Tom Clancy's Op-center Balance of Power - Tom Clancy [53]
My duty, he thought. Everyone had a different idea about what duty was and to whom allegiance was owed. To Hood, the bottom line was that he owed it to his country. He'd felt that way ever since he first watched Davy Crockett die at the Alamo on a Walt Disney TV show. He'd felt that when he watched the astronauts fly into space on TV during Project Mercury, Project Gemini, and Project Apollo. Without that kind of devotion and sacrifice there was no nation. And without a safe and prosperous nation the kids had no future.
The trick was not so much convincing Sharon of that. She was a smart, smart lady. The trick was convincing her that his sacrifice mattered.
He couldn't let it rest. Against his better judgment Hood picked up the phone and called home.
* * *
THIRTEEN
Tuesday, 12:24 a.m.
Madrid, Spain
Isidro Serrador's small eyes were like stones as he watched the men walk into the room.
The congressional deputy was nervous and wary. He was unsure why he had been brought to the police station and had no idea what to expect. Had they somehow connected him with the death of the American diplomat? The only ones who knew were Esteban Ramirez and his comrades. And if they betrayed him he'd betray them right back. There was no point to that.
Serrador didn't recognize these men. He knew from the chevrons on the sleeves of the sharp brown uniforms that one was an army general and the other was a major general. He knew from the general's swarthy coloring, dark hair, flat black eyes, and lithe build that he was of Castilian ancestry.
The major general stopped several paces away. When the general was finally near enough so that Serrador could read the white letters on the small black name-tag attached to his breast pocket he knew his name: Amadori.
Amadori raised a white-gloved hand. Without turning, he motioned crisply toward the major general. The officer set an audiotape player on the table. Then he left, shutting the door behind him.
Serrador looked up at Amadori. He couldn't read anything in the general's face. It was set perfectly and inexpressively. All formal lines like the creases in his uniform.
"Am I under arrest?" Serrador finally asked, quietly.
"You are not." Amadori's voice and manner were rigid-just like his lean face, like his unwrinkled uniform, like the taut, creaking leather of his new boots and twin holsters.
"Then what's going on?" Serrador demanded, feeling bolder now. "What is an army officer doing at the police station? And what is this?" He flicked a fat finger disdainfully at the tape recorder. "Am I being interrogated for something? Do you expect me to say something important?"
"No," Amadori answered. "I expect you to listen."
"To what?"
"To a recording that was broadcast on the radio a short time ago." Amadori stepped closer to the table. "When you're finished, you will have the choice of walking out of here or using this." He removed the Llama M-82 DA pistol, a 9 X 19mm Parabellum. He tossed it casually to Serrador, who caught it automatically, noted that there was no clip in it, and set it on the table between them.
There was a sudden queasiness in Serrador's groin. "Use that?" he said. "Are you insane?"
"Listen to the tape," Amadori said. "And when you do, keep in mind that the men you hear have joined the American diplomat in the abode of the blessed. You are apparently a dangerous man to know. Deputy Serrador." Amadori stepped closer and smiled for the first time. He leaned toward Serrador and spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "Keep this in mind as well. Your attempt to capture the government of Spain has failed. Mine will not."
"Yours," Serrador said warily.
Amadori's thin smile broadened. "A Castilian plan."