Acts of War

SEVENTEEN

Lowell Coffey was staring through the closed window of the passenger's side of the ROC as the dark countryside slipped by. Mary Rose was driving, and nervously tapping the steering wheel and humming Gilbert and Sullivan to herself, an appropriate piece that Coffey recognized from Iolanthe: "Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady."

Coffey was anxious too, though he calmed himself by half shutting his eyes and picturing himself driving with his father and brother across Death Valley. The three Coffey men always took days-long drives together. The Coffey Beans, his mother used to call them, because they were always packed together in a metal can. He would give just about anything to be able to do that again just one more time. The senior Coffey had died in a small-plane crash in 1983. Lowell's brother had graduated from Harvard two years later and moved to London to work in the U.S. Embassy. Their mother had gone with him. Since then, Coffey didn't feel as if he belonged to anything. He had gone to work for Op-Center not just to have some impact on peoples's lives, as he'd told Katzen, but also to feel as though he were part of a close-knit team. Yet even in the ROC, that sense of belonging wasn't quite there.

What did it take to create that? he wondered. His father spoke of his bomber crew having had that intense camaraderie during World War II. There had been some of that in Coffey's college fraternity. What caused it? Danger? Enclosure? A common purpose? Years of being together? Probably a little of all of that, he decided. But despite their present situation — or perhaps because of it? — there was still a sense of dreamy contentment that came from lowering his lids just a little and pretending that his father was to his left and the mountains he knew were out there were the Panamint Range he had marveled at as a boy.

Phil Katzen was sitting at Mary Rose's terminal in the ROC. He was watching the full-color map scroll by on her monitor. On Mike Rodgers's screen was a radar display of Turkish aircraft operating in central and southern Anatolia. Katzen turned to look at it every few seconds. There were no planes in the region as yet. If there were, he would have been forced to identify himself and do whatever he was told. The Operations and Protocol Manual was explicit about ROC activities in a war zone. The printout was on a clipboard in Katzen's lap.

According to Lowell Coffey, it was Section 17, Subsection 2, B-1-a-1, which gave them, as civilians, the right to go in and get Mike out. The question they'd wrestled with en route was whether bringing Colonel Seden out constituted a partisan act. Because he was a Turkish soldier who had entered the region with partisan intent, he was not covered by Section 17, Subsection 2, B-1-a-2. However, Coffey said that as long as the colonel was hurt, his evacuation would be acceptable in accordance with the charter of the International Red Cross. According to Section 8, Subsection 3, A-1-b-3, ROC was permitted under to act under the IRC charter to evacuate wounded outsiders at the discretion of the individual in charge.

With just over five minutes to go until they reached the reported location of Mike Rodgers and Colonel Seden, Privates Pupshaw and DeVonne were crouched in the battery cabinets under the raised floorboards. Most of the batteries had been removed and stacked to the side to accommodate the Strikers. As a result, except for the radio, radar, and telephone, the inner workings of the ROC were dead. It was also running on fuel instead of on batteries.

The Strikers hid black nighttime uniforms in a cabinet in the rear of the ROC along with a powerful M21, a sniper version of the M14 combat rifle, an image-intensifier eyepiece. These twin-lens units were designed to be clamped to the front of their helmets. In addition to providing night-vision capabilities, the eyepieces were electronically linked to an infrared sensor on top of each soldier's M21. These sensors were the size of a small video camera, and were capable of identifying targets at 2,200 meters, even behind foliage. The visual data was then relayed to the right-side eyepiece. In a field situation, computers in the Strikers' backpacks would send a monochrome display of maps and other data to the right-side eyepiece. When they emerged from hiding, the plan was for Private DeVonne to immediately retrieve the gear, while PFC Pupshaw reconnoitered through a one-way mirrored window in the back. Though Katzen was in charge of the mission, he had put PFC Pupshaw in charge of the actual rescue attempt, as allowed for by the ROC manual.

"Five minutes to target," Katzen said.

The Strikers snuggled down in their compartments. Coffey went over and helped them replace the compartment tops. After making sure the Strikers were all right, he walked toward Katzen.

"Good thing they're not claustrophobic," Coffey said.

"If they were," said Katzen, "they wouldn't be Strikers."

Coffey watched as the map on the computer monitor scrolled ominously toward the target hill. At least, it seemed ominous to the attorney.

"I have a question," Coffey said.

"Shoot, counselor."

"I've been wondering. Just what is the difference between a porpoise and a dolphin?"

Katzen laughed. "Mostly it has to do with the body shape and face," he said. "Porpoises are shaped pretty much like a torpedo with spade-like teeth and a blunt snout. Dolphins have a more fish-shaped body, peg-like teeth, and a snout that looks like a beak. Temperamentally, they're pretty much identical."

"But dolphins seem more lovable because they look less predatory," Coffey said.

"They do, yes," said Katzen.

"Maybe the military should think about that when they design the next generation of submarines and tanks," Coffey said. "They can lull the enemy into complacency with a submarine that looks like Flipper or a tank that looks like Dumbo."

"If I were you, I'd stick to law," Katzen said. He looked toward the front of the van. "Heads up, Mary Rose. According to the map you should be coming up on the rise any moment now."

"I see it," she said.

The small of Coffey's back went ice-cold. This wasn't the same as the jitters he got when he went before a judge or a senator. This was fear. The van went down the sharp dip before the rise. Coffey used both hands to brace himself on the back of Mike Rodgers's empty chair.

"Shit!" Mary Rose shouted, and crushed the brake down.

