Tom Clancy's op-center_ acts of war - Tom Clancy [87]
"What's that?" Ann asked.
"Single-Channel Ground and Airborne System VHF," Herbert said. "It's a radio which hops at random over a wide range of frequencies during a single broadcast. Most SINCGARS-V, like the ones used by the U.S. Army, make a few hundred hops a second. Our unit makes seven thousand hops. Even if it's picked up by an enemy satellite, it's virtually impossible to decode. The people who have the ROC have both the transmitter and receiver."
Martha waved them quiet as she spoke with the ambassador's executive secretary. Herbert sunk into a brooding silence. When Martha was finished, she turned the chair around. She was frowning.
"There's a bit of a setback," she said.
"What happened?" Ann asked.
"In fifteen minutes I'll be talking to Ambassador Kande about the terrorists' request for non-intervention," Martha said. "But her deputy assistant doesn't think we'll be able to swing any kind of a deal for them. The ambassador has been given marching orders to do whatever's necessary to help find the dam-busters and bring them in, dead or alive. Fact is, I expect I'll get a lot of pressure to tell the Turks what we know."
"Can't say I blame them," Herbert said, still brooding. "We could use a little more of that spirit in this town."
"Blind justice?" Martha asked. "Lynch mob justice?"
"No," Herbert replied. "Plain old justice. Not worrying about repercussions, like what nation is going to cut off our oil supplies if we do this, or which corporation is going to pull their billions from our banks if we do that, or which special interest group is going to get pissed off and uppity because we came down hard on some of their twisted brethren. That kind of justice."
"Unfortunately," Martha said, "that kind of justice and this kind of country weren't made for each other. Due process is one of the things which made this country great."
"And vulnerable," said Herbert. He exhaled. "Let's do this over a table of frozen yogurt when we're all done." He pointed toward Martha's computer. "Would you bring up a map of Turkey for me?"
She obliged. Herbert wheeled toward the desk.
"There are about three hundred miles of border between Turkey and Syria," he said. "If we've interpreted Mike's covert message correctly, and I think we have, the ROC is headed toward the Bekaa Valley. That starts about two hundred miles southwest of Oguzeli."
Martha measured the distance with her thumb and index finger. She compared it to the scale on the bottom. "I make it to be less than a hundred miles of border between Oguzeli and the Mediterranean."
"And the ROC'd be entering in a corridor much narrower than that," Herbert said. "With the Euphrates flooded by the dam blast, they'll probably stay pretty wide to the west of the river and then shoot straight down. That gives them a border window of about seventy miles to drop down through."
"That's still a lot of area to cover, isn't it?" asked Ann.
"And flyovers by Turkish jets or helicopters wouldn't be exactly low-profile," Martha said.
"We might not need aerial recon," Herbert said, "and seventy miles isn't bad if you know where to look." He reached the computer and traced a line down through Turkey into Lebanon. "A lot of that terrain isn't going to be ROC-friendly. There are only one or two good roads in that region. If I can find someone with contacts along those roads, we may be able to spot them."
"A Racman," Martha said.
Herbert nodded.
"Excuse me," said Ann. "A rack man?"
"R-A-C-man," said Herbert. "The Redcoats Are Coming. Instead of Paul Revere, Samuel Prescott, and William Dawes on horseback warning the militias of Lincoln and Concord, we use a phone relay of people watching from their windows or hilltops or marketplaces. They report the target's progress to the Racman, who reports to us. It's primitive but efficient. Usually, the only potential problems with the system are leaks along the Racline,