Tom Clancy's Op-center Balance of Power - Tom Clancy [121]
"I know," McCaskey said.
"I don't know if I'll be able to shoot a Spanish soldier, Darrell," Luis admitted. "I honestly don't know."
"They don't seem to have a problem with that," McCaskey pointed out.
"I'm not them," Luis replied.
"No, you're not," McCaskey said apologetically. "For what it's worth, I'm not sure I could shoot one of my own people either."
Luis shook his head. "How did it ever come to this?"
McCaskey checked the clip and sat back. He thought bitterly. It came to this the way it always does. Through the fierce hate harbored by a few and the complacency displayed by the rest. There were signs of that in the United States. McCaskey knew that if Striker succeeded the real work was just beginning-here and elsewhere. People like General Amadori had to be stopped before they got this far. McCaskey wasn't as versed in aphorisms as Mike Rodgers, but he did remember hearing someone say once that all it took for evil to flourish was for men of conscience to do nothing. If he survived this, Darrell McCaskey vowed that he would not be one of those who did nothing.
They would be passing over the northeastern corner of the palace in approximately fifteen seconds. There were no military helicopters in the immediate area though trucks and jeeps were coming and going along Calle de Bailén just below them.
McCaskey was calm now after his initial urgency. Part of that was because he hadn't slept in over a day. Sitting still allowed a relaxing torpor to wash over him. Though his mind was sharp and his purpose true, the anxious finger-drumming, foot-tapping and cheek-biting that were a part of his impatient nature were missing. Part of his composure was also due to María. Relationships can be problematic and mistakes will be made and hindsight is frustrating. McCaskey didn't punish himself for being human. But it was rare and comforting to have an opportunity like this to set a wrong right. To tell someone you're sorry and to show them you care. Whatever it cost, whatever it took, McCaskey was determined to get María out of the courtyard alive.
While McCaskey sat looking out his window, Luis leaned forward and spoke to Pedro. The pilot nodded, Luis squeezed his shoulder appreciatively, and then sat back.
"Are you ready?" Luis asked McCaskey.
McCaskey nodded once.
The helicopter descended and flew low over the eastern wall of the palace. Then it banked to the south and sped toward the courtyard between the Royal Palace and the Cathedral of the Almudena.
There was a megaphone built into both sides of the chopper. Luis slipped on the headset, adjusted the mouthpiece, then lay the rifle across his lap. He looked outside and tapped McCaskey on the leg.
"There!" Luis said.
McCaskey looked over. He saw María being held against a fifteen-foot-tall pedestal, which was supporting four massive columns. The square, grayish pedestal projected about five feet out from the long, unbroken wall to the left. To the right was a short expanse of wall and then a series of arches that swept away from the wall at a right angle. The low, darkly shadowed arches formed the eastern boundary of the courtyard. Beyond them was the eastern wing of the palace which contained the royal bedchamber, the study, and the music room.
There were two soldiers on either side of María, clasping her arms. An officer was standing in front of her. About one hundred fifty feet to the south, a line of military vehicles separated the courtyard from the church. There were no civilians in the courtyard and roughly sixty or seventy soldiers. Six of them were walking toward María in a line.
"We'll land with those arches on your side," Luis said. "They may provide you with cover."
"Right!"
"I'm going to try and focus on the officer in front of María," Luis said. "If I can control him, maybe I can control the group."
"Good idea," McCaskey said. He held the Parabellum in his right hand, pointing