Casing the Colors © Week 21

Casing the Colors © Week 21 • • • CHAPTER 38 • • As the military jets raced out over the Atlantic cloud banks, Paul listened on his headset while Kate tried to make sense of the disasters in Atlanta and Pittsburgh and to figure out what else could have been done. "People I knew must be dead," she said. Her imagination was counting familiar places destroyed and friends killed in the fight against Raqqa, but she didn't want to feel the chaotic scenes created in her mind. "Hell," Paul said, "who knows what we could have done to save them. Maybe the chemicals would have been released anyway, even if we'd attacked." "Who's meeting us in Rome?" she asked, changing the subject. "There's a Marine detachment waiting at the airport, plus two planes and four helicopters. That's more than enough to get us in and out. The real problem will be getting the Pope to come with us to Germany. You've met President DiCarlo. Do you think there's a chance he'll help us?" "A lot will depend on Bill Stevens' phone call to DiCarlo. Let's hope Bill can persuade him to speak with the Pope. How much time will we have?" "Two hours, no more. We'll use one helicopter and go straight to DiCarlo. On the way back to the airport, we'll take the Pope, whatever it requires, and explain it to him later, when he's safe in Germany." "I hope the US helicopter markings don't give us any trouble," Kate said, "but we would have had to ask permission from DiCarlo's office to use Italian copters." "Don't worry about it," Paul said. "One helicopter will stay behind to seal off Vatican security and give us time to get away before anyone knows we've been there." At just after 8 a.m. they landed in Rome. They took two Marines with them in one helicopter and headed for President DiCarlo. The rest of the Marine detachment stayed behind at the airport, ready for the signal to rendezvous at the Vatican. The Italian president was at a villa near Rome, working with his personal advisors on a plan to deal with the Africans in Sicily. The American helicopter circled over Rome and landed on the lawn of the villa. Bill Stevens had made his phone call and, smooth and reassuring as ever, he had convinced President DiCarlo that he was urgently needed at a meeting of European leaders in Germany. "I understand the reason for such an unusual arrival," President DiCarlo said, greeting the American Admiral and Assistant Secretary of State as he explained their mission to his staff standing behind him in startled silence. "May I introduce my wife, Serena, who will travel with me," he announced. The group was quickly airborne again, heading to the Vatican. "Mr. President," Kate Gordon said, "we need to take the Pope with us as well. It would be much easier if you would explain the emergency to him." "The Pope, but that is impossible," he answered incredulously. "He will never agree to come. The Holy Father keeps himself separate from Italian political matters. What could possibly make you think he would come to our meeting?" "But, if you talked to him, perhaps he would understand that it is a matter of the gravest importance," she replied. "He will not come, believe me," the Italian president answered firmly. "President DiCarlo, if the Pope stays in Italy, it will make the world even more unstable. He must come with us," Kate argued. "Miss Gordon, what do you want me to do? The Italian government and the Vatican don't meddle in each other's decisions. I have no special influence with the Pope. It may be just the reverse. My advice might be counter-productive." Their helicopter was approaching the Vatican. The other helicopters fell into formation above and behind them. Kate appealed again to the man whose country was about to be sacrificed. Angelo DiCarlo was 64, a politician who had survived thirty years in the unpredictable Italian republic formed from the ashes of Mussolini's defeat. DiCarlo had amassed a fortune in real estate and banking, but he escaped the clutches of the Milan judges during the 1990s clean hands investigations and was now able to devote all his time to his passion, politics. His wife, Serena, was a chic fifty-year-old dressed in Versace and dripping gold jewelry. With their money and sophisticated tastes, Paul Taylor thought, they were an unlikely couple to be asked to save the Pope. "President DiCarlo, I need your help," Kate pressed. "The world needs your help. We are going to take the Pope to Germany, even if we have to use force. It would be much better if you could persuade him." "Americans," the Italian president muttered. Admiral Taylor tried his hand. "Mr. President, I am going into the Pope's apartment with a detail of US Marines. We will bring him out, without casualties, I hope. But, we will take him to Germany. Believe me." "Admiral Taylor, I hope you succeed if it is so important. But, I do not think I can help you, and certainly not with force." Serena DiCarlo, who had been sitting at her husband's side listening to the argument, leaned over and put her arm through his. She pulled him slightly toward her and touched his jacket lapel