From Ankara, the team would fly east to a staging area within Turkey. From Tel Nef, the Striker team would be flown or would drive to the border of Turkey or Syria. If, as Herbert believed, the ROC was in the hands of Syrian Kurds, chances were very good that they would be headed to the Bekaa Valley in western Syria. That was a stronghold foi terrorist operations and a place where the ROC would be of great use. If the Syrian Kurds were in league with Turkish Kurds, they could be planning to stay in Turkey and make for the eastern Kurdish strongholds around Mt. Ararat. However, that could be risky. Ankara was still waging unofficial war on the Kurds holed up in the southeastern provinces of Diyarbakir, Mardin, and Siirt and in the eastern province of Bingol.
Because of the Syrian government's own support of other terrorist groups in the Bekaa, particularly the Hezbollah, that was a more likely destination. Herbert was convinced that the Syrians would never allow Striker into that region.
"Whatever your destination," Herbert wrote, "we do not yet have Congressional Oversight Intelligence Committee approval for the incursion. Martha Mackall expects to get it, though perhaps not in time to suit our schedule. If the terrorists are still in Turkey, we expect to get you permission to enter the country and set up a control and reporting center until we get COIC approval. If the terrorists enter Syria, Striker will not have the authority to enter the country."
The corner of August's mouth turned up slightly. He reread the passage "Striker will not have the authority" What Herbert had written didn't mean that Striker shouldn't enter the country. When he first came to Op-Center, Mike Rodgers had encouraged August to spend several nights reviewing the language in other Op-Center/Striker communiques. Often, as August well knew, one's orders were to be found in what wasn't said rather than what was.
What August had discovered was that when Bob Herbert or Mike Rodgers did not want Striker to move ahead they always wrote, "You do not have the authority"
Clearly — or rather, obliquely — this was a case in which Herbert wanted Striker to act.
The rest of the material on the diskette consisted of maps, possible routes to various locations, and exit strategies in the event of non-cooperation from the Turks and Syrians. It was going to take fifteen hours to reach Tel Nef. August began reviewing the maps, after which he'd look at the game plans for surround-and-rescue missions in mountainous or desert terrain.
Because of his years with NATO, August was very familiar with most of the geography of the region and also with the various mission scenarios. Striker's tactics were culled from the same U.S. military branches from which the soldiers themselves were drawn. What was unfamiliar to August was having to evacuate someone so close to him. But as Kiet had helped to teach him in Vietnam, the unfamiliar was nothing to be afraid of. It was simply something new.
As the colonel looked over the maps, Ishi Honda approached. August looked up. Honda was holding the TAC-SAT secure phone, which was patched into the C-141B's dish.
"Yes, Private?" August asked.
"Sir," he said, "I think you'd better listen to this."
"What is it?"
"A broadcast which came into AL four minutes ago," he said.
AL was the active-line receiver, a phone line which automatically paged Bob Herbert and the Striker radio operator when it rang. If Striker was on a mission, the call was relayed to the TAC-SAT. Only a few people had AL's number: the White House, Senator Fox, and ten of the top people at Op-Center.
August looked up at Honda. "Why wasn't I told about it when it came in?" he demanded sharply.
"Sorry, sir," Honda said, "but I was hoping I could figure the message out first. I didn't want to waste your time with incomplete data."
"Next time, waste it," August said. "I might be able to help."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
"What've you got?" August asked.
"A series of beeps," Honda said. "Someone dialed us and then hit more numbers which keep repeating."
August took the receiver, then held an index finger over his open ear so he could hear. There were nine tones followed by a pause, and then the same nine tones were repeated.
"It's not a phone number," August said.
"No, sir," said Honda.
August listened. It was an eerie, discordant melody.
"I assume that each tone corresponds to letters on the telephone."
"Yes, sir," said Honda. "I ran through the possible combinations but none of them make any sense."
Honda handed a note paper to August. The colonel read it and then read it again: 722528573. August looked at the receiver. The possible number of combinations were damn near incalculable. The colonel looked at the message again. It was definitely a code, and there was only one person who would be sending a coded communique via AL.
Mike Rodgers.
"Private," August said, "is there any way this could have come from the ROC?"
"Yes, sir," Honda said. "They could have used one of the phones built into the computer."
"It would have to have been turned on, with someone typing the number into the keys."
"That's right, sir," Honda said. "Or they could have patched a cell phone into the computer and pumped it out through the dish. That might have been easier to key up in private."
August nodded. The ROC was being powered up again. One of the crew would probably have to have done that. Their hands would have to be free, which meant they might have had time to get out a message.
"Op-Center should have gotten this message as well," August said. "See what they make of it."
"Right away," Honda replied.
The radio operator sat down next to August. As Private Honda phoned Bob Herbert's office, August didn't even try to concentrate on the maps,while he waited for Honda to see what Op-Center made of it. But the fact that it was in code and very, very short did not give him a good feeling about Rodgers's situation.
TWENTY-FIVE
This time, Mike Rodgers did not have a choice.
Mahmoud had the desire to kill. Rodgers could see it in his eyes. The general didn't even wait the full count of three. As soon as Hasan had translated the order to cooperate, Rodgers had held up his hands.
"All right," he said firmly. "I'll tell you what you want to know."
Hasan translated. Mahmoud hesitated. Rodgers stared into his eyes.
Mahmoud clearly liked having his foot on Rodgers's neck. Rodgers had allowed him to enjoy it even more by capitulating at once. For the Syrian, knowing that he'd won decisively might be all that prevented him from killing Mary Rose out of vengeance or pique. And there might still be a way to stop the Kurds, especially if Op-Center received and understood Rodgers's telephone message. The general had slipped the cellular phone from his shirt pocket where Hasan had placed it earlier that evening. He'd programmed it when he was bent over the pit. A few minutes later, when he'd stood and leaned against the computer station, he'd slipped the phone into its cradle. That automatically jacked it into the uplink. The connection overrode the phone's internal battery; it wouldn't start dialing until the computer came back on.
When Rodgers went back to the pit he connected the battery to several of the ROC's noisiest systems. When the computer snapped back to life, so did the ROC air-conditioner and the security system, which beeped unobtrusively because a window was open. The Syrians did not hear the faint click of the telephone dialing and redialing. Two minutes later all of the batteries were connected. Rodgers swung his bound legs from the battery well.