Tom Clancy's op-center_ acts of war - Tom Clancy [17]
"There is always the unexpected," Walid pointed out as he climbed into the cockpit.
"That's true," Ibrahim said. "But this was our area of expertise."
"Which is why we overlooked it," Walid snapped. "This was a warning. We are told, 'Nor do We punish a nation until We have sent forth an apostle to forewarn them.' We have been forewarned."
Ibrahim reflected on Walid's words as the other men ran over. Three of them embraced the others and wished them well. Then they returned to the cars to drive them back to Syria. With a helicopter gunship at their back, the Syrian, guards would let them through without any questions. Nor would they help investigators from Damascus or Ankara, for fear of reprisals.
"Now we don't look back," Walid said to the three men in the helicopter. "We look ahead. Backup aircraft will be here in less than ten minutes." Walid glanced over his shoulder. "Are you ready?"
Mahmoud had waited for the other man, Hasan, their radio operator, to get in. Extra containers of fuel were loaded from the car, along with a backpack, which was handled gingerly. It was studded from the inside out with nails. When Ibrahim had settled into his seat with the backpack nestled between his feet, Mahmoud climbed,aboard.
"We're ready," Mahmoud said, shutting the door.
Without a word Walid checked his instruments and throttled up, and the helicopter was airborne.
Ibrahim watched the desert sink away. The road became lace, patches of asphalt covered with patterns of sand, and the carnage below became even more impersonal. He turned his face to the sun. It burned through the windshield, dwarfing the efforts of the air-conditioner to keep them cool.
As we will burn through the Turks for attempting to keep our own fires from burning, Ibrahim thought.
Walid was right. They'd made a miscalculation; just one. And they'd still managed to achieve their goal. Now they must look ahead to the next, much bigger target. To an adventure that would be celebrated throughout the Kurdish world. To an act which would force the world to pay long-overdue attention to their plight.
To the beginning of the end of the world order as it stood.
* * *
SEVEN
Monday, 7:56 a.m.,
Washington, D. C.
"I'm unhappy about it too, Matt," Paul Hood said as he finished his first Op-Center cup of coffee. "Stephen Viens has been a good friend of ours and I'd like to help him."
"Then let's," Stoll said. He sat on the couch to the left of the door, nervously moving his knee up and down. "Cripes, we're secret agents. Let's abduct the guy and give him a new identity."
Hood frowned. "I'm open to serious suggestions."
Stoll continued to look at Hood instead of at Political and Economics Officer Martha Mackall. She sat to his left on the couch. Her arms were crossed and she wore an unsympathetic expression.
"Awright, I don't know what we can do," Stoll admitted. "But the bloodhounds on the Hill won't get to work for another ninety minutes or so. We can do something by then. Maybe we can put together a list of the missions Stephen's assisted us on. Or we can bring in people whose lives he's saved. Jesus, that's got to count for something."
"Not unless those lives add up to a hell of a lot of votes," Hood said.
Martha crossed her long legs. "Matt, I appreciate your loyalty. But forward funding is a super-hot topic these days. Stephen Viens got caught taking money from one project and putting it into another."
"Because he knew that project was needed for national security," Stoll said. "It's not like the guy got rich off what he was doing."
"Irrelevant," said Martha. "He broke the rules."
"They were stupid rules."
"Also irrelevant," she said. "Frankly, the best we can hope for is that no one on the committee decides to investigate Op-Center because we've had improper access to NRO assets."
"Preferred access," Hood corrected her.
"Right," said Martha. "Let's see if Larry Rachlin calls