Call to Treason - Tom Clancy [138]
Which is not the worst idea you have had today, he told himself.
Assuming he could find the bastard. Stone had vanished within moments of the report.
Rodgers could hear the higher-pitched whir of the police helicopters moving along the San Diega Freeway. Two hovered above Lindbergh Field in case the limousine had gone there, and two more from the Harbor Patrol were moving out to sea. Perhaps the kidnappers intended to fly Admiral Link from the area. There were sirens on the Pacific Coast Highway, which paralleled Harbor Drive. Convention security personnel were running here and there, shouting into walkie-talkies and trying to keep order around the convention center itself. They were apparently being told to keep people in the area. Having another four or five thousand attendees in the streets would only complicate rescue efforts.
Rodgers reached the eastern entrance of the convention center as the Marine helicopter landed. He showed one of the security guards his USF ID as well as his Op-Center ID. He was allowed inside. A wide, sunlit, concrete-heavy gallery circled the massive convention area. It was thick with refreshment stands, media booths, and USF vendors.
People were standing around, just as they were in the hotel lobby, trying to pick up information and voicing theories as to who might be behind this. "Damn foreigners" was the expression Rodgers seemed to hear most.
It would be ironic if that were the case. International enemies of the USF Party were something Mike Rodgers had not even considered. Or someone seeking revenge for William Wilson, perhaps?
No, Rodgers decided. Something like this would have been planned for some time. The abductors would have had to know Link's schedule, been able to get to the limousine driver and take him out, and had a hideout or escape route ready. The kidnappers would have made dry runs.
Rodgers started up the concrete stairs that led to the top of the convention center. He was tired, but years of training with Striker had kept him in top physical condition. The door to the roof was a fire exit. It was unlocked. Rodgers stepped out. The chopper was about fifty yards away. Rodgers waved to the pilot, who acknowledged with a salute. The general ran toward the Apache, ducking into the heavy prop wash.
Suddenly, Rodgers stopped.
The abduction needed a plan, he thought. Was the answer right in front of him? He looked out at the city from the top of the convention center. Red and blue police lights spotted the main roads and highways. Helicopters were being swallowed in the smoggy inland skies.
A great security machine was in motion.
But would it be enough?
With renewed urgency, Rodgers resumed his sprint toward the chopper.
* * *
FIFTY-ONE
Washington, D.C. Wednesday, 7:08 p.m.
Reluctantly, Bob Herbert had moved his laptop operation to the Tank.
McCaskey had informed him about the latest developments and he wanted to be directly involved in the operation. Besides, the winds in the parking lot had picked up, and there was an unpleasant chill on his back. And, as the engineers from Andrews put it, they needed someone to test the elevator with a load inside. Everyone else was still using the stairs. The tech boys had been working on the lift for three hours and told him everything seemed to be functioning. None of them had ridden it yet because they did not have the proper security clearance.
Most of Op-Center had been fried, but protocol was still protocol.
Before heading downstairs, the intelligence chief phoned Stephen Viens.
The surveillance operations officer was still at the NRO. Herbert asked him to see if any of the navy satellites had picked up the limousine in back