Tom Clancy's Op-center Balance of Power - Tom Clancy [106]
"Brief your team," McCaskey warned. "If Amadori gets out of the throne room, pursuit's going to be very, very risky."
August acknowledged.
The other six Strikers were lined up behind Colonel August. McCaskey looked at them as he spoke. His eyes settled on Private DeVonne, who was at the end of the line. The African-American woman was wearing tight jeans and a blue windbreaker. It suddenly struck Aideen-as it must have struck McCaskey-how much she looked like a young Martha Mackall.
McCaskey looked down. "You men and women know the mission and you know the risks. Colonel August tells me you also know the legal and moral issues involved. The President has ordered us to remove a frightening despot from power. We are to use any means at our disposal. We do not have his public support. Nor do we have the support of the lawful Spanish government, which is in chaos. If anyone is captured, he or she will not be acknowledged or assisted by either country, except through the traditional diplomatic channels. However, we do have this much: the opportunity as well as the duty to save thousands of lives. I view that as a privilege. I hope you do as well."
Luis stepped forward. "You men and women will also have the gratitude of many Spaniards who will never know what you did for them." He smiled. "And you already have the gratitude and thanks of the few Spaniards who do know what you're about to undertake." He stood beside McCaskey and saluted them all. "Vaya con Dios, my friends. Go with God."
* * *
THIRTY
Tuesday, 9:45 a.m.
Madrid, Spain
Father Norberto flew to Madrid in the General Superior's private plane. It was a twenty-year-old Cessna Conquest decorated in lavender and red with darkened windows and a small sacristy in the back. The eleven-seat two-prop aircraft was very noisy and very bumpy.
Like almost everything in Spain these days, Norberto thought bitterly as he squeezed the thickly padded armrests.
Yet even as he thought it, Norberto knew that that wasn't true. Not entirely. Norberto was accompanied by five other priests from villages along the northern coast. While his own soul was in turmoil, these men were calm.
Norberto breathed deeply. He wished that their composure was enough to steady him. He wished that he could somehow turn away from his private loss and focus on the monumental task ahead. Helping to keep the spiritual peace in a city of over three million people was a challenge unlike any he had ever faced. But maybe that was what he needed now. Something to keep him from dwelling on the terrible loss he'd endured.
The elderly Father Jiménez was sitting beside Norberto in the back row. Jiménez came from the village of Laredo, which was farther west along the coast. Not long after they were airborne, Jiménez turned from the window and leaned close to Norberto.
"I hear that we will be meeting with prelates from other denominations," Jiménez said. He spoke loudly in order to be heard over the growling engines. "There will be at least forty of us."
"Do you have any idea why he selected us?" Norberto asked. "Why not Father Iglesias in Bilbao or Father Montoya in Toledo?"
Jiménez shrugged. "I suppose it's because our parishes are very small. Our parishioners know one another and can help each other in our absence."
"That's what I thought at first," Father Norberto said. "But look around. We are also the oldest members of the order."
"Therefore the most experienced," said Jiménez. "Who better to entrust with such a mission?"
"The young?" Norberto said. "The energetic?"
"The young question much too much," Jiménez said. He poked Norberto's arm. "They're a little like you, my old friend. Perhaps the General Superior wants men. Men he can trust. Men whom he can tell to do a thing and it will be done, without