Джон Болл - The First Team

He was passed a message, read it, and at once called for attention. “They’re putting Hewlitt in,” he reported. “Mark is going in too; I don’t agree with that, but I can see arguments both ways.” Colonel Prichard, who headed up all of the internal operational projects, looked concerned. “We can’t afford to blow him,” he warned.

“Totally agreed,” the admiral answered, “but Mark knows what he’s doing; if he went in, he had a reason.”

Walter Wagner was thoughtful for a moment. “If they try to capture both of them, we could be in trouble,” he pointed out.

General Gifford shook his head. “They won’t take Mark. He is equipped to prevent that.”

“And they won’t be able to stop him?”

“No.”

That was that and Wagner subsided. The admiral wanted to ask Ted Pappas once more what he thought of Hewlitt and his chances of success, but he held himself in check because he had already put that question three times and had gotten a precise, careful, and exactly similar answer each time.

Another message came in; Admiral Haymarket read it and swallowed hard. “Who is Asher?” he asked.

“A Washington ex-Marine cab driver; his name is Frank Jordan,” Colonel Prichard answered.

“How good is he?”

“A pretty good man, I’d say. Not the lightning brain type, but far from stupid. I’ve never met him, but the reports on him are very good. Loyalty unquestioned. Why?”

The admiral read the message one more time. “He’s been captured,” he announced. “He was taken directly to the White House.” “That means Rostovitch,” Wagner said. “Write him off and pray for his soul.”

“Can we help him?” Prichard asked. “We still have people in there. Several of them are top shots.”

“How much does he know?” the admiral asked quickly.

“Not too much. He controlled Hewlitt for a while and helped to set up the safe house. Both of those are blown. He knows Mark, but only as Percival.”

The admiral made a hard decision. “We can’t help him,” he said. “It would cost at least a man to do it and we’d be right back where we started. God bless him.”

General Gifford looked up. “I’d like the room cleared,” he said. Immediately, and with complete understanding, all those present who were not actually members of the First Team abandoned their usual posts; when the door had been closed behind the last man through, the general waited a few seconds and then spoke briefly. “You told me privately that Barlov, the director of White House security, was with us. To what degree is that true?”

The admiral looked around the table. “This is not to be breathed to anyone under any conditions,” he said, then he waited to let that sink in. The men he was facing were of very high intelligence and unquestioned dedication, but even with that he hesitated. Then he told them. “He is a British agent, one of the most valuable that they have.”

“Then we have to assume that he can’t blow his cover, no matter what the opportunity to save our man,” General Gifford said.

The admiral nodded. “There was a classic sea engagement once during which the British Navy sank a German heavy cruiser. When the admiral in command heard, he was badly shaken. The executive officer on board the German ship had been a British agent much more valuable than the ship and its crew.”

Stanley Cumberland said, “I remember reading about that.”

The admiral touched a signal which indicated that the room was once more open to those who had legitimate business inside. Then, for the next half hour, he was as restless as any of his immediate associates had ever seen him. He paced the floor, unwittingly frustrated because it was not a deck, and kept his brain at constant flank speed. If there was an angle anywhere, anything whatever that he could do, he would find it. Two or three times he stopped to say something, then at the last moment thought better of it and went back to his pacing.

“Sir.”

The man who handed him the message looked him in the eye first, which indicated that it was something very important. Hay-market took it, said the shortest silent prayer of his life, and then read what it contained.

He looked up and about the room, then read again. The words on the paper could not be mistaken, and he knew better than to ask if the transmission had been accurate. There was no mistake in the signal.

All this took him no more than a few seconds; when he looked up a second time he saw that the room was still and that all movement had stopped. They were waiting.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “I’ll give this to you just as I have it here. It’s from a source inside the White House which is five by five in every way.” That meant, as his hearers knew, that the information was considered totally accurate and the source unimpeachable. “Asher interviewed by Rostovitch. Conflict followed, Rostovitch repeat Rostovitch killed. Asher badly beaten, but alive in custody.”

There was a stunned silence. Then Ed Higbee said, “My God!”

The admiral stood still, his hands at his sides, the signal still held unfeelingly in his fingers.

“Is it true?” Major Pappas asked, making sure.

Slowly the admiral nodded. “It must be; there is a veracity code that’s watertight. We’ll check, but I believe it right now.”

Stanley Cumberland spoke in measured words. “Assuming that the message is accurate, then it is up to Hewlitt. If he knows this, or finds out in time, and if he is good enough to take advantage of it, then, sir, I’d say that things look better.”

Again the room was quiet, then the precise voice of Major Pappas was heard once more. “Sir, I recommend that you advise Magsaysay at once. Then I would advise passing the word to all field units as rapidly as possible. Some of them might decide to do as Philadelphia suggested, and without consulting us for permission first.”

“So ordered,” the admiral said. Very calmly he returned to his chair at the head of the table and sat down. “I agree with Stan,” he said. “Things do look a little better now.”

The Reverend Mr. Jones sat quietly, his arm around his son. He had been talking to his wife for some time, speaking of the mercy of God and of the certainty of the salvation of Christ. When he had reenforced his faith and pressed her hands in loving understanding, he had turned to enjoy, in the fleeting time that remained, the company of his son. He had already ministered, as much as he was able, to the others insofar as his own human endurance had permitted. Many of the hostages were bitter, many wanted to be left strictly alone, some had the attitude “They can’t do this to us!” and were waiting for some responsible part of the American military to come and rescue them by force. The Reverend Mr. Jones knew better than to disillusion those people; it was their rationalization and made it perhaps much easier for them to spend the final fearful hours.

He looked at Greg and saw with great pride that his boy was trying to smile back at him. In this period of intense soul-searching he knew that Greg was an average American boy, but that still made him a pretty fine future citizen. There was no doubt whatever in his mind that he would be with his wife and son in Heaven, but what they would have to go through first was an image that he tried to thrust out of his mind.

Greg was not equal to it and he knew that he had to help his son. “Greg, I want to talk to you,” he said. “You know that this sort of thing has happened before many times in the world’s history.”

Greg nodded that he understood, and swallowed very hard.

“Sometimes,” his father continued, “when things look blackest it is time to count blessings. You may not think that there are very many right now, and I’m forced to agree with you, but there are some things to think about nonetheless. Some very important things. I don’t like to bring this up, but at one time, and not too long ago as history goes, people who were held like us faced fearful things that we have escaped completely. Remember this, Greg, there are no lions. There are no torture chambers and all of the unspeakable horrors that they contained. There are no Roman circuses to see men and women die in a hundred different terrible ways. There is no crucifixion that Christ endured — and so many others after Him for His sake.”