Текст книги "Treasure"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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"Reason enough why we have to approach this thing as if it was a highly secret intelligence operation," said Wismer. "We must keep the discovery classified until all documents are thoroughly examined and their data analyzed."

"That could take twenty or even a hundred years, depending on the number and condition of the scrolls after underground storage for sixteen hundred years," Sandecker protested.

"If that's what it takes. . . ." The President shrugged.

The steward brought the Admiral's fruit bowl and glass of milk, but Sandecker had lost his appetite.

"In other words, you need time to add up the value of the windfall,"

Sandecker said acidly. "Then negotiate political bargains for the ancient charts showing the locations of lost mineral and oil deposits around the Mediterranean. If Alexander hasn't turned to dust, his bones will be traded to the Greek government toward renewed leases for our naval bases. All this before the American people find out you've given away the store."

"We cannot afford to go public," Schiller explained patiently. "Not until we're prepared to move. You fail to realize the tremendous foreign policy advantages you've laid in the government's lap. We can't simply throw them away in the name of public curiosity about historic objects."

"I'm not naive, gentlemen," said Sandecker. "But I do confess to being a sentimental old patriot who believes the people deserve better from their government than they receive. The treasures from the Library of Alexandria do not belong to a few politicians to barter away. They belong to all America by right of possession."

Sandecker didn't wait for them to answer. He took a quick swallow of milk, then retrieved a newspaper out of his briefcase and casually tossed it on the center of the table.

"Because everyone is so wrapped up with the big picture, your aides missed a small item from Reuters wire service that was carried in most of the newspapers around the world. Here's a copy of a St. Louis paper I picked up at the car-rental agency. I circled the piece on page three."

Wismer picked up the folded paper, opened it and turned to the page indicated by Sandecker. He read the heading aloud, and then began the text.

"Romans land in Texas?

"According to top-level administration sources in Washington, the search for a vast underground depository of ancient relics from the famed Library of Alexandria, Egypt, has ended a few hundred meters north of the Rio Grande River in Roma, Texas. Artifacts found over the years by a Mr. Samuel Trinity have been acknowledged as authentic by archaeologists.

"The search began with the discovery of a Roman merchant ship, dated from the fourth century A.D., in the ice of Greenland '

Wismer stopped, his face reddening with anger. "A leak! A goddamned leak!"

"But how . . . who?" wondered Nichols in shock.

"Top-level administration sources," Sandecker repeated. "That can only mean the White House." He looked at the President, then at Nichols.

"Probably a disgruntled aide one of your supervisors either passed over for promotion or sacked."

Schiller looked glumly at the President. "A thousand people will be swarming over the place. I suggest you order out a military force to secure the area."

"Julius is right, Mr. President," said Nichols. "Treasure hunters will dig those hills to pieces if they're not stopped."

The President nodded. "Alright, Dale. Open a Wx to General Metcalf of the Joint Chiefs."

Nichols quickly left the table and entered the study, which was manned by Secret Service and White House communications technicians.

"I strongly advise we clamp a lid on the entire operation said Wismer tensely. "We should also spread a story that the discovery is a hoax."

"Not a good idea, Mr. President," counseled Schiller wisely. "Your predecessors found out the hard way; it doesn't pay to lie to the American people. The news media would smell a coverup and chew you to bits."

"I'll side with Julius," said Sandecker. "Close off the area, but go through with the excavation, hiding nothing and keeping the public informed. Believe me, Mr. President, your administration will be far better off putting the Library artifacts out in the open as they're recovered."

The President turned and looked at Wismer. "Sorry, Harold. Perhaps it's all for the best."

"Let us hope so," said Wismer, solemnly staring at the newspaper story.

"I don't want to think about what might happen if that lunatic Topiltzin decides to make an issue of it."

Sam Trinity stood and watched Pitt connect a pair of electrical leads from two metal boxes that sat on the open tailgate of his Jeep. One had a small viewing monitor and the other a wide slot with paper unreeling from it like a flattened tongue.

"A wild-looking rig," observed Trinity. "What do you call it?"

"The fancy name is electromagnetic reflection profiling system for subsurface exploration," Pitt replied as he jacked in the leads to a strange double-humped contraption with four wheels and a push bar. "In plain speech, it's a ground-probing radar unit, the Georadar One, manufactured by the Oyo Corporation."

