María had spoken loudly and, as she’d planned, Juan had overheard.
“¡El traidor!” he shouted, and spat. “Traitor!”
The captain motioned to a soldier, who struck Juan in the small of the back with his truncheon. Juan groaned and arched painfully but María didn’t react. The captain had been watching her.
“You know who committed the crime?” the captain asked.
“I know more than that,” María replied.
The captain stopped just a few feet from María. He studied her for a long moment.
“Sir,” she said. “I’m going to release the sergeant and turn over his weapon. Then I have a request to make.”
María didn’t give the officer time to think. She lowered the gun, pushed the sergeant away, then handed the pistol grip first to the captain. He motioned for the sergeant to accept it. The man took the gun and hesitated before returning it to his holster.
The captain’s eyes were still on María. “Come with me,” he said.
He’d bought it. He turned and María followed him toward his office. She’d moved up the ladder. They entered the Hall of Columns, which was exactly that. Desks, chairs, telephones, and computers were being moved in. The large room was being turned into a command center. As soon as they were inside, the captain turned to María.
“What you did out there was very bold,” he said.
“My mission demanded it,” she replied. “I can’t afford to be stopped.”
“What is your name?” he asked.
“María Corneja,” she replied.
“I had heard that the bomber was dead, María,” the captain said. “Who killed him?”
“Members of the familia,” she replied. “But that’s a small problem. They weren’t in it alone.”
“What do you mean?”
“They are being supported by the United States,” she said. “I have names and I have details of what they’re planning next.”
“Tell me,” he said.
“I will tell you,” María said, “at the same time that I tell the general.”
The captain sneered. “Don’t haggle with me. I could turn you over to my interrogation group and have the information myself.”
“Perhaps,” she replied. “But you’d be losing a valuable ally. And besides, Captain, are you so sure you’d get the information in time?”
The sneer remained on his face as he considered what she’d just said. Suddenly, he motioned to a soldier who was carrying in a pair of chairs. He set them down, ran over, and saluted.
“Stay with her,” the captain said.
“Yes, sir,” the young soldier replied.
The captain left the room. María lit a cigarette and offered the soldier one. He declined, respectfully. As she inhaled, María considered what she’d do if the captain said the general wouldn’t see her. She’d have to try to get away. Let Luis know somehow where the madman-who-would-be-king was hiding. Then hope that someone could get in here and dethrone him.
Try to get away, she thought. Let Luis know somehow. Hope that someone could get in. There were a lot of “maybes” in all of that. Perhaps too many on which to hang the fate of a nation of over forty million.
She wondered what her chances would be of getting the captain’s gun, making her way through the detention room, forcing herself into the throne room, and putting a bullet in Amadori’s forehead.
Probably not very good. Not with twenty or so soldiers between here and there. Somehow, she had to get in there legitimately and talk to the general. Tell him something that would slow him down. Then get back to Luis and help figure out some way of toppling the bastard.
The captain returned before María had finished her cigarette. He strode through the doorway of the Hall of Columns and stopped. He smiled sweetly and she knew then she’d won.
“Come with me, María,” he said. “You have your audience.”
María thanked him — always thank the messengers in case you need a favor later — and lifted her shoe. She extinguished the cigarette on her sole. As she walked toward the captain she slipped the cigarette back in the pack. He gave her a curious look.
“It’s a habit I picked up in the field,” she said.
“Don’t waste your resources?” he asked. “Or don’t risk starting a fire, which can attract attention?”
“Neither,” she replied. “Don’t leave a trail. You never know who’s going to come after you.”
“Ah,” the captain smiled knowingly.
María smiled back, though for a different reason. She’d just tested the officer with a heads-up and he’d failed. She’d hinted that she was schooled at infiltration, that she knew more than he did, and the captain had let it go. He didn’t stop and take a second look at her. He was leading her right to the general.
Perhaps Amadori had made a few other mistakes in getting his coup underway. With any luck, María would be able to find them.
And then somehow, some way, get out to report them.
TWENTY-SIX
The C-141B transport set down heavily on the long runway at the Zaragoza Airbase, NATO’s largest field in Spain. The four twenty-one-thousand-pound Pratt & Whitney turbofans howled as the aircraft rolled to a stop. The plane had made a refueling stop at the NATO base in Iceland before completing the eight-hour trip against daunting headwinds.
During the flight Colonel August and his Striker team had received regular updates from Mike Rodgers, including a complete rundown on the White House meeting. Rodgers said that Striker’s orders vis-à-vis General Amadori would be given to them by Darrell McCaskey. Receiving them face-to-face wasn’t so much a security issue as an old tradition among elite forces: if you were sending a team on a hazardous mission, it was customary to look the leader in the eyes. A commander who couldn’t do that did not have the mettle, and thus the right, to send anyone into danger.
Colonel August had also spent a few hours going through NATO’s dossier on General Amadori. Though Amadori had never participated in any NATO maneuvers, he was a top-ranked officer of a member nation. As such, his file was short but complete.
Rafael Leoncio Amadori had been raised in Burgos, the one-time capital of the kingdom of Castile and the burial place of the legendary hero El Cid. Amadori joined the army in 1966, when he was twenty. After four years he was moved to Francisco Franco’s personal guard, the result of a longtime friendship between Franco and Amadori’s father, Jaime, who was the Generalissimo’s bootmaker. By the time Amadori was made a lieutenant in 1972, he was one of the top men in charge of Franco’s counterintelligence team. That was where he met Antonio Aguirre, ten years his senior, who was to become his top aide and most trusted advisor. Aguirre was Franco’s advisor on domestic affairs.
Once he had joined the inner circle, Amadori was personally responsible for sniffing out and eliminating opponents of Franco’s regime. With the death of Franco in 1975, Amadori moved back into the general military. However, his years in intelligence had not been wasted. Amadori rose quickly. More quickly than his accomplishments would suggest. If August had to guess, his promotions were probably the result of having collected compromising data on everyone who had been in a position to help or hinder his advancement.
August was convinced that if a coup were in progress — and it certainly looked as if one were — it had not simply happened overnight. Like the American kid who grew up wanting to be President, General Amadori obviously grew up wanting to be Franco.
August and six other Strikers had made the trip to Spain. Because a situation was developing in Cuba which could require HUMINT, Sgt. Chick Grey had been left behind with a contingent of Strikers in the event they were needed. Grey was a bright and highly capable leader who was due to get his second lieutenant’s stripes very soon.