they’re drawing up a plan to deal with all possible contingencies.”

  Rodgers leaned toward the phone. “Sir, this is General Mike Rodgers, Deputy Director of Op-Center. If the prime minister or his officers need any military or intelligence support, my office is prepared to offer it very, very quietly.”

  “Thank you, General Rodgers,” said Manni. “I will certainly inform Prime Minister Aznar and General Amadori of your generous offer.”

  Hood was looking at Rodgers as Manni spoke. Something passed between them at the mention of Amadori’s name — a rapid and unexpected deflation of spirit visible in their eyes, a moment of numb paralysis in their limbs. Hood felt like a predator who suddenly realized that his prey was much smarter, more feral, and far deadlier than he’d expected.

  The paralysis passed quickly. Hood hit the mute button. “Mike—”

  “I know,” Rodgers said, already rising. “I’m on it.”

  “If it’s the same man,” Hood said, “they’ve got some very serious problems over there.”

  “Spain does,” Rodgers said, “along with every nation that’s going to want to get its people out of there in a hurry.”

  As Rodgers hurried from the office Hood listened, disinterested, to the political jabber between Manni, Burkow, and Lanning. They agreed about how they needed to let Spain solve this situation themselves but with a level of vocal support from the U.S. which would be heard by the feuding factions and could be ratcheted up to a military presence if necessary. A military presence that could become defensive action but that was actually offense designed at helping to preserve the legitimate government of Spain—

  It was all very necessary, Hood knew, but only in terms of posturing — like the United Nations itself. The real work was going to be done over the next few hours as they tried to figure out whether Amadori was behind the unrest. And, if so, how far he had gone in undermining the government. If he hadn’t gone too far, U.S. intelligence and the military would have to work with Spanish leaders to figure out how to stop him. That would be difficult to do quietly, but it could be done. There were templates for that kind of containment in Haiti, Panama, and other nations.

  But it was the alternative that concerned Hood. The possibility that, like a cancer, Amadori’s influence had spread far into the workings of the nation. If that were the case, then it might not be possible to remove the general without killing the patient. The only model for that was the collapse of Yugoslavia, a struggle in which thousands of people died and the sociopolitical and economic ramifications were still being felt.

  Spain had nearly four times the population of Yugoslavia. It also had friends and enemies in neighboring nations. If Spain came apart the unrest could easily spread throughout Europe. The breakup could also set an example for other melting-pot nations such as France, the United Kingdom, and Canada.

  Perhaps even the United States.

  The call ended with an agreement that the Secretary-General’s staff would provide hourly updates to the White House, and that Burkow would inform Manni of any changes in administration policy.

  Hood hung up the phone feeling more helpless than he had since he’d first joined Op-Center. He’d had missions go right and missions go wrong. His team had thwarted terrorists and coups. But he’d never faced a situation that threatened to set the tone for a new century: the idea that fragmentation was the norm rather than the exception and that nations as the world knew them could very well be on the brink of extinction.

  TWENTY

  Tuesday, 4:45 A.M. Madrid, Spain

  Word of Adolfo Alcazar’s brutal death traveled quickly from María Corneja to Luis García de la Vega to Darrell McCaskey. As he was required to do by law, Luis conveyed news of the homicide to the Ministry of Justice in Madrid. There, a high-ranking officer on the night staff quietly passed the information to General Amadori’s longtime personal aide, Antonio Aguirre. Aguirre — a former staff officer to Francisco Franco — personally went to the General’s office, knocked once on the door, and waited until he was invited in. Then he gave the news to the General himself.

  Amadori did not seem surprised to learn of Adolfo’s death. He also did not mourn Adolfo. How could he: the General had not known the man. It had been imperative that the two men be together and communicate with one another as little as possible. That way, if Adolfo had been arrested and forced to talk, there was nothing but his own testimony to link him to the General. There were no telephone records, notes, or photographs. To Amadori, Adolfo Alcazar was a loyal soldier
of the cause, one of the many revolutionaries whom the General did not and could not know.