"I didn't know radar could go through dirt and rock."

"It can provide a good profile down to ten meters, and deep as twenty under ideal conditions."

"How's it work?"

"As the portable probe moves across the land a transmitter sends an electromagnetic pulse into the ground. The reflecting signals are picked up by a receiver and then relayed to the color processor and graphic recorder here in the Jeep. That's pretty much the gist of it."

"Sure you don't want me to tow the mitter buggy?"

"I have better control if I push it by hand."

"What are we looking for?"

"A cavity."

"You mean cavern."

Pitt grinned and shrugged. "Same thing."

Trinity gazed across the ridge of hills they were standing on toward the summit of Gongora Hill, four hundred meters away. "Why are we looking on the backside of the wrong hill?"

"I want to run some tests on the unit before we tackle the prime site,"

Pitt replied vaguely. "Also, there's the slight possibility Venator buried more artifacts someplace else." He paused and waved to Lily, who was peering through a surveyor's transit a short distance away. "We're ready," he shouted.

She waved back and approached, carrying a board with sheet of graph paper tacked to it. "Here's your search grid,! she said, pointing a pencil at the markings on the paper. "The boundary stakes are set in place. I'll walk behind the Jeep and monitor the transmissions. Every twenty meters or so I'll plant a small flag marker so we can keep our lanes straight."

Pitt nodded at her. "Ready, Sam?"

Sam moved behind the steering wheel and started the Jeep's engine. "Say the word."

Pitt turned on the machine and made a few adjustments. Then he took the handle of the probe wagon in his hands and pointed ahead.

Sam dropped the Jeep into drive and crawled forward while Pitt followed, pushing the transmitter-receiver unit five meters from the rear.

A light cloud overcast dulled the sun to a dim yellow ball. 'Thankfully, the day was mild and comfortable. Back and forth, they traveled, dodging rocks and bushes. The morning wore into afternoon as the monotony associated with search and surveys stretched out of all proportion.

They ignored lunch, stopping only at Lily's command as she studied the recordings and made notations.

"A good reading?" Pitt asked, taking a breather, sitting on the back of the tailgate.

"We're on the edge of something that looks interesting," answered Lily, engrossed in the recordings. "Maybe nothing, though. I'll know better after we cover the next two lanes."

Trinity graciously passed around bottles of Mexican Bohemia beer from an ice chest in the Jeep. It was during these short breaks that Pitt noticed a growing number of cars parked at the bottom of Gongord Hill.

people were fanning out over the slope with metal detectors.

Sam noticed too. "A lot of good my 'No Trespassing' signs did," he grumbled. "You'd think they was advertising free

"Where are they coming from?" asked Lily. "How did they find out about the project so soon?"

Trinity peered over the rims of his sunglasses. "Mostly local folks.

Somebody must have blabbed. By this time tomorrow they'll be rolling in from every state in the Union."

The telephone in the Jeep buzzed, and Trinity answered. Then he passed the receiver out the window to Pitt.

"for you. Admiral Sandecker."

Pi" took the call. "Yes, Admiral."

"We've been backstabbed; we're no longer on the excavation," Sandecker informed him. "The President's advisers have talked him into turningng the operation over to the Pentagon.

"It was to be expected, but I'd have preferred the Park Service. They're better equipped for an archaeological dig."

"The White House wants to break into the storage chamber and remove the scrolls for study as quickly as possible. They fear a nasty confrontation with countries that might demand to share in the discovery."

Pitt struck his fist against the roof of the Jeep. "Damnit! They can't go down there and throw everything into trucks as though it was secondhand merchandise. The scrolls could crumble to dust if not handled properly."

"The President has accepted responsibility for the gamble."

"The past has no priority over politics, is that it?"

Not the only problem," said Sandecker tersely. "Some aide inside the White House leaked everything to a foreign wire service. Word is spreading like the plague."

"Crowds are already converging on the site."

"They're not wasting any time."

"How does the government get around the fact the property belongs to Sam?"

"Let's just say Sam is going to get an offer he can't refuse," Sandecker replied angrily. "The President and his cronies have a grand scheme to make a political bonanza out of the information contained in the Library scrolls."

"My father among them?" asked Pitt.

