Tom Clancy's op-center_ acts of war - Tom Clancy [101]
When the men were finished, they met by the DSA agent's car.
"Thanks for tagging that guy on the roof," the agent said.
The driver nodded as he leaned carefully against the back door. "You know, Brian, there's nothing you could've done about any of this."
"Bull," he said. "We should've gone in to get her. I told Lee that, but he said the lady didn't like being crowded. Well, shit. Better crowded than what she got."
"And if we'd gone in we'd all be dead," the driver said. "They were expecting us to meet her in there. What'd they have, fifteen grenade's between them? It was household security that screwed up. I'm betting that guy was in the tree since last night waiting for Ms. Morris. The other asshole on the bike must've been following us."
Three ambulances arrived, and while several paramedics took care of the men's wounds before carrying them off, others ran inside to check on Mr. Bora. He was carried out on a gurney, moaning in Turkish how this never would have happened if he hadn't been such an internationalist.
"That's how they win," the DSA agent said as he was loaded into an ambulance beside the other American. "They scare guys like him into playing ball with just the home team."
"It doesn't take much to scare a guy like Mr. Bora," the driver replied as he looked from the agent to the IV in his arm. "Let's see what happens when they have to duke it out with the United States of America."
* * *
THIRTY-TWO
Tuesday, 5:55 a.m.,
London, England
Paul Hood and Warner Bicking were met at Heathrow Airport by an official car and a DSA vehicle with three agents. The Americans had expected to spend the two hours between flights at the airport. However, an airport official met Hood at the gate with an urgent fax from Washington. Hood walked off to a corner to read it. Bob Herbert had arranged for them to ride with an embassy official to the U.S. Embassy at 24/31 Grosvenor Square in London. It was important, the fax said, for Hood to use the secure phone there. He and Bicking were shown to a secure area of the terminal where international dignitaries were hurried safely through customs.
The ride through the very light early morning traffic was swift. Hood was surprisingly alert. He'd managed to catch three hours' sleep on the plane, and he could still taste the weak coffee he'd swigged two cups of before deplaning. Together, it would be enough to keep him going for now. If he could grab three or four more hours of sleep on the next leg of the trip, he'd be fine when they hit Damascus. Hood was also alert in part because of his curiosity and concern about the mystery fax. If it had been good news, Herbert would have indicated that.
Bicking sat beside Hood, his legs crossed and his foot rocking eagerly. Though he had worked straight through the seven-hour flight, studying the various CARfare scenarios, he was more alert than Hood.
Bicking is young enough to do that, damn him, Hood thought as he watched an early morning mist begin to dissipate. There was a time when Hood could do that too, during his banking years. Breakfast in New York or Montreal, a late dinner in Stockholm or Helsinki, then breakfast the following morning in Athens or Rome. In those days he could go for forty-eight hours without sleep. He even disdained sleep as a waste of time. Now, there were times when he got into bed and he didn't even want his wife to touch him. He just wanted to lay down and savor the sleep he had earned.
Shortly after the car had gotten underway, the driver handed Hood a sealed envelope from the ambassador. It contained their local itinerary and indicated that Dr. Nasr would be meeting them at the embassy at 7:00 am.
Ordinarily, Hood savored London. His great grandparents were born in the Kensington section, and he responded in an almost spiritual way to the city's history and character.