Echo Six: Black Ops 7 - Tibetan Fury (16 page)

It’s a kind of
'New Deal' for
impoverished locals. Cozy.

He found desks in one room, but fortunately it was empty of staff. The window overlooked the front of the building, a good post for a sentry. They'd pinned several charts on the walls, which he assumed were for the usual management stuff; outstanding orders, workers, machinery downtime and maintenance, whatever they did in a place like this. In Tibetan, it was just indecipherable squiggles.

There was a narrow staircase in a corner of the office, and he walked up it to find a tiny attic with a hinged wooden hatch to the roof. When he opened it, the cold wind whistled in, probably blowing all the way from the Himalayas. A cold place to stand sentry, but it overlooked the rear of the building. It would have to do.

He went back down to the office, walked past the workrooms, and once again ran the gamut of smiling greetings, and returned to the first floor. He explained to Guy what he'd found.

"We need a sentry rota, front and back."

"I'll get on it," his number two agreed, "It's pretty cold. I'd suggest no more than one hour on for each man before he's relieved."

"Do it. I'll take the first watch in the empty office where I can see the front. We'll need one man to freeze his balls off and cover the rear.

Guy grinned. "Roger that. By the way, they have a cooking stove here. The nuns are lighting it up, right now. With any luck, we'll have some hot food."

He realized how hungry he was. They would all be starved of nutrients. The intense cold, combined with the tension and stress of the battle, sapped the body’s energy and strength. They'd snacked on the tiny rations they carried, but it was no substitute for a good hot meal. The way things had gone so far, they'd need every scrap of energy and strength they could gather for the next round. He didn't know when or where it would happen, only that sooner or later, it would come. They had a long way to go before they got out of Tibet.

Guy assigned DiMosta to cover the back, and Talley climbed back up the staircase to take up his position in the office. He placed a swivel chair next to the window and looked out. It was cozy in the office, surrounded by the gentle hum of machinery, and the occasional excited chatter of the workers.

There was no sign of any activity outside, either hostile or friendly. It at least gave him time to think about how things had got so bad. Ever since the CIA foul-up caused the aircraft carrying them into the country to be identified as a spook flight, everything had gone downhill at an increasing rate.

He knew there'd have to be a showdown with CIA, or more especially, the Kabul Head of Station, Ed Garrick. It was as if the guy had some kind of alternative agenda. There was no way he bought the 'too sick to work,' bullshit.

Garrick was up to something. The burning question was whether he'd screwed the operation deliberately, or were they just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

There was also David Campbell to consider, the monk Tenzin Davaika. He was highly connected. What should have been a simple rescue, as simple as it could ever have been breaking him out of a Chinese jail, was a nightmare of complications. So far, they'd been lucky, and apart from a few scratches, he'd lost only one man. But it wasn't likely to last. They were in the center of a Chinese security zone, hunted by a large force of security troops. Sooner or later, they'd run into a force too large for them to handle. The People's Liberation Army had several million men under arms, no shortage of cannon fodder to push into the fight. They were on their own.

There was another problem he had to wrestle with. Grace Ferraro, the CIA operative. If her boss, Ed Garrick was dirty, what was her involvement? Sooner or later, he'd have to find out where she stood.

There was one final matter to contend with, the most important of all. How to get out of Tibet? If that didn't happen, the rest of it was moot.

He was still trying to work it all out, and he had a couple of ideas to think about, when he smelt cooking. Then he heard footsteps on the staircase, and Grace appeared carrying two bowls of hot stew.

"I thought you might need this. I brought mine, too."

He nodded his thanks and checked his wristwatch. Still a half-hour to go before he was relieved; the food was very welcome. She pulled up another chair to the window and sat next to him. After a few minutes, he was conscious of the silence. Neither of them spoke. She continued to eat slowly and deliberately, keeping her eyes cast down at her plate. Finally, she looked up and met his eyes.

"Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask you?"

She gave him a look. "About Garrick. I guess things don't normally turn out this way?"

It wasn't what he'd expected her to say.

"Not always."

He waited for her to continue.

"That business about the flight plan," she said quietly, "You must be wondering about Garrick's agenda." When he didn't reply, she went on, "I know you wouldn't be human if you didn't wonder about my involvement. We work for the same outfit. All I can say is, he's up to something weird, but I've no idea what it is. I'm sorry, if I knew I'd tell you. Do you believe me?"

He looked at her, so small, so fragile, and so pretty, and yet so calm in the middle of an operation that had backfired badly. She knew as well as any of them their chances of getting out of Tibet were going down the tubes with every hour they spent in country.

He was about to speak when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. A line of soldiers, eight men led by a sergeant, advancing along a narrow track about three hundred meters away. He tensed and wondered whether to warn them downstairs. Then again, maybe it was nothing. The patrol showed no sign of being interested in their building. Besides, his men were enjoying their first hot meal for a long time, and his opinion was it was no more than a routine sweep.

He was right. When they were nearer, he could see them smoking and chatting to each other, as they strolled past. He'd never known soldiers smoke as much as the Chinese. Then again, the People's Liberation Army owned the monopoly on tobacco production across the whole of China. It made sense their own men would be their best customers. Maybe they paid them part of their wages in cigarettes from the company store, rather than money. It would play hell on their fitness, he considered. Then again, with several million men under arms, you'd make up for it with sheer numbers. The patrol finally disappeared around the corner, and he relaxed.

He glanced at Grace, and her lips curled in slight smile. "You didn't answer me. Are you avoiding the question, Abe Talley?"

