Mission of Honor

Chapter Fifty-Three

"Chief, we've got some weird stuff going on."

The call from Bob Herbert came while Paul Hood was checking in with the rest of the staff. There were other divisions of Op-Center that functioned independent of the core crisis management group. There was a small budget office, a human resources center, and a communications group that worked directly under Bob Herbert.

They monitored fax transmissions, cell phone calls, and satellite activities in regions where Op-Center personnel were working. Hood was lucky to have a great group of young gogetters and veterans working under him. Each learned from the others. Their briefings were always reassuring. As Bob Herbert had once put it, half joking, "They're the bedrock on which us big ol' titans do our striding." Hood was just happy to have a group that really supported him. That had been a big change from being mayor of Los Angeles. Unlike the city council and various departments in the city, everyone here was on the same page.

"What's happening?" Hood asked.

"There has been an unusual amount of radio traffic at the Air Wing of the Botswana Defense Forces," Herbert said.

"Define unusual," Hood said.

"An across-the-system jump from ten to fifteen communications an hour to more than three hundred," Herbert replied.

In the United States, that kind of increase would signify a Defcon One state of readiness.

"We've picked it up here, and the CIA noted it, too," Herbert went on. "Their frequency scanners at the embassies don't react unless there's a spike of at least one hundred percent."

"Do we know what the increased traffic is about?" Hood asked.

"Not yet," Herbert said. "The signals are all encrypted. We're collecting it and breaking it down here. Viens is trying to get us some satellite visuals of the bases. He's scraping together all the satellite time he can for us. The thing is, Jody Cameron at NAVSEA intelligence just told me they're also starting to get radar blips. One of their destroyers is picking them up from the Mozambique Channel."

NAVSEA was the Naval Sea Systems Command. The intelligence division was comprised of a worldwide deployment of cutters and destroyers. These ships were responsible for monitoring land and sea activities inaccessible by U. S. or allied bases. The intelligence collected by these ships determined whether vessels of the Maritime Preposition Force needed to be sent to a region. These were ships that provided military support prior to the arrival of main expeditionary warfare ships. The ships that patrolled the Mozambique Channel were responsible for covering the region from South Africa to Somalia.

"What did the blips suggest?" Hood asked.

"Chopper traffic," Herbert replied. "More than they've ever seen in the region."

"Are they doing search grids or heading somewhere?" Hood asked.

"The helicopters are heading north from the airfield outside Gaborone," Herbert said. "NAVSEA is saying this is either an action or a drill."

"We've got to assume it's not a drill," Hood said.

"Of course," Herbert said. "Hold on-Matt Stoll's shooting me some of the data from the encrypted transmissions."

There was a short silence that felt very, very long.

"Shit," Herbert said. "Son of a bitch."

"What is it?" Hood demanded.

"They've got a destination," Herbert said. "Okavango Swamp."

"Damn," Hood said.

"They also say it was Edgar Kline who gave them that destination," Herbert added.

"How the hell could Kline have given them a target?" Hood asked. "We didn't know it ourselves."

"I don't know," Herbert admitted.

It had been more than an hour since Hood had called Kline on his cell phone and given him the location for the rendezvous between Op-Center's teams and the soldiers from the Unidad Especial del Despliegue. And there was no way the Vatican Security Office could have extrapolated Dhamballa's location from what Hood told him. Op-Center did not even know for sure where the Vodunists were based.

"Get him on the phone," Hood said.

"With pleasure," Herbert said angrily.

Hood was uncharacteristically impatient as he called Mike Rodgers. He brought the general up to date, then conferenced him into the discussion. The two men waited as Kline's voice mail picked up on the cell phone.

"Goddamn him!" Herbert said. "He's ducking us."

Hood was frustrated, too, and angry, but he forced himself to stay cool and on target.

"Bob, do we think Kline's still at the Mission of the Holy See in New York?" Hood asked.

"That's the only secure place Kline could use to monitor a military action," Herbert told him. "Kline definitely would not have left if something is brewing." Before Hood could suggest it, the intelligence chief added, "I'm calling over there now. I'll find him."

"If you do, I'll do the talking," Hood said.

"You got it," Herbert said. "Only if I get to break his freakin' nose when this is all over. Screening calls," the intelligence chief went on. "That's so frigging low rent. You want to impede someone, do it like a man. Use diplomatic doublespeak. Face-to-face, toe-to-toe."

Hood did not interrupt or comment. Bob Herbert frequently raged at something. It was in his hot Mississippi blood to do so. This time, though, Hood had to agree that Herbert had a good reason to boil.

