Tom Clancy's Op-center Balance of Power - Tom Clancy [43]
"I hear you," Hood said. He thought for a moment. "I want the bastard, and if I can't have him legally at least I want him dead-to-rights."
So much for higher morality. Hood told himself. He thought for a moment more. He didn't want Serrador to slip away. Unfortunately, he had only two HUMINT resources on the scene, Darrell and Aideen. And he didn't know if they were up to keeping tabs on him until Striker or some third party group could get in and have a heart-to-heart talk with the bastard. He'd have to talk to Darrell about that. In the meantime, he needed more intelligence.
"Bob," Hood said, "I want you to set up whatever electronic recon you can on the deputy."
"It's already done," Herbert said. "We're getting on top of his office and home phones, fax lines, modem, and mail."
"Good."
"What do you plan on doing with Darrell and Aideen?" Herbert asked.
"I'm going to talk to Darrell and then leave the decision in his hands. He's onsite; it should be his call. But before I do I want to talk to Carol Lanning, see if State can give us the big picture of what's really going on in Spain."
"What do you think is going on?" Ann asked.
"Unless I miss my guess," Hood said, "the death of Martha and her killers probably weren't just warning shots."
"What were they?" she asked.
Hood looked at her as he rose. "I believe they were the opening salvos of a civil war."
* * *
NINE
Monday, 11:30 p.m.
Madrid, Spain
During the months that Congress was in session, Deputy Isidro Serrador lived in a two-bedroom apartment in the very fashionable Parque del Retiro section of Madrid. His small seventh-floor rooms overlooked the spectacular boating lake and beautiful gardens. If one leaned out the window and glanced toward the southwest, Europe's only public statue of the devil was visible. Sculpted in 1880, the statue commemorated the only place where eighteenth-century Spanish ladies were permitted-by tradition, not by law-to defend their own honor in duels. Very few women had ever done so, of course. Only men were vain enough to risk their lives in order to reply to an insult.
Serrador was sitting in a divan and looking out the window at the lamplit park. He had come home after working on congressional business for the rest of the day, content in the knowledge that things had gone exactly as planned. Then he had taken a hot bath and briefly fallen asleep in the tub. When he got out, he turned on the oven to heat the dinner left for him by his housekeeper. He enjoyed a brandy while his pork shoulder, boiled potatoes, and chickpeas warmed. While he ate, on the hour, he would watch television and see how the news channel interpreted the shooting of the American "tourist." Then he would check his answering machine for calls and return them if it wasn't too late. He just didn't feel like dealing with people right now. He simply wanted to savor his triumph.
Watching the news, he thought, will be very amusing.
The experts would talk about the impact of the shooting on tourism without having any idea what was truly going on-or what was going to happen over the next few weeks. It was astonishing how little political and economic forecasters ever really knew. For everyone who said this, someone else said that. It was all just an exercise, a game.
His back was settled comfortably in the thick pillows and his bare feet lay crossed on the coffee table in front of him. The last of the brandy was settled comfortably in the back of his throat and reflections of the day's developments were resting comfortably in his head.
The plan was ingenious. Two minorities, the Basques and the Catalonians, would unite to take over Spain. The Basques would contribute their arms, muscle, and experience at terrorist tactics. The Catalonians would use their influence over the economy, winning political converts by threatening a massive depression. Once control over