Tom Clancy's Op-center Balance of Power - Tom Clancy [135]
The men entered the doorway together, McCaskey going in first. He'd left the gun with María in case the soldiers had a change of heart. He hoped he wouldn't need it here. The gunfire was louder, of course. But it was still far enough away so that McCaskey didn't think they'd get caught in a firefight. He looked at the old wooden cross hanging on the priest's chest. McCaskey's tired eyes lingered for a moment as he asked God to help his comrades who might be in the middle of the fighting.
There were eight doors along the short corridor. They were all shut. McCaskey stopped and turned to the priest.
Speaking in a very low whisper, he asked, "Do you speak English?"
"Some," Norberto replied.
"Okay," McCaskey said. "I'm not going to leave you alone."
"I'm never alone," Father Norberto replied, gently touching the cross.
"I know that. I mean-unprotected."
"But the wounded ones-"
"There may be a telephone in one of these rooms," McCaskey told him. "If there is, I'll make the call and stay with you. We'll find María's friend and take him out together."
Norberto nodded as McCaskey turned the first doorknob. The door opened into a dark study. After being out in the bright sun it took a moment for McCaskey's eyes to adjust. When they did he saw a desk at the far end of the chamber. There was a telephone in the near corner.
"That's a break," McCaskey said.
"You go," the priest said. "I'll continue searching for the woman's companion."
"All right," McCaskey said. "I'll join you as soon as I'm finished."
Norberto nodded and went to the next door.
Shutting the door, McCaskey went to the telephone. He lifted up the receiver and swore; there was no dial tone. He'd been afraid of that. Amadori's people must have shut down access to all outside lines. In case any of the prisoners got away they wouldn't be able to get intelligence out of here.
Returning to the corridor, McCaskey moved on to the next room. The door was opened and he looked in. It was a music room. It smelled faintly of smoke and then he noticed the ashes on the floor. This must have been where the fire alarm went off. Father Norberto was in the corner with a prisoner, whom McKaskey assumed was Juan.
"Father-how is he?" McCaskey asked.
Norberto didn't turn around. His shoulders slumping, he just shook his head gravely.
McCaskey turned. The only way he was going to be able to get help was if he found Striker. They could call Interpol and ask for medical assistance. Even if the strike force hadn't succeeded in killing Amadori, the general was going to have to allow medical assistance into the palace. His own people had been injured in the fighting.
McCaskey took a deep breath and started down the corridor.
* * *
FORTY-TWO
Tuesday, 12:06 p.m.
Madrid, Spain
The music room of the palace was dark. However, there was enough light coming in from the corridor to allow Father Norberto to see the man slouched in the corner on the floor. He was gravely wounded. There were splashes of blood on him, on his clothes, and on the wall behind him. Fresh blood continued to pour from gashes on his cheek, forehead, and mouth. There were several raw, bloody wounds in his legs and chest.
Father Norberto could literally feel the presence of Death-just as he had when he knelt like this beside his brother. The sensation was always the same, whether Father Norberto was ministering to the terminally ill or holding the hand of someone who had been fatally injured. Death had a sweet, vaguely metallic scent that filled the nostrils and poisoned the stomach. The priest could almost feel Death's touch. It was like a cool, invisible smoke chilling the air and seeping into his flesh, his bones, his soul.
Death had come for this man. As Norberto's eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see what a miracle it was that the man still lived. The monsters who had imprisoned him in this room had shot, beaten, and burned him without mercy