The Rome branch of the Nucleo Operativo Centrale di Sicurezza was located in a single-level, unmarked modern structure in the commercial section of the Via Nazionale, not far from the Piazza della Republica.
One hour had elapsed since the murder of Laura Parker at the airport.
Bulletproof draperies had been drawn across the windows of the NOCS War Room.
The building around the War Room hummed with activity in the wake of the embassy crisis, but only six men sat at the room’s conference table. Until a short while ago this room had been the heart of the post-operation wrap-up, with all manner of American and Italian authorities—military, civil, embassy personnel, so many faces that Cody had given up trying to keep track of who was who—but minutes ago Major Brazi had ordered the room cleared.
Cody sat at the head of the table, Caine, Hawkins, and Murphy lined up along his right. The four men had traded their commando getups for civilian garb, but each man wore a pistol concealed in shoulder leather, and the rest of their gear was nearby.
The NOCS headquarters building, innocent enough in appearance, was in fact a fortified stronghold equipped with its own armory, more than one NOCS station around the country having fallen under full-scale terrorist attack.
Colonel Adams and Brazi sat to Cody’s left at the table.
The walls of the War Room were covered with road maps and charts, the conference table a clutter of overfull ashtrays, emptied soft-drink bottles, and briefing papers, the air stale from having been breathed in and out of too many sets of lungs, the human strain and emotion a palpable thing.
And yet Cody felt, here among these men now that the room had been cleared of the others, a stoic determination not to cry over spilled blood but to do something about the atrocities that had unfolded that night.
The tears had been shed, the white-hot animal urge for vengeance put aside. These men were professionals. Laura Parker would be avenged, damn straight, but she would be avenged, Cody knew, by men disciplined to submerge emotion to duty.
The word had gone out to the world about everything that had happened at the embassy and at the airport. The world would grieve. Governments would rattle sabers, reprising the aftermath of so many such terrorist atrocities in the recent past, from the blowing up of the Marine compound in Beirut to the shooting down of the Korean airliner by the Russians to the Achille Laura hijacking to the Rome and Vienna airport massacres.
Cody felt proud as he took in the set, determined expressions of the men seated around this table. He knew that, if anything, the men in this room with him felt tenfold the anguish and anger that would be felt the world over by humane, civilized people, because these men had been there; they, like himself, had seen the spilled blood, the death, the outrage. He could still feel the weight of that slaughtered child in his arms, and he had been there when Mrs. Parker had been told of what had happened to her daughter, that a day begun as a joyous shopping trip had ended with her losing her husband and daughter to terrorist brutality. Mrs. Parker had fainted away and Cody would not be surprised if the woman never fully recovered from her tragic losses this day.
These things, every one of them, fueled him, and he saw that his men were alert and ready, too, and for now those images of tragedy, those hurting emotions had to be submerged for the job at hand.
“I’ve spoken to Pete Lund via satellite hookup,” Cody told them. “I told him what we’ve discussed among ourselves.”
“No more missions, nothing,” Caine said with a nod, “until we track down Abdul Kamal.”
“You received the go-ahead?” Adams asked.
“I say we track down that rattlesnake no matter what the suits have to say about it,” Hawkeye growled. “I don’t recollect anyone I ever knew needed snuffing bad as that Kamal son of a bitch.”
“Lund has given us the go-ahead,” Cody said. “We take no more missions, nothing, until we track down Kamal.” He turned to Adams and Brazi. “And that means we don’t have one second to lose, gentlemen. The longer we sit here hashing things over, the more time his tracks have to cool.”
“My government will continue to furnish you with all possible assistance,” Brazi said.
Murphy rumbled, “I got a feeling we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
“Tracking Kamal down, maybe,” Cody conceded. “But once we find the bastard, I think we’ll know what to do with him on our own.”
“The Bulgarian connection is the only lead we’ve got,” said Cody, “and it’s the one we’ll follow.”
The AWAC plane that had tracked Kamal’s jet from Rome had been able to monitor that flight’s progress into Bulgarian airspace, but the NATO spy plane’s radar had been rendered useless by sophisticated jamming once the terrorist jet had flown to within fifty kilometers of Bulgaria’s capital. Sofia.
There was corroborating evidence that the Slavic Eastern Bloc country was somehow involved in the embassy takeover: each of the dead terrorists at the embassy had in his possession a Bulgarian passport.
