Mission of Honor (40 page)

“It’s downloading,” she announced.

It took less than a minute for the data to be received from OpCenter. Aideen quickly calculated their new route. It was off-road. Not the kind of journey either of them wanted to take at night. But no mission had ever been designed for the comfort of the operative.

The TransKalahari Highway took Battat and his partner to the Meratswe River. The wide, seasonally low river was located on the outskirts of the Central Kalahari Game Reserve. There, the Wrangler left the modern turnpike for the off-road trails. If they had a chance of intercepting the truck with Maria and the Brush Vipers, they would have to cut through the barren salt pan. A dirt road marked the way. It was difficult to say whether the trail had been pounded out by buses or years of migrating animal herds. Possibly both.

The soft top of the vehicle was down. The only sounds were the well-tuned 1-6 engine, the air rushing by, and an occasional loud bounce when the Wrangler hit a shallow ditch. Fortunately, the vehicle’s sophisticated suspension minimized the jolt to the lower spine.

Crossing the plain was not like driving in New York City. Or Moscow. Or even Baku, Azerbaijan. Driving here reminded Battat of sailing. For one thing, darkness came very quickly in the flat pan. Or maybe it only seemed that way because so much flat terrain became black all at once. For another, there was a sense of freedom. He could continue north on the path marked with signs. Or he could venture to the east or west. The grass was low enough to go off-road. But there was also a clear and ever-present danger.

The blackness.

Outside the cone of the Wrangler’s headlights, the sky was actually brighter than the ground. It also seemed closer, in a way. That was because the Milky Way was clearly visible as it arced across the sky. Battat did not even have to avert his eyes to see it clearly. The other stars were even brighter as were the occasional shooting stars. Whenever Aideen saw a shooting star, she wished for more light. They did not get it. As a result, Battat did not dare to proceed at more than thirty to forty miles an hour. There was no telling when they would run into a ditch, a flat boulder, or a yellow ANIMAL CROSSING sign. These were scattered throughout the region, bearing the silhouette of a trumpeting elephant, a rhinoceros, or a lion. Wild animals were something they had to watch out for. Most of the larger predators were on game preserves. But there were still rogues, strays, and packs of wild dogs, hyenas, and other nocturnal hunters.

On the other hand, because it was so dark and because the plain was so utterly flat and featureless, Battat did not imagine they would have much trouble spotting another vehicle.

There was still one thing that troubled David Battat. He worried about it more than the ditches and the boulders, more than getting lost in the darkness. The former CIA agent worried whether the Brush Viper truck would be in a position to spot them first.

And what Seronga would do if he did.

Washington, D.C. Friday, 1:08 P.M.

Darrell McCaskey stepped into Mike Rodgers’s office unannounced and unexpected. McCaskey wanted information. In retrospect, he realized he wanted something else. A fight.

He got it.

The FBI liaison was angrier than he had been the day before. He had not slept very much that night. The more he had thought about what happened, the more his rage had built. The people close to him had done what was expedient. They did not do what was right. He was furious at Rodgers for asking Maria to go abroad. He was mad at Maria for having accepted. And he was disgusted with Paul Hood for having allowed her to go. McCaskey and Maria had just gotten married. She had given up intelligence work. What the hell were they all thinking? At what point did the human factor enter into decision making? Where was loyalty to old friends, concern for their well-being?

McCaskey had come to Rodgers’s office unannounced because he wanted to see the general’s face. Rodgers was not a man who admitted concern. Not to his coworkers, not even to his friends. McCaskey had heard that the only one Rodgers confided in was his childhood friend and fellow officer Colonel Brett August. But Rodgers was also not a man who could disguise what he was feeling. It was always there in his eyes, in the turn of his mouth. McCaskey did not want to see any of that hidden for his benefit.

Rodgers was sitting at his computer. He glanced over as the FBI liaison walked in. Years with the FBI had taught McCaskey to size up a person in an instant. To read expressions, posture, perspiration levels. The concern in Rodgers’s face was considerable.

“What’s the latest?” McCaskey asked.

“I was just reading the confirmation from Matt Stoll,” Rodgers replied. His expression became neutral. Mike Rodgers was back in control. “The download for the OLB has been received in Botswana. Aideen and Battat are en route to meet your wife.”

“When do they expect to link up?” McCaskey asked.