"What is it?" Katzen cried.

Coffey and Katzen both looked out the window. A dead sheep was lying in the center of the road. The carcass was the size of a Great Dane and had coarse, dirtywhite wool. In order to stay on the narrow road and avoid the ditches on either side, a driver would have to go over it.

"That's a wild sheep," Katzen said. "They live in the hills to the north."

"Probably hit by a car," Mary Rose said.

"I don't think so," Katzen said. "With an animal that size there'd be tire tracks in the blood beyond."

"So what do you think?" Coffey asked. "That it was shot and put there?"

"I don't know," Katzen said. "Some military units have been known to use animals for target practice."

"The dam-busters, maybe," said Mary Rose.

"No," said Katzen. "They'd probably have eaten it. More likely it was a Turkish unit. Anyway, we've got a pair of Strikers who are going to need fresh air pretty soon. Go over it."

"Wait," Coffey said.

Katzen looked at him. "What's wrong?"

"Is it possible the thing could be land-mined?"

Katzen slumped. "I didn't even think of that. Good catch, Lowell."

"A terrorist might do that to slow down mechanized troops," Coffey said.

Katzen looked out toward the ditches on the right and left. "We're going to have to go off-road."

"Unless that's where the mines are," Coffey said. "Maybe the sheep was put there to send someone off the road."

Katzen thought for a moment. Then he pulled a flashlight from the hook between the two front seats and opened the passenger's-side door.

"This is going to get us nowhere," he said. "I'll pull the damn sheep off the road. If I blow up, you'll know it's safe then."

"Uh-uh," Coffey said. "You're not going out there."

"What choice do we have? The metal detector's tied to the main computer. We broke those batteries down and there isn't time to reassemble them."

"We'll have to make time," Coffey said. "Or at least turn the road check over to the Strikers."

Katzen shouldered past the attorney. "There isn't time for that either." He hopped onto the dirt road. "Besides, you're going to need them to save Mike and the colonel. I've been good to animals," he grinned. "This one wouldn't dare hurt me."

"Please be careful," Mary Rose said.

Katzen said he would, and walked out in front of the van. Coffey leaned out the door. Though the night air was surprisingly cool, his mouth was dry and his forehead was wet. He watched Katzen as the round-shouldered young man followed the flashlight beam into the glare of the headlights. About five yards in front of the van, he stopped and shined the beam around the road.

"I don't see any exposed trip wire," Katzen said. He shined his flashlight on the road and walked around the sheep slowly. "It doesn't look as if the dirt's been dug up." Hi reached the sheep and shined the flashlight down. The blood glistened a bright, oxygenated red in a wound which was nearly four inches in diameter. Katzen touched the blood. "There's been no coagulation at all. This thing was killed within the hour. And it's definitely a gunshot wound." Katzen bent low and looked under the sheep. He slid his left hand under and felt around. "There's no wire or plastique as far as I can tell. Okay, gang. I'm going to move this sucker."

The pounding of Coffey's heart and temples drowned out the gentle hum of the ROC engine. Coffey knew that it wasn't necessary for the body to be wired. It could simply be lying on top of a mine.

The attorney watched as Katzen set the flashlight on the road and grabbed the sheep's hindquarters. Though Coffey was afraid, it wasn't fear which kept him from joining his coworker. He stayed back because if anything happened to Katzen, he would have to help Mary Rose and the Strikers reach their destination.

Mary Rose squeezed Coffey's hand as Katzen held the sheep tightly and took a step back. The sheep moved an inch, then another. Katzen put it down, went to the other side, bent low, and flashed the light under the carcass.

"I don't see any booby traps," he said.

He returned to the hindquarters and pulled the sheep a little more. After it had moved another few inches; Katzen went back and checked beneath it. Again he saw nothing.

In just over a minute the environmentalist had moved the sheep entirely away from the space it had occupied. There was nothing beneath it, and Katzen quickly pulled it off the road. He was perspiring heavily when he returned to the van.

"So what the hell was that all about?" he complained.

Coffey was looking out into the dark. "The dead sheep could've been the result of army target practice, like we thought," he said. "Or maybe someone was out there, watching us. To see who we've got inside."

Katzen shut the door. "Well, now that they think they know," he said, "let's get the hell over this hill."

Mary Rose shifted the van to drive. She breathed deeply before pressing down on the gas. "I don't know about you two, but that did a number on my stomach."

Katzen smiled weakly. "Ditto."

While Mary Rose guided them toward the rise and the hillock beyond, Coffey went back to explain the delay to the Strikers. As the attorney knelt on the floor, he began to feel dizzy. He rested his forehead on his knee.

"Hey, Phil," Coffey said, "are you feeling okay?"

"I'm feeling a little drained," he said. "Why?"

Coffey's ears were beginning to ring. "Because I'm having a little trouble here. Dizzy. Buzzing in my ears. Have you got that?"

When Katzen didn't answer, Coffey turned toward the front of the van. He was just in time to see Katzen fall heavily into the passenger's seat. Mary Rose was leaning forward, her forearms against the steering wheel. She was obviously struggling to keep her head up.

"I'm going to stop;" she said. "Something is wrong."

The van slowed and Coffey rose. As he did, he was overcome by a sense of vertigo which brought him back to the floor. He reached along the backs of the two chairs beside the computer stations and struggled to pull himself up. Nausea filled his stomach and rose in his throat and brought him back down again.

A moment later, as black clouds swirled inside his eyes, Lowell Coffey felt himself hoisted up bodily and dragged backward.