with her other hand. "Caro, perhaps we can do something. At least the household guard would recognize us. We could try to talk to the Holy Father." The president looked from his wife to Admiral Taylor. "Can you guarantee my wife's safety?" he asked. Admiral Taylor took the question as agreement. "Yes, Sir, and yours as well. Your wife will wait in the helicopter with Miss Gordon. We will have only a few minutes before we lose our advantage. We will land behind St. Peter's near the Pope's apartments. I'll be with you all the way." Paul Taylor turned to Kate. "Stay here and keep a line open to Germany command. You know what to do if anything goes wrong. The Marine guard will be with you. If we're not back in fifteen minutes, lift off and head for the airport." Paul was on the radio giving the other helicopters instructions as they circled around over the great dome of St. Peter's and landed in the gardens behind the basilica. One of the other helicopters settled on the ground first and Marines jumped out and headed for the building. They were in place before Admiral Taylor and President DiCarlo caught up to them. The other two copters circled above the gardens, swinging out away from St. Peter's Square in a languid pattern to avoid attracting too much attention. Serena DiCarlo and Kate Gordon stood near the open door of the helicopter, looking toward the building outlined in the morning light. The wait seemed like hours. Kate looked at her watch. Finally, two figures emerged onto the path leading from the apartment to the gardens. Paul Taylor was in the lead with President DiCarlo behind him. Behind them, two Marines were on either side of the Pope, holding his arms. It was only when they got nearer that she realized the Marines were carrying the unconscious Pope, holding him upright. The helicopter doors slammed shut as soon as the last Marine was on board. The Marines on the ground deployed around the building to prevent an alert. Their helicopter sat like a giant grasshopper in the quiet garden. The helicopter carrying the Pope circled up and over the great dome, followed by the two that had been circling in readiness. People below went about their business, unaware of the bizarre event taking place above them. As the helicopters turned toward the airport, Kate said, "Paul, tell the pilots to go to Corsica, not Rome. Tell them we need radio silence for half an hour." "Corsica? Why in God's name do you want to go to Corsica?" he asked. "Please don't ask questions. I'll explain later. Just get us to Corsica, without telling the Rome Airport or our people on the ground there." Paul Taylor studied her, trying to decide if she had lost her mind or was acting on orders he wasn't aware of. Then, unwilling to interfere with the decision of General Gordon's daughter, he gave instructions to the pilot and the helicopter swung around and away from the city, out over the Mediterranean. The helicopter passengers buzzed with the excitement of their success. Paul explained that he and President DiCarlo had tried to convince the Pope to come with them. He refused flatly. Paul signaled the Marines standing behind the Pope. They stepped up behind him, one of them tapping the Holy Father's neck, piercing it with a tiny needle. The sedative was powerful and quick. The Marines took his arms and simulated walking with him. The whole thing took less than a minute. The household guard had indeed been calmed by the presence of the President of Italy and didn't realize what was happening until the Marines started out with the Pope. When they tried to alert the Vatican police and the rest of the household guard, they were stopped by the Marines stationed at the doors. The others in the Marine detail continued to hold the Vatican police force incommunicado for a half-hour to give the others time to escape Italian airspace. As the helicopter sped out over the Mediterranean, they heard on their radio that a bomb had exploded at Rome airport, injuring two mechanics, killing another and destroying one helicopter. "Paul, that's the clincher," Kate said. "I'm certain who the source is. I set up the opportunity to sabotage us and the Pope." Paul Taylor immediately radioed Rome airport to tell the escort planes to meet them in Marseilles. They touched down in Corsica, refueled and flew on to the rendezvous. The Pope was still unconscious. President DiCarlo continued to believe they were going to a European summit meeting. In Marseilles, a stretcher took the Pope from the helicopter to a US military plane so he wouldn't be recognized. He was asleep when the group landed at Ramstein. President and Mrs. DiCarlo were quartered in a senior VIP suite. The Pope was hurried to an isolated unit in the air base hospital, where a medical team was waiting. Paul stayed with the Pope. Kate tried to explain to President DiCarlo what was going on. "We need to discuss today's schedule. It concerns you and Italy directly," she said, outlining the Alliance's decision to attack southern Italy. "You mean you kidnapped me and used me to kidnap the Pope so you could save us while you