Джон Болл - The First Team

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Hewlitt, you had one good look at Colonel Rostovitch, which is more than I can say myself. What do you think of him?” “Are you asking me, sir, if I think that he will carry out his threats?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Then I think that he will. He’s as mad as Hitler.”

“And as dangerous?”

“Yes.”

“And anti-Semitic?”

“Violently so, I understand.”

“How about Mr. Zalinsky?”

“I am a little more confident of my appraisal of him, sir, since I know him quite well. He is tough, extremely so in fact, but he is also a human being. And he has a first-class brain.”

“You recall how he shot Major Landers.”

“I’m not likely to forget it, sir; I was present when it happened. I would have killed him at the time with my bare hands if I had had the opportunity. Later I learned that Rostovitch wanted to get hold of Bob, and Zalinsky at least spared him that.”

“How much authority do you think Zalinsky has right now?” Hewlitt took his time before he attempted to answer that one. “I can’t honestly say, sir, but I can offer one thought. I personally don’t trust him for a moment, but I believe that he will see reason a lot faster than Rostovitch. And, despite his illness, don’t count him out.”

“In your opinion,” Ed Higbee asked, “do you think that he can handle Rostovitch?”

“That’s a very tall order, sir, but I would guess that in a showdown he could give him one hell of a fight. If he couldn’t stop him, he could at least slow him up considerably.”

“That may be the key,” the admiral said. “We’ll look into that. Thank you very much for joining us.”

Hewlitt took his dismissal with good grace. As he left the room he wondered how many other Americans had stood before this same board. Not very many, he judged, and he had seen their faces. He knew Pappas by name and the secret that Admiral Hay-market was alive and the active commander. That, he decided, was more than enough fpr one day.

It was an hour later when Major Pappas came to see him once more. “Mr. Hewlitt,” the major said. “We may take a very long chance on you; if we do, you may have to take an equally long one on us.”

“Can you clarify that?”

“I intend to. As of this moment you know more than we dare to let the enemy find out. Principally, you know the location of this facility, something that we must keep secret at all costs. We trust you, you must know that by now; but if you were to be captured, you could be made to talk. You understand how I mean that.”

“Entirely,” Hewlitt responded. “I’ve been thinking along the same lines myself. If I were to return to the Washington area, I would represent a considerable risk.”

Pappas sat down on the arm of a chair. “I’m glad that you see it so clearly. Since you do, here is the proposition. We propose to position you back close to the Washington area. If things develop so that we feel we need you to talk to Zalinsky, we will pick you up and smuggle you into the hospital where he is. After you have talked to him we will do everything humanly possible to get you out again. We expect to be successful in that, but we can’t guarantee it.”

Hewlitt saw the rest and understood. “If you can’t, you won’t permit me to be captured, is that it?”

Pappas nodded. “That’s it.”

Hewlitt thought. “Actually it would probably be the better way.” “That’s how we saw it too. Rostovitch would never let you get away from him alive, and you might have a rough time of it along the way.”

“How about your people?”

“For the most part they don’t know certain of the vital facts that you do now.”

“It would be quick, I take it.”

“Instantaneous, and only as an absolute last resort.”

Hewlitt considered the matter one more time. “It seems fair enough to me,” he said.

Pappas got back onto his feet. “Then we’ll ship you out pretty fast, but you’ll have time for a good meal first if you don’t linger over it. Personally I think you’ve earned it.”

“Thank you, major. I’ll try not to let all of you down.”

“You won’t do that. Come on, Walt is going to join us for dinner. You’ll find him quite an interesting person.”

The collecting of hostages began very early the following morning. As the intelligence reports of what was going on began to come in in increasing numbers, it became apparent that it was not an impromptu operation; people were not simply picked up off the streets or taken from their homes. A master list had been prepared and it was being put to use.

Among those taken as hostages were a certain Reverend Mr. Jones, his wife, Doris, and their son, Greg; their ministrations to Jews departing the country had been duly noted and their names had been entered as among those most suitable to be shot.

In the Oval Office of the White House Colonel Rostovitch watched the reports that were flowing across his desk and was satisfied. He had before him a list of the men who would be the executioners; each name that appeared was fully qualified for the task. He knew all of them either personally or by reputation; deliberately he deferred giving himself the pleasure of making the final choices from the list. He did not want to have too many of them; it would be better if the show could be prolonged on the nation’s television screens so that the impact would be cumulative. In simple numbers one thousand persons was a statistic; seeing that many die, six or seven at a time, would serve to impress on every viewer the absolute authority and uncompromising ruthlessness of the program. For one thing was totally clear in Gregor Rostovitch’s mind; that the side that was the harder and more unyielding always won. It had been that way when the French had been defeated, after eight years, in Indo-China. They had defeated themselves because their enemy would not yield. The Communist forces inspired by Ho Chi Minh had been inflexible, had followed the doctrine of talk, talk, fight, fight, and had eventually won the day. Every single one of the one thousand would die, publicly, and the executions would not stop unless the surrender message was received from Thomas Jefferson. And there would be an additional thousand the next day, and one thousand more the next.…

When he received word that a deeply distraught father had offered to die in place of his son, he brushed it aside. He issued a terse order that there would be no substitutes; in addition if any guard permitted a detainee to commit suicide, he would take that person’s place.

The message to him from Admiral Haymarket and the First Team reached him shortly after nine-thirty.

Rostovitch, White House, Washington, D.C.

Final warning. If all hostages not released before 5 p.m.this evening, Magsaysay will fire Poseidon multiple-warhead nuclear missile at your homeland. Estimate casualties minimum three million. Firing time nineteen hundred. If no response from you, second round will follow precisely at twenty-one hundred. If return fire received, Magsaysay will release greatest concentrated firepower in world history on irrevocable orders to destroy your nation. Your other enemies will finish up the job if anything remains. If this cannot be avoided, so be it.

Admiral Haymarket sat at the head of the table, where he had been sitting for the past several hours, getting up only to relieve himself and then returning at once. The First Team sat with him in continuous consultation, digesting the reports that came in, watching every move with total and intense concentration. Major Pappas kept his charts up to date before him and supplied data as they were required. When the message had gone off to the colonel he duly logged it and then posed a question to which he already had the answer. He double-checked everything as a matter of routine.