  But what the brave and devoted Adolfo Alcazar had done was a flashpoint that had helped to make this revolution possible. The General vowed aloud to Antonio Aguirre that his murder would be avenged and his killers eliminated. He knew exactly who to go after: the Ramirez familia. No one else would have a reason or the means to eliminate Adolfo. Their deaths would be an example to others that he intended to treat resistance with terminal force.

  And, of course, as the General told Antonio, the roundup and execution of the Ramirez familia would serve one other purpose. It would frighten and scatter other familias that might be inclined to oppose him. Which was why the strike had to be very public and very dramatic.

  The General gave Antonio the order to make that happen. Antonio saluted smartly, turned, and left without saying a word. He went directly to his desk and phoned General Americo Hoss at the Tagus Army Air Base outside of Toledo. The General’s orders were communicated verbally. Like Adolfo, General Hoss would do whatever was necessary to serve the General.

  It was still dark when the four aging HA-15 helicopters lifted off. Like most of the helicopters in the Spanish army, the HA-15s were transport choppers rather than gunships. The thirty-year-old aircraft had been outfitted with a pair of side-door-mounted 20mm cannons, which had been fired only in practice missions.

  This was not a practice mission.

  Each helicopter carried a complement of ten soldiers, each of whom was armed with a Z-62 submachine gun or a Modelo L-1-003 rifle adapted to accomodate standard M16 magazines. Mission commander Major Alejandro Gómez had orders to take the factory and to use whatever means were necessary to obtain the names of the killers.

  Gómez was expected to return with prisoners. But if they refused to come, he was expected to return with bodybags.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Tuesday, 5:01 A.M. San Sebastian, Spain

  María pulled up to the security booth at the Ramirez factory and flashed her Interpol credentials. She’d decided en route that she didn’t want to be a tourist here. She was relatively confident that the guard would phone ahead to warn the plant manager that she and Aideen were coming in. The manager, in turn, would inform any of the murderers who might be on the premises. Ordinarily, the killers would probably have hidden or fled. That was why María had taken the precaution of informing the guard, “We have no jurisdiction here. We only want to talk to members of the familia.”

  “But Señorita Cornejas,” the burly, gray-bearded sentry replied, “there is no familia.”

  It was a cool disavowal. It reminded Aideen of the drug dealers in Mexico City who had always insisted that they never heard of el señorío—“the lord of the estate”—the drug lord who provided them with all the heroin sold in the nation’s capital.

  “Actually, you’re a little premature,” María replied, gunning the car engine in neutral. “I have a very strong suspicion that in just a little while there will be no familia.”

  The guard gave her a veiled but puzzled look. He wore a ribbon for valor and had the gruff, immutable bearing of a drill sergeant. In Spain, as elsewhere, security positions were a haven for former soldiers and police officers. Very few of them appreciated being ordered around by civilians. And far, far fewer liked being lectured by women. As María had suspected when she first set eyes on him, this one was going to need another little push.

  “Amigo,” she said, “trust me. There won’t be a familia unless I get to talk to them. A few of them took it upon themselves to kill a man in town. That man has some very powerful friends. I don’t think those friends are going to let this matter sit.”

  The sentry looked at her for a long moment. Then, turning his back to them, he made a phone call. His voice did not carry outside the booth. But after a short conversation the sentry hung up, raised the bar, and admitted the car to the parking lot. María told Aideen that she was convinced now that one or more members of the familia would see them. And, Aideen knew, María would press them to tell her whatever they knew about General Amadori. With Ramirez and his people dead, their plan — whatever it had been — was probably dead as well. Amadori was the one they had to worry about. She needed to know, as fast as possible, how much they needed to worry about him.

  Two men met María and Aideen at the front door of the factory. The women parked the car nose in and emerged with their arms extended downward, their hands held palms forward. María stood by the driver’s side, Aideen by the passenger’s door, as the men walked over. They stopped a few yards away. While one man watched, the other — a big, powerfully built fellow — took the women’s guns and telephone and tossed the items in the car. Then he checked them for wires. His check was thorough but completely professional. When he was finished, the two men walked in silence to a large van parked nearby. The women followed. The four of them climbed into the back and sat on the floor amid cans of paint, ladders, and drop cloths. The men sat beside the door.

