Tom Clancy's op-center_ acts of war - Tom Clancy [84]
Hasan obliged. When he had finished, Mahmoud went to kick Sondra again. Since her hands were free, she was able to cross her forearms and block the blow. At the same time she turned her hands inward, facing one another, and caught his shin. Holding it, she pushed his leg up and he stumbled back.
"Atta way, Private," Coffey said under his breath.
Screaming with fury, Mahmoud stomped down on the woman's right kneecap then kicked her in the chin. She wasn't fast enough to react to the blows and sprawled back against the wall. Mahmoud walked over and stomped her belly. Her arms slipped to her sides and she gasped for breath.
"For Christ's sake, stop!" Katzen said.
Mahmoud kicked Sondra twice in the chest, and this time she moaned. Then he kicked her in the mouth. With each blow Katzen's eyes burned with greater anger, first at the Syrians and finally at Rodgers.
"He's going to kill her," Katzen said. "Jesus, do something!"
Rodgers was proud of his Striker. She was ready to give it all for her country. But he couldn't allow it. Despite what he'd said about dictators, democracy would be better served by the likes of Sondra DeVonne living, not dying.
"All right," Rodgers said. "I'll do what you ask."
Mahmoud stopped, and Sondra tried to pull herself into a sitting position. There was blood on her cheek and mouth. She opened her eyes and looked at Katzen, who exhaled tremulously.
Rodgers held on to the table and swung himself into the empty chair. He put his hands on the keyboard. He hesitated again. If it were just himself and Pupshaw, maybe even Katzen and Coffey, he could tell the Syrians to go to hell. But by giving in to their first demand, he'd shown that his skin could be penetrated. By attacking Hasan, Rodgers had lost the ability to divide the terrorists. That had been stupid. But he'd been tired and afraid for Mary Rose, and it was over and done. Now he had only two assets left: his life and surprise. As long as he could work the ROC for these men, he would stay alive. And as long as he stayed alive, he could always surprise them.
Provided you keep your wits, Rodgers reminded himself. No more temper.
Mahmoud spoke. Hasan nodded.
"We want to see Ibrahim in the picture," Hasan told Rodgers. "Be certain you show him."
As Hasan and Mahmoud both looked over his shoulder, Rodgers opened the NRO software. He followed the on-screen prompts, typed in the coordinates, and asked for a visual of the site. He held his breath when the computer indicated that his request was "already working."
Dammit, Rodgers thought. Godammit. The Syrian could also read English.
"Already working," Hasan said. He translated for Mahmoud, then said, "This means that someone else has already asked for this information. Who?"
"It could be any military or intelligence office in Washington," Rodgers answered truthfully.
Less than twenty seconds later they were looking down at themselves from space. The image was a quarter mile across, standard surveillance distance.
Mahmoud seemed pleased. He said something to Hasan.
"Mahmoud wishes you to find out who else is looking at us."
There was no point in lying anymore. They'd only beat Sondra to death, then turn on someone else. Rodgers hit a flashing satellite icon, and a short list of image-share outlets appeared. The National Reconnaissance Office and Op-Center were the only names on it.
Hasan explained what they said, and then Mahmoud Spoke.
"You are to shut the eye of the satellite," Hasan said.
Rodgers didn't hesitate. One of the keys to the hostage game was knowing when to up the ante and knowing when to fold. It was time to fold this hand.
The ROC could not shut down the 30-45-3. That command would have to come from the NRO. However, he could send up a steady stream of digital noise which would cover an area some ten miles across. That would make the ROC invisible to every form of electronic reconnaissance, from normal light