And that. Cody knew without one single doubt, meant KGB. The Komitat Gosudarstvennoi-Bezopasnosti. The Committee For State Security of the Soviet Union. The muscle of that largest of the world’s slave states.
The attempted assassination of the pope some years back was perhaps the most notorious of the KGB’s plans hatched through Bulgaria, but it was only the tip of the iceberg. Bulgaria’s strategic location made it an ideal jumping-off spot for terrorists acts stage-managed by the KGB. which had long been in cahoots not only with the PLO but also with that organization’s countless splinter groups, such as Abdul Kamal’s, and a situation like this embassy takeover was a prime example of shared aims.
Kamal wanted his followers out of an Italian jail, so the KGB had more than likely supplied Kamal with blueprints of the American embassy in Rome, weapons, financial backing, the whole deal, because one of the KGB’s principal goals was to make things diificult for America abroad, through whatever means possible. The KGB would figure that the takeover of the embassy and the attendant slaughter would be one more small, though significant, step in eventually pushing the Americans out of Italy and Italy out of NATO. Then they could take advantage of the opportunities such a shift in the power balance would offer the interests of Soviet expansion. And to the KGB’s point of view, that would be the secondary aim of Kamal having his thirty-five terrorists back in the fold: The KGB had long exploited the Palestinian issue with the intention of destabilizing Western interests in the Mideast.
Yeah, it all fit together, and it spelled out to Cody that from Rome all roads led to Sofia, on the other side of what had long ago been dubbed the Iron Curtain.
“We can furnish you with fast air transport anywhere you need to go in order to track this vermin to his lair,” Brazi offered emphatically.
“I’ve been looking over the maps,” said Cody. “We need to get to northern Greece. We’ll slip into Bulgaria across the frontier.”
“Frontier?” Hawkeye echoed. “Sounds like the long way in, Sarge. Couldn’t we just rustle up some phony passports and go that way?”
“I see Cody’s point,” Caine said, breaking in. “We don’t know how high-placed a pipeline the KGB has in our government. I know Peter assures us that we’re strictly off any and all records, but that doesn’t mean those Soviet lads won’t know about us.”
“And if they know about us,” Rufe added, “they’ll damn sure be expecting us if Kamal’s working for them.”
“The company has stations along the border between Greece and Bulgaria,” Cody continued. “Pete gave me the name of their man in, uh”—he referred to a piece of paper before him and struggled with the pronunciation— “Sidhirokastron. He says the company man stationed there will get us in, but it won’t be easy.”
“” I hope he knows what kind of a hurry you boys are in to get to Sofia,” said Colonel Adams.
“The time spent getting into Bulgaria won’t be that long,” Cody replied. “Kamal’s trail won’t grow cold in that time. We’d be in far worse shape if a KGB man at the Sofia airport tabbed us climbing off a plane.”
“Why do you feel confident that the trail will not, as you say, grow cold?” Brazi asked. “You expect Kamal to stay in Sofia?”
“Not for long, no,” Cody replied. “I’m not minimizing the chances we’re taking in losing him by going in across the frontier. But if that happens, we’ll just have to track him farther down to his next destination. That will have to do over losing the whole team the minute we touch down in Sofia. No, I don’t think Kamal will stay more than a day in Sofia, but I don’t think he’ll pass straight on through without stopping at all.”
“You think maybe this dude is based out of Bulgaria?” Rufe asked.
“That would be a joke on most of our intelligence agencies,” Cody offered. “They think Kamal’s been calling his shots from the Mideast somewhere. The People’s Republic of Yemen, last I heard.”
“It figures, though, the way the Sarge puts it,” said Hawkins. “If Kamal is based in Bulgaria, it’d explain how the feller’s been able to get away with so much and keep such a low profile. The damn Russkies are hiding him in their own closet.”
“You think, then, that Kamal will stay awhile in Sofia because that is where his KGB contact is based?” Brazi asked.
“That’s what I think.” Cody nodded. “I don’t know how long he’ll stay, but if our luck changes, we could get a shot not only at Kamal and the rest of his bunch but also at the KGB apparatus that’s been directing these punks.” He rose at the end of the table. “We’ve got to move fast. Like, right now.” The others rose to their feet too.
“We appreciate your offer of help. Major,” Adams said to Brazi. “but we’ve got an Army transport fueled and waiting. I’ll call ahead for the crew to chart a course. The chopper will have us to the base in ten minutes. Cody, and you and your men will reach Greece in no time.”
