Tom Clancy's Op-center Balance of Power - Tom Clancy [20]
"That could take weeks, months," McCaskey said.
"While haste, Seńor McCaskey, may cost us more lives."
"I'm willing to take that risk," Aideen muttered. "The cost of retreat and inactivity may be much higher."
Serrador walked behind the desk. " "Prudence is neither of those." He pressed a button on the telephone. "I sought the help of the distinguished Seńorita Mackall. She has been taken from us. I sought and may still seek the help of the United States. Is that still available, Seńor McCaskey, should I call on it?"
"You know it is, Mr. Deputy," McCaskey answered.
Serrador dipped his head. "Gracias."
"De nada," McCaskey replied.
The door opened. A young aide in a dark suit took a step into the office. He stood with his arms stiffly at his sides.
"Hernandez," said the deputy, "please take our guests out through the private entrance and tell my driver to see that they get safely back to their hotel." He looked at McCaskey. "That is where you wish to go?"
"For the moment, yes. If possible, I'd like to go wherever the investigation is being handled."
"I see. You have a background in law enforcement, I recall."
"That's right," said McCaskey. "I spent a lot of time working with Interpol when I was at the FBI."
Serrador nodded. "I'll look into it, of course. Is there anything else I can do for either of you?"
McCaskey shook his head. Aideen did not move. She was seething. Again, politics. Not leadership, not vision. Just a cautious "T-step," as they used to call a little dance move back in Boston. She wished she'd saved some of the mierda de perro for this meeting.
"My automobile is bulletproof and two of the guards will accompany you," Serrador said. "You will be safe. In the meantime, I will speak with those of my colleagues who were scheduled to participate in today's meeting. I will contact you in a few days-in Washington, I imagine?-to let you know how and if we wish to proceed."
"Of course," McCaskey replied.
"Thank you." Serrador smiled thinly. "Thank you very much."
The deputy extended his hand across the large mahogany desk. McCaskey shook it. Serrador swung his hand toward Aideen. She shook it as well, very briefly. There was no warmth in the short look they exchanged.
McCaskey had eased his hand onto Aideen's back. He half-guided, half-pushed her out the door and they walked the corridor in silence.
When they were inside the deputy's limousine, McCaskey turned to Aideen. "So."
"So. Go ahead. Tell me I was out of line."
"You were."
"I know," she replied. "I'm sorry. I'll take the next plane home." This was becoming the theme of the day. Or maybe it was something larger, the wrong fit of Aideen Marley and ivory tower diplomacy.
"I don't want you to do that," McCaskey said. "You were out of line but I happen to agree with what you were saying. I don't think our accidental good-cop, bad-cop routine worked, but it's got potential."
She looked at him. "You agreed with me?"
"Pretty much. Let's wait until we can call home and see what the rest of the clan has to say," McCaskey continued.
Aideen nodded. She knew that that was only part of the reason McCaskey didn't want to talk. Limousine drivers were never as invisible as passengers presumed: they saw and heard everything. And putting up the partition wouldn't guarantee privacy. Chances were good that the car was bugged and their conversation was being monitored. They waited until they had returned to McCaskey's hotel room before continuing. He'd set up a small electromagnetic generator designed by Matt Stoll, Op-Center's technical wizard. The unit, approximately the size and dimensions of a portable CD player, sent out a pulse that disrupted electronic signals within a ten-foot radius and turned them to "gibberish," as Stoll described it. Computers, recorders, or other digital devices outside its range would be unaffected.
McCaskey and Aideen