  “I am Juan and this is Ferdinand,” said the man who had watched the frisking. “Your full names, please.”

  “María Corneja and Aideen Sánchez,” María said.

  Aideen picked up on the “change” in her own nationality. It was an inspired move on María’s part. These two might not trust fellow Spaniards right now but they’d trust foreigners even less. Internal warfare was a perfect environment for foreign powers to spread weapons, money — and influence. Roots like that were often difficult to dislodge.

  Aideen looked from one to the other of the men. Juan was the older of the two. He looked tired. The skin was deeply wrinkled around his nervous eyes and his slender shoulders were bent. The other man was a colossus whose eyes were deep-set under a heavy brow. His flesh was smooth and tight like the face on a coin and his broad shoulders were straight.

  “Why are you here, María Corneja?” Juan asked.

  “I want to talk to you about an army General named Rafael Amadori,” María said.

  Juan looked at her for a moment. “Go ahead.”

  Maria pulled the cigarettes from her jacket. She took one and offered the pack around. Juan accepted one.

  Now that they were here, it bothered Aideen that they were collaborating with killers. But as Martha had said, different countries had different rules. Aideen could only trust that Maria knew what she was doing.

  María lit Juan’s cigarette and then she did her own. The way she lit his smoke — cupping the match under Juan’s cigarette, inviting him to take her hands and move them toward the tip — made the action very intimate. Aideen admired how she used that to establish a rapport with the man.

  “Señor Ramirez and the heads of other business groups and familias were slain yesterday by a man working for Amadori,” María said. “I believe you’ve met him. Adolfo Alcazar.”

  Juan said nothing.

  María’s voice was softer than Aideen had ever heard it. She was wooing Juan.

  “Amadori is a very powerful officer,” Maria continued, “who appears to hold a key place in the food chain of what’s been going on. Here’s how it looks to me. Ramirez had an American assassinated yesterday. Amadori knew this was going to happen and let it happen. Why? So that he could present an audiotape to the nation implicating Deputy Serrador. Why? So that Serrador and the Basques he represents would be discredited at home and abroad. Then he had Alcazar murder your employer and his coconspirators. Why? To discredit the Catalonians and destroy their power-base. If Serrador and the business leaders were planning some kind of political maneuver, that’s finished now.

  “More importantly,” Maria went on, “the presence of a conspiracy weakens the government considerably. They don’t know who they can trust or who to turn to for stability. Words won’t reassure the people. They’re fighting each other from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, from the Bay of Biscay to the Strait of Gibraltar. The government needs someone strong to establish order. I believe that Amadori has orchestrated things to mak
e himself that man.”

  Juan stared at her through the smoke of his cigarette. “So?” he said. “Order will be restored.”

  “But maybe not as it was,” Maria said. “I know a little about Amadori — but not enough. He’s a Castilian nationalist and, from all I can determine, a megalomaniac. He appears to have used these incidents to put himself in a position to have martial law declared throughout Spain — and then to run that martial law. I’m concerned that he won’t step down after that. I need to know if you have or can get any intelligence that will help me stop him.”

  Juan smirked. “You’re suggesting that Interpol and the Ramirez familia work together?”

  “I am.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Juan said. “What will stop you from gathering intelligence on us?”

  “Nothing,” María admitted.

  Juan’s smirk wavered. “Then you admit you might.”

  “Yes, I admit that,” Maria said. “But if we don’t stop General Amadori, then whatever intelligence I happen to gather on the familia will be useless. The general will hunt you people down and destroy you. If not for killing his operative, then for the threat you represent. The possibility that you could rally other familias against him.”

  Juan looked at Ferdinand. The granite-solid watchman thought for a moment and then nodded once. Juan regarded Maria. So did Aideen. Maria had played Juan honestly — and beautifully.

  “Adversity has made stranger trenchmates,” Juan said. “All right. We’ve been looking into Amadori since we returned to the factory.” He snickered. “We still have some allies in government and the military, though not many. The death of Señor Ramirez has scared people.”

  “As it was meant to,” María remarked.