"Which they've been doing for years," said McCaskey.
"— and starts chucking missiles at them?"
"Eventually," McCaskey said, "when there's a peace settlement, it will have to deal with the Kurdish issue in order to be effective. So the Kurds get a homeland, Turkey embraces the fundamentalists, and democracy and the United States are the big losers."
"If there's a peace settlement," Herbert said portentously. "We're talking about thousands of years of animosity being unleashed on a large scale. If that genie is ever let out of the bottle, it might be impossible to put him back in."
Hood understood. He also knew that it wasn't the responsibility of Op-Center to plan for a war in the Middle East. His job was to spot "hot situations" and manage them if they became "crises." Once they evolved from that into "policy problems," it was up to the White House to handle them. The President would let him know what help was needed and where. The question was, what could be done to manage this developing crisis?
Hood turned to his keyboard and typed in the extension of his executive assistant, Stephen "Bugs" Benet. A moment later the young man's face appeared on the screen.
"Good morning, Paul," Bugs said, his voice coming from speakers mounted on the side of the monitor.
"Morning, Bugs," Hood said. "Would you please get Mike Rodgers for me? He's still at the ROC."
"Right away," Bugs said. His image winked off.
Hood glanced at Herbert. "What's Mike doing to find that missing helicopter?"
"Same thing we are," Herbert replied. "Analyzing data. He's in a better position to scan communications in the region, so I'm sure he's doing that too. He'll be following all the procedures we wrote up for ROC operations."
"What's the minimum security requirement you established for the ROC?" Hood asked.
"Two Strikers when the facility is in the field," Herbert said. "That's what they've got now."
Bugs reappeared on the screen. "General Rodgers is not available," he said. "He's gone out to do field work."
Hood's mouth tightened. He knew the general well enough to smell a euphemism when he heard one. "Where did he go?"
"Mary Rose said he took Colonel Seden and left about ten minutes ago," Bugs told him. "They took the Turkish officer's motorcycle."
"Uh-oh," Bob Herbert said.
"What about the computer cell phone?" Hood asked. "Can you reach Mike on that?"
"The general phoned Mary Rose to check reception a few minutes after he went out into the plains," Bugs said. "The satellite uplink worked fine, but he told her not to call unless it was an emergency. Just in case anyone was listening in."
"Lots of cross talk in open spaces like that," Herbert said. "Zero security."
Hood nodded at Herbert. On military missions, Op-Center personnel typically carried secure TAC-SATs. They had their own parabolic dishes which allowed them to uplink securely with satellites, then broadcast directly to Op-Center. But those units were relatively cumbersome. Though the ROC carried one TAC-SAT, Rodgers obviously wanted to travel light.
Hood was angry with Rodgers, and deeply concerned about him being out without Striker backup. But he couldn't pull anyone from the ROC without compromising security procedures, and he didn't want to recall Rodgers. The general was his own man and he hadn't broken any rules. Besides, it wasn't Hood's place to second-guess his Deputy Director from nine thousand miles away.
"Thanks, Bugs," Hood said. "Stay in touch with the ROC and let me know at once if they hear anything."
"Will do, Chief," Bugs said.
Hood clicked Benet off and regarded Herbert. "So. It looks like Mike's gone off to do some first-hand recon."
Herbert absently punched the keys on the speakerphone of his armrest. "Yeah. Well, that's Mike's style, isn't it?"
"Why wouldn't he have taken the ROC?" McCaskey asked. "At least then he'd have been able to do a thorough job."
"Because he knew he was going into a dangerous situation," Hood said. "And you know Mike. He wouldn't want to jeopardize the facility or the crew. That's also his style."
Hood looked at Herbert, who was looking at him. The intelligence chief shut his eyes and nodded.
"I'll find him," Herbert said. He speed-dialed the NRO on his wheelchair phone. "I'll see if Viens can push everything else aside again and get us a nice clear satellite snapshot of Rodgers of Arabia."
"Thanks," Hood said. He looked at McCaskey.
"The usual?" McCaskey asked.
Hood nodded. The former G-man knew the drill. If a group claimed credit, McCaskey would have to run a check through other domestic and foreign agencies to see if they had the resources. If not, who were they covering for and why? If so, he would have to run their modus operandi through the computer to determine what their next likely move was and how long they'd wait. Then McCaskey and his advisors would have to ascertain whether diplomacy would forestall other attacks, whether the perpetrators would have to be hit militarily, and what other targets they were likely to strike.
"Put Liz in on this," Hood said.
McCaskey nodded as he left. Psychological profiles of Middle Eastern terrorists were especially important. If the terrorists were motivated solely by politics, as most Kurds were, they were less likely to be suicidal. That being the case, security against air and ground attacks was possible. If the terrorists were motivated by religion and politics, as the larger majority of Kurds were, then they were not only happy but honored to give their lives. In that case, killers could strike anywhere. They might wear six to eight sticks of TNT in a specially designed belt supported by shoulder straps. Or they might carry a backpack loaded with fifty to sixty pounds of plastique. Wires running from the explosives through two batteries were attached to a switch. This switch was usually kept in the bomber's pants pocket, which allowed him to trigger the blast anytime, anywhere. Those kinds of attacks were virtually impossible to protect against; those kinds of terrorists were damn near impossible to reason with. The most frustrating and ironic part was that a single terrorist was far more lethal than a group. A lone operator had total tactical flexibility and the ability to surprise.
Herbert clicked off his phone. "Viens is on the case for us. Says he can get the 30-45-3 away from the Defense Department in about ten minutes. It's one of the older jobs, no infrared capacity, but we'll get good daylight pictures."
The designation 30-45-3 referred to the third satellite looking down on the longitudes thirty to forty-five degrees east of the prime meridian. That was the region which included Turkey.
"Viens's a damn fine man," Hood said
"The best." Herbert turned. He snickered as he wheeled toward the door. "At least Stephen's keeping his sense of humor about the investigation. He told me there're so many nails in his coffin he's thinking of nick-naming the division the Iron Maiden."
"We won't let Congress close the lid on him," Hood promised.
"That's a nice sentiment, Paul. But it'll be real difficult to make happen."
"I like the difficult, Bob." Hood smiled faintly. "That's why I'm here."
Herbert glanced back as he opened the door. "Touche." He winked as he rolled into the hallway.
THIRTEEN
Ibrahim and the radio operator Hasan stood on the windy plain as Mahmoud knelt between them. They had Czechoslovakian Samopal submachine guns lying across their shoulders and Smith & Wesson.38s tucked into holsters on their belts. There were hunting knives sheathed on their hips.