Herbert reached an automated switchboard. The intelligence chief had no idea whose office Kline was using. He waited for an operator. The operator did not know anyone by the name of Edgar Kline. Exasperated, Herbert hung up and redialed the main number. When the voice menu came up, he punched the extention of the Path to Peace Foundation Bookstore.

"Can I help you?" asked the youthful-sounding man who answered the telephone.

"Yes," Herbert said. "What's your name?"

"Mr. Hotchkiss," said the clerk. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, Mr. Hotchkiss," Herbert told him. "Do you carry a copy of the last rites?"

"We do," replied the clerk. "It's in several books. The most popular is the Concordance of Catholic Liturgy-"

"I'll take it," Herbert said. "And I want a bookmark placed on that page."

"Any particular style of bookmark?"

"No," Herbert replied. "I'll need the book delivered to someone in your building."

"In our building?" the man said.

"That's right," Herbert replied. "Mr. Hotchkiss, is there anyone else working in your shop?"

"Yes-"

"Please ask him to deliver the book while I give you the credit card information," Herbert said. "Oh, and I want an inscription on the title page."

"Certainly, sir."

"It should read, 'Answer your cell phone, or you'll need this,' " Herbert told him. "Sign it Bob H."

"Excuse me?" the young man said.

"Just do it," Herbert said. "Lives depend on you."

Hood was impressed by the concern and conviction Herbert put in that one statement. The man was the best.

"I'll do it right away, sir," the clerk replied. "To whom is the concordance being delivered?"

"Man named Edgar Kline," Herbert said. "Ask around in the diplomatic corridors. Someone will know him."

"/ know him," the man said.

"You do?" Herbert asked.

"He was in here before, buying a travel guide," the man said.

'To southern Africa?" Herbert asked.

"That's right," replied the clerk.

"Did he want to see maps?" Herbert asked.

"He did!" Hotchkiss replied. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess," Herbert told him. "Mr. Hotchkiss, can I count on you to do this?"

"You can," Hotchkiss said. "Since I know what he looks like, I'll deliver it myself."

"Thanks," Herbert replied.

The clerk turned the phone over to his associate, and Herbert gave him the credit card information. While he did, Hood hung up. He consulted a computer map of northern Botswana. The rendezvous point for Maria, Aideen, and Battat was thirty miles from the swamp. He did not give Kline any information that could have led the Botswanan military to that region. The target had to have come to him some other way. But who would have known to contact him? The VSO was a highly secretive organization. They did not maintain ties with very many international intelligence groups. Only the Spanish, the Americans-and then it hit him. The intelligence did not come from the outside. They had missed the obvious source.

Mike Rodgers walked in. "What do you think, Paul?" the general asked Hood.

"I think it was Father Bradbury," he said.

Rodgers was puzzled. "What about him?"

"He's the only one who knows exactly where Dhamballa is," Hood said. "Either the VSO pinpointed the last call he made or, maybe more likely, he found a way to signal them."

"Radio equipment or a phone," Rodgers said. "Dhamballa has to have them. It's possible."

"Gentlemen, this is not good," Hood said. "We have to stop our people from going in."

"You're getting ahead of me," Rodgers said.

"The Botswana government thinks that Dhamballa's people killed our bishop," Hood said. "They have to move against him. The Air Force is going to clean the lot of them out."

"But not before the Spanish get in and save Bradbury," Rodgers said.

"Maybe no," Hood said. "If they think the Vodunists killed once, they can always be blamed for killing twice. Who will be able to prove that they did not kill Father Bradbury?"

"No one," Herbert said.

"We have to give Gaborone the photo Maria took," Rodgers said.

"That may not stop them," Herbert replied. "The photo will tell them they have a larger problem. Other enemies on the inside. They will still want to clean up this one first, as quickly as possible."

"I still don't think the Vatican will offer Father Bradbury up as an altar sacrifice," Rodgers insisted. "I do not want to believe that. Not while they have an option."

"Maybe not," Hood agreed. "What options do they have?"

"The Unidad Especial del Despliegue," Rodgers said. "They can get one of the air force choppers to airlift the Spaniards close to Okavanga Swamp. The soldiers go in and get Father Bradbury out."

"Eliminating the need for them to rendezvous with our people," Herbert pointed out.

"That's not the bad part," Rodgers said. "Our guys will still be heading for the swamp with Seronga. I've got a map of Botswana in front of me. If my calculations are even roughly correct, they should get there just about the time the Botswana Air Force arrives."

Rodgers grabbed the phone on Hood's desk. He called the embassy in Gaborone and asked to be patched through to Aideen Marley.

At once.