Balance of Power

TWENTY-TWO

Darrell McCaskey couldn’t sleep.

After bringing Aideen to the airfield, he’d returned with Luis to Interpol’s Madrid office. The small complex occupied a single floor of the district police station. The turn-of-the-century brick building was located just off the broad Gran Via on Calle de Hortaleza. The ride back to the city had been a quiet one as McCaskey reflected on his months with María.

Suddenly exhausted when they returned, McCaskey had lain down on a soft sofa in the small dining room. But while he’d gladly shut his heavy eyelids, his heavy heart had refused to shut down. María’s anger had disturbed him, though it was not unexpected. Worse than that, though, was simply seeing the woman again. It reminded McCaskey of the biggest mistake of his life: letting her go two years before.

The sad thing was, he’d known it then.

Lying there, McCaskey remembered vividly all the differences that had come up during her stay in America. She had a live-for-today attitude, not worrying very much about health or money or the danger of some of the assignments she took. They had different tastes in music and in the sports they liked to watch or play. She liked to bike everywhere, he liked to walk or drive. He loved cities and high energy places, she loved the country.

But whatever their differences, and they were considerable, one thing was true. They had loved each other. That should have counted for more than it did. It sure as hell did now.

McCaskey could still remember her face when he told her the relationship wasn’t working for him. He would always see that face, hard but deeply hurt — like a soldier who’d been wounded but refused to believe it and was determined to keep going. It was one of those snapshots that stayed in the soul and came back from time to time, as vivid as the moment it happened. “Emotional malaria,” Op-Center psychologist Liz Gordon had once called it when they were talking about failed relationships.

She got that right.

McCaskey gave up trying to keep his eyes shut. As he lay staring up at the fluorescent lights, Luis came running in. He hurried to a phone on one of the four round tables in the dining room. He snapped his fingers and motioned for McCaskey to pick up another one.

“It’s María,” Luis said. “On line five. They’re under attack.”

McCaskey swung from the sofa and rushed to the nearest table. “Are they okay?”

“They’re in a car,” Luis said. “María said she thinks it best to stay where they are.” He scooped up a phone.

McCaskey did likewise and punched line five.

“María?” Luis said. “Darrell is on the phone and Raul is checking on the helicopters. What’s happening now?”

McCaskey decided not to ask for an update. If he missed anything Luis would fill him in.

“Two of the helicopters are circling low over the factory grounds,” María said. “The other two are hovering just above the roof. Troops are climbing out. Some of the soldiers are taking up positions on the edge of the roof. Others are using aluminum ladders to climb down toward the doors. All of them are armed with submachine guns.”

“You said they already shot two men—”

“They shot at two members of the Ramirez familia, Juan and Ferdinand,” María said. “Both men had taken part in the retaliation for the yacht attack. But they hit the ground and surrendered — I think they’re all right.”

Her voice was calm and strong. McCaskey was proud of her. He had a deep desire to take back those stupid, selfish words he’d once uttered to her.

“We were meeting with the men when the attack began,” María continued. “I don’t know if the troops targeted them specifically or if the helicopters opened fire on the nearest target.”

“The sentry—” Aideen said.

“Yes, that’s right,” María added. “Aideen noticed that the guard at the factory was gone when the attack began. He’s former military. He could have pointed the men out to the helicopters.”

A tall, muscular officer ran into the dining room. Luis turned and looked at him. The man shook his head.

“No flight plan was filed for the helicopters,” he said.

“Then this isn’t going through the regular military chain of command,” Luis said into the phone.

“I’m not surprised,” María said.

“What do you mean?” Luis asked.

“I’m convinced that General Rafael Amadori is running this put-down operation as a private war,” María said. “It appears that he’s engineered events so that parliament has granted him emergency powers. He also has a very narrow window in which to eliminate opposition. By the time anyone decides to try and stop him it will be too late.”

“Do we know where the general is based?” McCaskey asked.

“Not yet,” the woman replied. “But I’m sure he’s made it difficult for anyone to get near him. I’ll have to give Amadori this much: he appears to be very well prepared.”

McCaskey noticed a change in María’s voice. He recognized it because it had always made him feel a little jealous. She did not approve of Amadori’s motives or actions, but there was a trace of admiration for the man.

María fell silent as gunfire erupted in the distance.

Aideen said something McCaskey couldn’t quite make out.

“María!” McCaskey yelled. “Talk to me!”

It was several seconds before she came back on. “Sorry,” she said. “The troops have entered the factory. We were trying to see what they were doing — there are parked cars in the way. We heard a few bursts of fire from the soldiers and then—damn!”

“What?” McCaskey said.

There was a peppering of loud reports followed by the unbroken drone of automatic fire.

“María!” McCaskey shouted.

“They let the soldiers provoke them,” she said.

“Who did?” Luis demanded.

“Probably some of the familia members and maybe some of the other workers,” María said. “There was gunfire from inside the factory. They must have shot at the soldiers. Workers are running out — falling out. The ones with guns are being cut down. Juan is yelling for them to surrender.”

McCaskey looked over at Luis. The Interpol officer seemed pale as he looked back at McCaskey.

“This is incredible,” María said. “The soldiers are shooting anyone who doesn’t put down their weapons. Even if they’re just goddamned crowbars! People are shouting inside. It sounds like they’re warning people to surrender.”

“How near are the soldiers to your position?” McCaskey asked.

“About four hundred yards. But there are other cars around — I don’t think they know we’re here.”

Perspiration collected on McCaskey’s upper lip. The law was collapsing. He wished there were some way he could get the two women out of there. He looked over at his companion. Luis’s eyes were moving quickly without focusing on anything. He was anxious too.

“Luis,” McCaskey asked thickly, “what about the police chopper?”

“It’s still there—”

“I know. But can you get permission for it to go in?”

Luis lifted his hands helplessly. “Even if I could, I doubt they’d go. The soldiers might suspect a familia ruse.”

A strong military offensive and paranoia. It was a combination that caused leaders to shut themselves off from all but their closest advisors. It was also a mix that could turn soldiers into indiscriminate executioners. McCaskey wished that Striker were here instead of over the Atlantic, hours away.

No one spoke for a long moment. McCaskey continued to regard Luis. There were three options. The women could stay where they were; they could try to get out; or they could attempt to surrender. If they tried to sneak away and were spotted, they’d probably be cut down. If they attempted to surrender they might also be shot. The safest course seemed to be to stay where they were and use their fake IDs if they were discovered. McCaskey wondered if Luis were going to make the call for them. The Interpol officer was big on taking responsibility for his people’s actions and then taking any heat those actions generated. But this wasn’t about blame or credit. This was about lives.

“María,” Luis said into the speaker, “what do you want to do?”

“I’ve been wondering about that,” María said. “I don’t know what the attackers are after. We’re seeing prisoners coming out now. Dozens of them. But we have no idea where they’re going to be taken. Possibly to be interrogated. I wonder—”

“What do you wonder?” Luis asked.

There was muted conversation on María’s end. Then silence except for faint gunfire.

“María?” Luis said.

The conversation stopped. There was only gunfire.

“María!” Luis repeated.

After a moment Aideen came on. “She’s not here.”

“Where is she?” Luis asked.

“On her way to the factory with her hands raised,” Aideen replied. “She’s going to try to surrender.”