"I'm afraid so."

"Who exactly is taking over?"

"A company of Army engineers from Fort Hood. They and their equipment are being transported by truck. A security force should be dropping in on you any time by helicopter to seal off the perimeters."

Pitt thought a moment, then: "Could you use your clout to arrange for us to hang around?"

"Give me a cover story."

"Except for Hiram Yaeger, Lily and I know more about the search than anyone who will be excavating. Claim we're vital to the project as consultants. Use Lily's academic credentials as a backup. Say we're conducting an archaeological survey for surface artifacts. Say anything, Admiral, but con the White House into allowing us to remain on the site."

"I'll see what I can do," Sandecker said, warming to the idea, although he didn't have the vaguest idea of what Pitt was shooting for. "Harold Wismer should be the only barrier. If the Senator throws his support our way I think we can handle it."

"Let me know if my dad drags his feet. I'll get on him."

"I'll be in touch."

Pitt handed the receiver back to Trinity and turned to Lily. "We're off the case," he informed them. "The Army is taking over the excavation.

They're going to haul the artifacts away as fast as they can throw them in the back of a truck."

Lily's eyes widened in shock. "The scrolls will be destroyed," she gasped. "After sixteen hundred years in an underground vault the parchment and papyrus manuscripts must be treated delicately. They could disintegrate from a sudden temperature change or the slightest touch."

"You heard me give the Admiral the same appraisal," Pitt said helplessly.

Trinity looked washed out. "Waal," he drawled, shall we call it a day?"

Pitt looked at the stakes that marked the outer limit of the search grid. "Not yet," he said slowly, deliberately. "Let's finish the job.

The show is never over till it's over."

The Mercedes stretch limousine stopped at the yacht club dock in the harbor of Alexandria. The chauffeur opened the door and Robert Capesteffe climbed from the back seat. Wearing a tailored white linen suit with a powder-blue shirt and matching tie, he no longer looked like Topiltzin.

He was guided down a stone stairway to a waiting launch. He sat back in the soft cushions and enjoyed the ride across the harbor and through the enwmce where one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, the famed lighthouse known as the Pharos of Alexandria, once stood, a towering 135

meters high. Only a few stones built into an Arab fort were all that remained of its ruins.

The launch headed for a large yacht that was moored around the harbor and off the long wide beach. Capesteffe had walked her decks on previous occasions. He knew her length to be forty-five meters. She was Dutch-built, with sleek, aircraftstyle lines. She had transoceanic range and a cruising speed of thirty knots.

The pilot eased back on the throttle and slipped the launch into reverse at it approached the boarding steps. Capesterre was met on deck by a man dressed in an open silk shirt, shorts and sandals. They embraced.

ifre as ii re

... A – lcotne, bt(,,there," saiki Paul Capesterre. "It's been too long.

"You look healthy, Paul. I'd say you and Akhmad Yazid have gained about eight pounds."

"Twelve."

"Almost seems strange to see you out of uniform," said Robert.

Paul shrugged. "I get tired of Yazid's Arabic gear and that stupid turban." He stood back and smiled at his brother. "You're a fine one to talk. I don't see you in your Aztec god outfit."

"Topiltzin is temporarily on holiday." Robert paused and nodded at the deck. "You've borrowed Uncle Theodore's boat, I see."

I-He hardly has use for it any more since the family left the drug business." Paul Capesterre turned and led his brother into the dining salon. "Come along, I've had lunch set. Now that I've learned you finally developed a taste for champagne, I've dusted off a bottle of Uncle Theodore's finest vintage."

Robert took an offered glass. "I thought President Hasan placed you under house arrest."

"The only reason I bought the villa is because of a hidden escape tunnel that runs underground for a hundred meters and comes up in a mechanic's repair shop."

"Also owned by you."

"Of course."

Robert raised his glass. "Here's to Mother and Father's grand scheme."

Paul nodded. "Although at the moment, your end in Mexico looks more promising than mine in Egypt."

"You're not to blame for the Lady Flamborough fiasco. The family approved the plan. No one could foretell the cunning of the Americans."

That idiot Suleiman Aziz Ammar," said Paul harswy, "he blundered the operation away."

"any news of survivors?"

"Family agents report most were killed, including Ammar and your Captain Machado. Several were taken prisoner, but they know nothing of our involvement."