“I estimate that should happen in about two hours,” Rodgers told him. “What have you been up to?”

“Paul showed me the photo Maria took at the airport. He also gave me the AFISS phone data,” McCaskey told him. “I’m looking into the possible involvement of Shigeo Fujima. Paul wants me to find out what the IAB could possibly gain by killing the American bishop. Or at least by implicating Dhamballa in the assassination.”

“And?”

“Nothing yet,” McCaskey told him. “The Japanese have zero interest in Africa in general and Botswana in particular. They certainly don’t gain anything by moving in on the diamond industry. The income would be a blip on Japan’s gross national product. My people are looking into other possibilities involving Beaudin and Genet. We’ll see what turns up.”

“Could the Japanese have made the hit for some other party?” Rodgers asked. “Someone we haven’t considered?”

“That’s one of the possibilities I’ve been checking,” McCaskey said. “It would help if we knew whether the assassination was aimed at the Vatican, at this bishop in particular, or at Botswana.”

“It’s easier when you’ve got nations fighting over borders or commerce or thousands of years of enmity,” Rodgers said. “We don’t know what the core issue is here. But I don’t think it’s religion.”

“So what happens next?” McCaskey asked.

“In Botswana?” Rodgers asked.

McCaskey nodded.

“In about ten minutes, Paul is going to send Edgar Kline the same coordinates Matt gave Aideen,” Rodgers said. “A few minutes after that, the Spanish soldiers will begin heading toward the spot as well.”

“Have you heard anything from over there?” McCaskey asked.

“Aideen?”

McCaskey nodded.

“Nothing.”

“Have you given them any additional instructions?” McCaskey pressed.

“No,” Rodgers said.

McCaskey gave Rodgers a moment to add to that. He did not, damn that stubborn son of a bitch. Rodgers knew what McCaskey wanted to hear. That Maria could withdraw at that point.

“Do the Spaniards know that my wife is with this Leon Seronga character?” McCaskey said.

“Kline has been told,” Rodgers assured him. “He will pass that information along. It’s to the advantage of the Vatican Security Office to have a Spanish-speaking ally on site. Especially one who has been trailing Seronga.”

“Look, Mike, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” McCaskey said.

“Shoot.”

“I assume Maria will make the call whether to terminate, not the greenhorns?” McCaskey asked. The FBI liaison was getting angry again. He could feel it in his shoulders, in his arms and fingers, along the line of his jaw. He wanted to move, to strike out.

“Aideen decides for the team, but Maria can decide for herself,” Rodgers replied. “And Darrell-I need you to do something for me. I need you to back off David and Aideen.”

“Why?” McCaskey said. “Last time I looked, I was still drawing pay from OpCenter. I’ve got a voice here.”

“You do,” Rodgers said. “But it’s an emotional one, and that doesn’t help us. Battat and Aideen are good people.”

“They’re green,” McCaskey insisted.

“Darrell-“

“I’ve read their dossiers,” McCaskey went on. “They haven’t logged enough solo field hours to qualify for a CIA junior recon post.”

“Battat has,” Rodgers said.

“Right,” McCaskey said. “The guy the Harpooner clocked in the field.”

Rodgers did not look happy. McCaskey did not care.

“Aideen Marley spent a few days in the field with Maria,” McCaskey went on. “A few days. That was less than ninety-six hours in a support capacity. And yeah. Technically, Battat has put in the time. If you count his entire career, which has a big midsection where he sat in an office in New York City. Over the last five years, he spent even less time in the field than Aideen, a total of three days. That was also in a support capacity.”

“They distinguished themselves in both cases,” Rodgers said.

“How do you figure that? Maria did most of the work in Spain, and Battat barely survived in Baku,” McCaskey said.

“Battat’s opponent did not survive,” Rodgers said pointedly. ‘That’s a win in my book. And Aideen proved she’s a quick study. Maria personally commended her work in Europe.”

“Then why does having them out there with my wife fill me with very little confidence?” McCaskey asked.

“I’m not going to answer that,” Rodgers said.

“I will,” McCaskey said. “Because I know Maria. If you let her stay with this mission, she’s going to watch their asses, not her own!”

“I don’t agree, but we won’t get anywhere debating any of this,” Rodgers said. He rose. “Darrell, you’ve been looking for a fight on this ever since it started. I’m not going to give you one. Now, I’ve got to go see Paul-“

“Mike, I need you to do me a favor,” McCaskey said.