He shook his head. "It's complicated, but I do trust you. I never had any doubts." Her eyebrows arched up in disbelief, and he grinned, "Okay, maybe one or two. But do I think you'd be involved with a piece of shit like Garrick? No. Tell me about him."

She shrugged. "There's not much to tell. He's not too bright, but he has cunning in spades. Besides, more than a few people in the Agency root for him. His career went well at first until recently. Then something changed, and he's been different, as if he needs to prove himself."

"Maybe he was feeding them a line of bullshit, and they stopped believing it. He wouldn't be the first intelligence operative to fall down that hole."

She was quiet for a few moments, digesting what he'd said. Then she nodded.

"You could be right. One moment he was all happy-go-lucky, drinking, and partying with the people on the top floor. Then he kind of withdrew into himself. Maybe they did push him for results, and he's trying to give them what they want. But claiming he was sick, refusing to report in to his Station, that's strange. Surely, he'd want to do everything possible to make this operation a success, get David Campbell out and claim the credit. I mean; he'd earn the gratitude of the White House Chief of Staff, that must be worth a lot."

"Unless getting Campbell out opened up a can of worms."

She looked doubtful. "Maybe. I don't see how."

Talley was thinking hard. They'd told him that Campbell had supplied intelligence on the Chinese military. He'd wanted nothing in return, only to undermine the military occupation of the peace-loving Buddhist nation.

What if
Garrick funneled
Campbell's intel through a different source?

It had been done before, in order to pocket the substantial funds CIA paid to their informants. Garrick would have to inflate data from another, lower level source, using Campbell's stuff to make it look high value. That would work. He could claim credit for a successful, high-level infiltration and trouser the cash.

He explained his idea to Grace, and she nodded thoughtfully.

"It could be possible, but does it help us?"

"If it's true, it tells us Garrick doesn't want Campbell to leave Tibet. Once they've debriefed him, his whole scheme will unravel. Which means…"

For the first time, she looked frightened. "We're on our own."

"We're on our own," he confirmed, "And worse. He could be directly tipping off the Chinese."

"What can we do?"

He grimaced. "What we always do. We fight."

He could see she wanted reassurance, for him to say it would all turn out okay. But he wasn't prepared to lie, and so he kept quiet. After a few moments, she whispered, "Abe, will we die here?"

A pause. "We're not dead yet."

"Have you been in worse situations than this?"

He could see she was shivering, and this time he felt bound to tell the lie. "Yeah, plenty of them. Well, one or two."

She saw through him and smiled. He didn't understand how it happened; one moment they were talking quietly, the next she fell into his arms. Her face came up to his, their lips were close, and it was as if they were drawn together by magnetism, a powerful, animal magnetism. Two people, faced with unknown terrors, and only their physical closeness to allay some of that fear.

He felt her tongue explore inside his mouth, and he reciprocated, enjoying the warm taste of her, savoring the sweet musky scent of her healthy young body. He reached for her, and then stopped as a voice intruded.

"Boss? I've come to relieve you."

Shit!

Domenico Rovere, the great Italian lover, waited just outside the door.

"Come on in, Dom. I could do with a break."

The Italian entered the room and glanced around, sizing up everything in a split second.

"Love comforteth like sunshine after rain. As the great William Shakespeare once said."

"Domenico."

"What?" he smiled.

"Shut up."

"Sure, Boss."

Talley went down the staircase first, the men completing their weapons checks and counting the remaining ammunition. Guy looked up when he saw Talley, his face dark with concern

"We're running low on ammo. As soon as we know what we have, we'll divide it up between us. You know that sooner or later we'll have to fight our way out of here, and if we're not careful, we'll wind up throwing rocks at the enemy."

He nodded, looking up as Rovere called down the staircase.

"People approaching. They're trying to stay out of sight between the buildings, but they're heading straight for us."

"Soldiers?"

"Negative. They look like those civilians we left behind."

"Civilians! How the hell did they find us?"

Grace came up to him. "Abe, it was me. I told them where to come. They had to go somewhere. These people need shelter, somewhere they can stay out of sight for a short time."

He remembered her stopping the truck and getting out to speak with the group. He was annoyed. They could have brought a battalion of enemy troops down on their heads.

"That was a mistake. We have enough to deal with as it is, without adding a heap of unwanted civilians to the mix. Christ, I'm not the fucking Pied Piper!"

"They had nowhere else to go," she protested. Her voice was calm, soothing, and mighty persuasive, "The nuns will care for them, give them hot food, and treat the sick and the elderly. The only alternative was for them to die out in the snow."

He felt guilty about leaving them, although there'd been no choice; guilty about swearing at her, and guilty because he felt unable to deal with the situation. Someone tapped on the door, and a nun hurried to open it.

It could have been some psychotic Ministry of State Security officer outside, backed up by a company of armed troops. Yet he said nothing to them.

How do you deal with a nun who
’
s determined to go her own way?

The first of the Tibetans streamed inside, and then the space was full of frightened people, who seemed to chatter and wail at the same time. He looked across at Guy.

"We better take this upstairs. I can't hear myself think. Admiral, you coming with us?"

Brooks nodded, and they climbed the staircase. Rovere was still on sentry at the front window, and he knew Virgil Kane had taken over at the rear, so they couldn't be taken by surprise.

They faced each other in one of the empty offices.

"We need to make a plan," he told them, "So far, we're looking at waiting until it gets dark and then heading south to meet up with the trucks Garrick is supposed to send in through Nepal. Problem number one, he's screwed us every step of the way. So how do we know those trucks will ever arrive? Problem number two, we're running low on ammo." He looked at Guy, "Do we have a count yet?"