Cody growled, “Every second we spend getting there will give Kamal more of a chance to get away. Let’s get after them.”
He led the men out of the War Room.
Cody would remember for as long as he lived the way Laura Parker’s dead body had weighed so heavily in his arms; would remember forever that brave young American who had her life stolen by terrorism; would always remember that he had told the girl to be brave, to trust him. She had. And she was dead.
The freckle-faced chopper pilot who had flown Kamal and the girl to the airport from the embassy had told Cody how she fought back; how the spunky kid had actually.tried to send Kamal out of the chopper on their approach to the airport.
Laura had been a fighter with a warrior’s soul. She had died a warrior’s death.
And Cody would track down Abdul Kamal to the ends of the earth, would walk through fire, would risk—yes, would sacrifice—his own life to even the odds for what Kamal had done.
Cody’s Army intended to nail Abdul Kamal.
Or die trying.
Colonel Yuri Vronski, KGB, sat in the plush back seat of the long black ZIL limousine and watched the jet taxi to a stop on this private government sector of the Sofia airport.
It was a cold, rainy night, and streaking rivulets of water reflected the airport lights like see-through neon worms down the smoked glass of the limo.
Vronski nodded his satisfaction to himself. He had been keeping in touch with the progress of Kamal’s flight every minute of the way from Rome.
Kamal’s pilot had made good time with the appropriated aircraft.
Vronski, who was officially attached as chief adviser to the Komitet Darzhavra Sigurnost, the KDS, the Bulgarian State Security apparatus, had carefully monitored the entire mission since Kamal and his group had left Sofia to initiate the embassy takeover in Rome.
The hatch of the plane opened, the stairs lowered, and the Arab terrorist appeared.
Even from this distance Vronski could make out the haggard lines that creased Kamal’s expression as he descended the steps and strode toward the ZIL after first carefully looking around the plane and the limousine for any signs of danger.
Vronski, a compact, barrel-chested bear of a man without an inch of fat anywhere on his body, mentally braced himself for the coming proximity to a man he despised. Not because of the things Kamal did; Vronski appreciated that in orchestrating and initiating the missions upon which he sent Kamal he was as guilty of the acts committed by the terrorist as Kamal was. Vronski had been called upon during his tour of duty in Afghanistan to do far more than send others to carry out atrocities. He had pulled the trigger often enough himself. He detested Kamal as he thought any man of breeding and class should look down upon an unwashed near illiterate of a subordinate, inferior race.
Kamal reached the car and entered the tonneau, carrying about him his pungent body odor and the stink of death.
“Colonel.”
Vronski could only nod curtly, trusting that his distaste did not register across his face. That would never do, he knew. His mission was to exploit and direct these savages effectively, and one could hardly command obedience from those sent out to do the dirty work when one’s disgust was too evident.
“To the city,” he instructed his driver.
The ZIL eased away with an almost soundless purr from where the pilot shut down the engines of the jet behind them. The limo whisked through the gates of the government area and onto the blacktop leading to the highway back to Sofia.
“I brought you some spoils of war,” Kamal said with a nod to indicate the jet receding behind them.
“I would have much preferred you to bring back your team and those thirty-five political prisoners,” Vronski countered, “not to mention whatever you could find in that embassy’s CIA station.”
“Allah did not wish it to be so.” Kamal shrugged. “Things went very wrong. My men… they are with Allah now. You are aware of what happened?”
“All of it.” Vronski nodded. “Including the little girl. Was that absolutely necessary, Abdul? You could become too great a risk for me to work with.”
“Were the murders of my family at the hands of the Zionists necessary?” Kamal snapped. “Blood for blood, my Russian friend. And why this show of delicacy on your part? Are you not satisfied with the results, despite the cost in life, ours or theirs?”
“I think it could have been handled better,” Vronski said. “What about those thirty-five being held by the Italians?”
“Bah!” Kamal made a curt motion of dismissal. “They will be freed. The Italians will not execute them. One way or another, they will be back on the streets, in our service, before long. You know this to be so. Colonel. Until that time… well, there are others to be recruited. That is the purpose of our trip to Libya, is it not?”
“It is.” Vronski nodded. He always felt uncomfortable around Kamal; not threatened, for Vronski knew he was the one who held the power here, but he did not care for the idea of a man whom he did not trust possessing the degree of shrewdness and common sense that belonged to Kamal. “Time will tell what impact your assault on the embassy will have.”
