Tom Clancy's Op-center Balance of Power - Tom Clancy [129]
Tuesday, 5:27 a.m.
Washington, B.C.
Sitting back in his wheelchair. Bob Herbert reflected on the fact that there was nothing quite like this feeling. Waiting in Paul Hood's office with Hood, Mike Rodgers, and Op-Center's international legal expert, Lowell Coffey II, Herbert contemplated the mood that settles onto a room in which officials are waiting for news of a covert operation.
They're very much aware of the world going on around them, as usual. And they're envious of the people in that world, where the problems don't usually involve life and death and the fate of millions. They're also slightly condescending toward those people.
If they only knew what real responsibility was
Then there's the personal side of the situation. There's extreme tension over the fate of people everyone works withand cares about. It's not unlike waiting for a loved one to come out of life-threatening surgery. But it is worse in one key way. This is something you ordered them to do. And being good soldiers, they accepted the assignment with courage and poise.
Add to that the possibility that those heroic souls might have to be disavowed if captured, left to twist in the wind. That was good for a healthy helping of guilt. And there was more guilt over the fact that while their butts were on the firing line, yours was safe and secure. There was also envy-ironically for the same reason. There's no high quite like risking your life. Throw exhaustion into the mix, with eyes that fight to shut and minds too tired to process thoughts or emotions, and the mood was unlike any other.
Yet Herbert cherished that mood every time it came around. He cherished it without gloom and without pessimism. Occasionally their worst fears were realized. Occasionally there was death. A Bass Moore like in North Korea or a Lt. Col. Charlie Squires. But because of everything that was at risk in operations like these, Herbert never felt more alive.
Hood obviously didn't share his feelings. He had been extremely down since before the operation began, something Herbert had never seen before. Of all of them. Hood was usually the most even-keeled, always ready with an encouraging word or smile. This morning there was none of that. He had also become uncharacteristically angry when he learned that Darrell McCaskey had choppered over to the palace. And even worse, that McCaskey had taken Luis García de la Vega with him. Unlike Striker, McCaskey could easily be traced to Op-Center. Through Luis, Op-Center's involvement with Interpol on this mission could be ascertained. With all of the nations connected to Interpol-a few of which were not exactly America's best friends-the political mess could be horrendous. It was Hood, not By-the-Book Rodgers, who had thought out loud about disciplinary action against McCaskey. It was the usually skittish Coffey who had pointed out that it might not be as bad as Hood thought. Since María Corneja was a prisoner at the palace, a rescue attempt might be entirely justified under Interpol's charter. Hood calmed down upon hearing that. The mood in the room returned to being merely apprehensive.
And through it all, through the heavy silence and gnawing concern, there wasn't a word from Spain or Interpol. Not until 4:30, when they got a call from a groggy Ann Farris at home. She told them to turn on the television and have a look at CNN.
Coffey hopped from the sofa and walked to the back of the room. While he opened the TV cabinet in the back of the office. Hood pulled the remote control from his desk. As everyone turned around, he punched the television on. At the top of the news on the half-hour was a report on a shootout at the Royal Palace in Madrid. An amateur videotape had captured the Interpol helicopter leaving the courtyard south of the palace while gunfire was heard in the distance. Then the report cut live to a camera crew on the scene in a helicopter. There were faint traces of yellow smoke rising from several windows.
"That's Striker's IA," Herbert said, referring to the irritant agent.
Rodgers was sitting in the armchair