Tom Clancy's op-centre_ mirror image - Tom Clancy [74]
"Yes, sir. I assume Major Aho's in charge of the mission while we're in Finland. Who runs it in Russia?"
Squires's jaw shifted to the side. "I was getting to that. Op-Center's come up with a new one for us. James was going to be a subordinate as long as an officer was present. Since there isn't going to be one-- me-- she's along as an observer. In other words, she's not obliged to take orders from you."
"Sir?"
"I know it's an odd one, Private. All I can tell you is, do your job. If she has ideas, listen to them. If she doesn't like yours, negotiate. She's a sharp player, so it should be okay. Any other questions?"
George saluted. "No, sir," If he was concerned or excited, it didn't show in his rosy, youthful face.
"Okay." Squires looked around. "The rest of us will be taking a little trip. We'll be transferring to a Russian transport we've had in cold storage, and flying to parts unknown. The rest of our mission will be communicated en route."
"Any idea what it is, sir?" Sondra asked.
Squires's steely eyes were on her. "If I did," said the Lieutenant Colonel, "I'd've told you. The minute I know anything, you'll know it."
Sondra managed to hold his gaze with her own, though her exuberance dissolved like the sugar she dared to use in her coffee. Their conversations earlier, and now this rebuke, had shown her a side of Squires she hadn't seen during her month with Striker: not the driving, blistering, "try-harder, move-your-ass, can't-you-hit-a-damn-bull'seye?" side, but the imperious commander. The change from taskmaster to leader was subtle, but demanding. It was also, she had to admit, impressive.
As Squires dismissed the troops and Sondra sat back down, she shut her eyes and did what they'd taught her in SEAL training, worked on whipping up her enthusiasm again, reminding herself that she wasn't here for Squires but for herself and for her country.
"Private."
Sondra opened her eyes. The Lieutenant Colonel was leaning close so he could be heard over the drone of the engines, his expression less forbidding than it had been moments before.
"Yes, sir?"
"A bit of advice," he said. "Back at the base, you had one of the greatest go-get-'em attitudes I've ever seen. I don't know who you were mad at, or who you were trying to impress up here--" He touched his temple. "You sure impressed me, though. You also have skill and smarts or you wouldn't be here. But what the rest of my team knows, Private DeVonne, is that on a mission, the cardinal virtues are the cardinal virtues: prudence, temperance, fortitude, and justice. You understand?"
"I think so, sir."
"I'll put it another way," Squires said as he sat up and buckled up for the landing. "Keep everything open except your mouth and you'll do just fine."
Sondra slipped on her own shoulder harness and leaned back. She was still a little deflated and somewhat annoyed that the Lieutenant Colonel had chosen this time and this way to share his philosophy, but feeling more confident than ever that here was a man she could follow into battle
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Monday, 4:30 P.M., Washington, D.C.
While Rodgers sat in his office, reviewing the latest Striker plans from TAS, Stephen Viens E-mailed the AIM-Satellite report on the crates:
CONTENTS OF EACH CRATE APPEARS TO BE A SOLID
MASS. PROBABLY NOT MACHINERY. EASY FOR TWO
MEN TO LIFT. SENT PHOTO RECON TO MATT STOLL
FOR ANALYSIS.
Rodgers muttered to himself, "Bricks of cocaine or packets of heroin would fill the bill. And I'd love to make the bastards eat each and every one of them."
There was a knock on the door. Rodgers buzzed Lowell Coffey in.
"You wanted to see me?" Coffey asked.
Rodgers waved him to a chair. Coffey removed his black trench coat and planted himself in the leather armchair. The attorney had bags under his eyes, and his hair wasn't as carefully combed as usual. This had been a long, tough day for him.
"How did it go with the Congressional Intelligence Oversight Committee?"