“You dole out gratitude as if you had none to spare, which may be, but you and I both know that what happened in Rome yesterday and tonight will drive one more nail into the coffin of America’s reputation as a powerful ally beyond the reach of Allah’s warriors, and that is something we both want, so your gratitude means nothing to me. We hate each other very much, do we not, Colonel?”
“It is hardly necessary that we be bosom companions to achieve our mutual aims,” Vronski said dryly. “I suggest you curb your insolence. You can be replaced, Abdul.”
“That, my dear Colonel, is open to conjecture,” Kamal replied with a tight smile. “But you are right in what you say. Why be at each other’s throats?”
“Why, indeed.” Vronski nodded, but he was thinking: One day I will kill this jackal for my own satisfaction and nothing else, and he will die slowly.
“What of Libya?” Kamal asked. “Is all in readiness for our departure?”
“We will be leaving a day late.”
“Trouble at our end or in Libya?”
“Not trouble,” Vronski replied. “There is a matter with Charova that must be dealt with.”
“Complications?”
“A delay, no more, or so he says. We shall see. We will pay him a call in the morning.”
“Can you not allow others to oversee these dealings in your absence?”
“Hardly, it we wish our share of the proceeds.”
Kamal considered this.
“Has Libya been told of our later arrival?”
“They expect us one day late, no more.” A glint came into Vronski’s expression. “You sound anxious to be gone from Sofia, Abdul. Don’t you like it here?”
“I lost my entire unit in Rome,” Kamal snapped. “I need replacements.”
“You have nothing to fear,” Vronski assured him. “Certainly not while you are under our protection in Bulgaria.”
“I am not “under your protection.’ “Kamal snarled. “I thought we understood each other, Colonel.”
“Oh, we do,” Vronski replied with a smile, “which makes me all the more curious as to why you appear so eager to leave Bulgaria.”
“It was our intention, that is all.”
“But plans change, Abdul, as you surely must appreciate. And Libya is hardly the place to be in a hurry to get to. Not what one would call beautiful, this or any other time of the year.”
“It is beautiful to me. I prefer the desert to your decadent cities—”
“Spare me, please.”
“There is a good chance that I was tracked to Sofia by one of the Americans’ planes.”
“Not to worry, my friend. It has been attended to, I assure you. You may have been tracked into Bulgarian airspace but not to Sofia. Why your concern? You act as if the hounds of hell were nipping at your heels. That rescue assault staged on the embassy, the NOCS?”
“I thought so at first,” Kamal replied slowly, “but… it was someone else.”
Vronski perked up.
“Someone else? Is this the someone you are…concerned about?”
“His name is Cody,” Kamal said. “He was present when I… executed the child. He was the leader of the commandos who counterattacked us.”
Vronski gazed out at the streetlights blurring by beyond his rain-streaked window. He saw his brow furrow in his reflection in the glass.
“Cody,” he repeated.
“You know him?”
“Describe him.”
“He wore camouflage blackface and commando black, so I could not make out his features,” Kamal explained. “He was a big man. He was the leader. A… very deadly opponent. I was lucky to get away alive. I would not have, except for…the child.”
“I know that name, Cody, I think, but I can’t place it.” Vronski frowned. “It goes back years, I think, unless I’m mistaken. It will come to me.”
“His eyes are the only thing I truly remember,” Kamal said. “They saw what I had to do to that child. Those eyes told me he would come after me.”
“You should have killed him.”
“I tried. He was too fast. Then we were gone. But this man and the commandos with him. . . they will come after me, my colonel. They will come after us!”
“Then they come to their deaths.” Vronski shrugged. “They will have the Bulgarian Army, the militia, and the KGB to contend with, and they will only have tonight and a few hours tomorrow to locate us in all of Bulgaria.”
“They’ll know I’ve come to Sofia.”
“Sofia is a big city, Comrade,” Vronski assured him expansively. “And after we’ve concluded our, er. transaction with Charova. we’ll be on our way out of the country, to Libya.”
“Then he will come for us there, if we don’t stop him and kill him first,” Kamal stated matter-of-factly. “I have thought about this man Cody, since Rome. He is a special kind of man. Colonel, and he has a special vendetta to settle with me. I know this. Sooner or later he will strike at us, and then it will be kill or be killed. It can be no other way.”