“Darrell, I won’t order her back,” Rodgers said.

“You have to,” McCaskey said. “Maria’s carried this far enough. I want you to get her out.”

“I can’t,” Rodgers said emphatically.

“Why?” McCaskey shot back. He leaned’ on me desk.

 “Mike, you don’t need my wife over there. You can have her link up with the Spanish soldiers, and she can brief them. Then you can ask them to ship her the hell out. They can handle this thing with our other two people.”

“It’s not that simple,” Rodgers said.

“It can be.”

“There’s more to this than just manpower,” Rodgers insisted. “We need to buy time. Someone has to get to Dhamballa and convince him to release Father Bradbury. If not, the Spanish may go in there shooting. They need to discourage other attempts on missionaries.”

“Why can’t Aideen or Battat carry that message?” McCaskey asked.

“They can,” Rodgers said. “But we also need someone to keep the Spaniards away from the camp.”

“Then I’m really confused, Mike, because I’m doing the math, and you’re not making sense,” McCaskey said. “Aideen does one job, Battat does the other. You said they’re capable. Maria goes home. It’s easy.”

“It’s easier with three people than with two,” Rodgers said. “And I owe it to Aideen and Battat to give them all the support I can. They’re the ones at the front line. Besides, Maria is not going to come home before her mission is completed. She just won’t do that.”

“She might, for me,” McCaskey said. “If not, maybe she’ll do it for you. When the Spanish get to Maria, you can order her back.”

“I just told you I won’t do that,” Rodgers said. “Not unless I know she’s in danger.”

“Screw the job for just a minute, Mike!” McCaskey implored. “We’re talking about my wife!”

“I understand that, Darrell-“

“Christ, do you know I haven’t even seen her since we got married!” McCaskey said. “She was coming here to be with me, not to go to Africa. You want to talk about owing someone something? You owed me that courtesy.”

“I owed you?” Rodgers said. “For what?”

“For friendship,” McCaskey said.

 “Friendship has nothing to do with this,” Rodgers said. “We needed an agent. Maria is a damn fine one. End of story.”

“No, Mike, the story is just getting started-“

“Not for me, it isn’t,” Rodgers insisted. “Whether Maria broke a promise to you, I don’t know. Whether you should have ever asked for that kind of promise, I also don’t know. Whether Bob and I should have talked to you first was a judgment call. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a lot of time for back and forth. What I do know is that this matter is between you and your wife. And you can talk to her when she gets back.”

“That’s your answer?” McCaskey asked.

“Pretty much,” Rodgers said.

”I'm only doing my job’?” McCaskey said.

“Yeah. And don’t make it sound dirty,” Rodgers warned. “You’re really starting to piss me off.”

“I’m pissing you off?” McCaskey said. He felt like throwing a punch. “We’ve been through the wars down here for nearly eight years. We’ve gone through crises, personal and professional losses, all kinds of shit. Now I need a friend and a favor, and I can’t get either.”

“That’s bullshit. Ask me anything else, and I’ll do it,” Rodgers said. “But not this. I need the assets I have.”

” ‘Assets,’ ” McCaskey said. “You sound like Joseph Goddamn Stalin throwing peasants against trained German troops.”

“Darrell, I’m going to let that slide,” Rodgers said. “It’ll be safer for us both.” Rodgers came around the desk. “Excuse me.”

“Sure,” McCaskey said. He didn’t step aside. “Go to Pope Paul. He’ll absolve you. He’ll give you a shot of that ‘for the cause’ crap. He’ll say the job comes first, and you’re doing the right thing keeping Maria in the field. Me? I care more about the lives of my teammates than the life of a priest who knew the risks of the work he was doing. Who wasn’t even our responsibility in the first place!”

Rodgers walked around McCaskey. McCaskey grabbed his arm. Rodgers glared at him. 

McCaskey released him, not because he was afraid, but because beating each other bloody was not going to get Maria home.

“Mike, please,” McCaskey said.

Rodgers looked at him. His gaze was softer now. “Darrell, you think I don’t care about our people?”

“I don’t know,” McCaskey said. “I honestly don’t know.”

Rodgers stepped right up to McCaskey. McCaskey could not remember seeing such a look of betrayal in someone’s eyes.