destroy Italy?" he asked, his voice shaking with anger. "We couldn't leave you or the Pope in Italy to be killed or taken hostage," she responded. "Wasn't that my decision?" he demanded, pivoting and starting toward her. "I am holding you and the United States government responsible for whatever happens," he said, spitting the words into her face. "Sir," she answered as calmly as possible, "there may not be a United States government if we don't stop the invasion of Europe and America. Don't you understand?" "But, Italy," he said, "beautiful Italy. How could you sacrifice us?" "Because we can seal off your northern border but we cannot patrol all your coastline. There's too much of it. You can stay here or go to England or the United States. We will help you keep your government intact from wherever you are. We will offer the same assistance to the Pope." While DiCarlo was walking back and forth, arguing with himself in Italian, Paul came into the room, looking very agitated. "Is something wrong with the Pope?" Kate asked. "No. I've been on the phone with General Bennett. Miguel has started the border attack. Somehow, he anticipated our next Mexican assault. He's using chemical agents again. Almost five thousand US troops are dead or incapacitated. The Rio Grande defenses have been seriously compromised in several places. And to make matters worse, Texans are on a rampage, shooting anything that looks Mexican. They're getting in the way of our air attack. Scott thinks we've probably already caught some of them in our strafing sorties." "What are you and I supposed to do?" Kate asked. "The air attack on Italy will begin within the next hour. I've got orders to get you and President DiCarlo and the Pope out of Germany." "I am not going to the United States," DiCarlo said, "if that is your plan. I will not support what you are doing by appearing there with you." Serena DiCarlo, anticipating Paul's next suggestion, said, "I will stay with my husband." Paul and Kate, anxious to deal with more important things, headed to base headquarters to coordinate schedules, leaving the Italian president and his wife to do their worrying alone. "We need to talk to my father," Kate said. Paul got a secure line through to General Gordon at his Pentagon office. "Dad, the helicopter bombing at Rome airport was ordered through George Morrison. Alexei and President LeNoir gave me the plan and I fed the information to George before I left the White House. He was the only one who knew about the Pope, except for the people in the cabinet room, Alexei and Jacques LeNoir. Find out who George is talking to." "I'll get on it, Kate," General Gordon answered. "We'll neutralize George Morrison, but right now, I want you both to get out of Germany." "Leave George in place," Kate responded. "Let's watch him for awhile. Just make sure he doesn't get any more vital information until we have what we need to get the whole network, whoever they are." "Right. But, if George is the source, he was responsible for Jack Wilson's assassination. Tell Alexei and President LeNoir to move smartly. Where will you be?" "I'm going to Paris. Alexei wants me to work with Jacques LeNoir again, about using the Arabs to eliminate Raqqa. That's why we want George to be left in place for a little longer. President LeNoir believes we can get many Arab leaders to cooperate if we keep the heat turned up. And, Dad, Scott has ordered Admiral Taylor back to Washington, but I'd like him to stay here in Europe with me and take the Pope to England, if you'll issue the order." "Of course." I'm on board," Paul said. After the phone call, Paul and Kate prepared to go their separate ways after what had been long, crucial hours. He held her by the shoulders and kissed her forehead. "That's for luck. You may need it without the Navy around. Be safe." She watched as he walked away toward the hospital, his short, stocky frame too heavy, but his back and shoulders ramrod straight. Back in headquarters, she asked for a private office and a secure line to the United States. She dug Chelenko's phone number out of her purse. The voice at the other end didn't ask who she was but simply said, "Please wait." "I know who the source is and I need to talk to President Katerinov," she said, when she heard Chelenko's familiar voice. "Tell me what you want us to do," he replied. "You don't need to talk to the president. You can trust me." "I want him to know what we're doing and where I'll be. I want to speak with him personally," she demanded. Chelenko laughed. "You can't really believe that the president doesn't know where you are? Stay at the phone. He will call you," he offered, silently wishing things could just occasionally be simple. Fifteen minutes later, Alexei was listening to her account of the conversation with General Gordon and his agreement to proceed. "I'll arrange everything," Alexei said. "But, promise to follow every instruction exactly. Go to the American Embassy in Paris and wait for Jacques LeNoir to contact you. And, Darling," he added with just a trace of sarcasm, "you really can trust Chelenko."