"Then we should consider ourselves lucky. With Machado and Ammar dead, no intelligence agency in the world can touch us. They were the only link."

"President Hasan didn't have any trouble putting two and two together or I wouldn't be under house arrest."

"Yes," agreed Robeil, "but Hasan can't act against you without solid evidence. If he tried, your followers would rise up and prevent any trial. The family's advice is to keep a low profile while consolidating your power base. At least for another year, to see how the wind blows."

"for now the wind blows at the backs of Hasan, Hala Kaniil and Abu Hamid," said Paul wrad"lly.

"Be patient. Soon your Islamic fundamentalist movement will sweep you into the Egyptian parliament."

Paul looked at Robert with a cagey expression in his eyes. "The discovery of the Alexandria Library treasures might speed things a bit."

"You've read the latest news reportst' asked Robert'

"Yes, the Americans claim they've found the storage chamber in Texas."

"Possession of the ancient geological charts could be to your advantage.

If they point the way to rich oil and mineral reserves, you can claim credit for turning Egypt's economy around. "

"I've considered that possibility," said Paul. "If I read the White House correctly, the President will use the artifacts and scrolls as bargaining chips. While Hasan begs and haggles for a paltry share of Egypt's heritage, I can go before the people and raise the issue as an outrage against our revered ancestors." Paul hesitated, his mind leapfrogging. Then he continued, his eyes narrowing. "With the right semantics I think I can twist Muslim law and the words of the Koran into a rallying cry that will crack Hasan's government."

Robert laughed. "try and keep a straight face when you speak. The Christians may have burned most of the scrolls in A.D. 39 1, but it was the Muslims in 646 who destroyed the Library forever."

A waiter began serving Scottish smoked salmon and an caviar. They ate for a few minutes in silence.

Then Paul said, "I hope you'realize the burden of seizing the artifacts falls on your shoulders."

Robert stared over the rim of his champagne glass. "You talking to me or Topiltzin?"

Paul laughed. "Topiltzin."

Robert set down the glass and slowly raised his hands in the air as if beseeching a fly on the ceiling. His eyes took on a hypnotic look and he began to speak in a haunting tone.

"We will rise up by the tens of thousands, by the hundreds of thousands.

We will cross the river as one and take what was buried on our land, land that was stolen from us by the Americans. Many will be sacrificed, but the gods demand we take what rightfully belongs to Mexico." Then he dropped his hands and grinned. "Needs a little polishing, of course."

"I believe you've borrowed my script," said Paul, applauding "What's the difference so long as we're family?" Robert took a final forkful of salmon. "Delicious. I could eat smoked salmon by the boatload." He washed it down with the champagne. "If I can seize the treasures and hold on to them, then what?"

I only want the maps. Whatever else can be smuggled out gole's to the family to keep or sell on the black market to wealthy collectors.

Agreed?"

Robert thought a moment, and then nodded. "Agreed."

The waiter brought a tray of glasses, a bottle of brandy and a box of cigars.

Paul slowly lit a panatella. He looked questioningly through the smoke at his brother. "How do you intend to grab the Library treasures?"

"I had planned to launch a massive, unarmed invasion of the American border states after I gained power. This strikes me as a good opportunity for a test run." Robert stared at his glass as he swirled his brandy. "Once I set the wheels of my organization in motion, the poor in the cities and the peasants of the country will be gathered up and transported north to Roma, Texas. I can assemble three, perhaps as many as four hundred thousand on our side of the Rio Grande in four days."

"What about American resistance?"

"Every soldier, border patrolman and sheriff in Texas will be helpless to stop the crush. I plan to put the women and children in the first wave across the bridge and river. Americans are a maudlin lot. They may have slaughtered villagers in Vietnam, but they won't massacre unarmed civilians on their own doorstep. I can also play on White House fears of a nasty international incident. The President won't dare issue orders to shoot. Static resistance will be inundated by a human tide that will sweep up through Roma and occupy the underground vault containing the Library treasures."

"And Topiltzin will lead them?"

"And I will lead them."

"How long do you think you can hold on to the vault?" asked Paul.

"Long enough for ancient-language translators to assess and remove any scrolls pertaining to long-lost mineral deposits."

"That could take weeks. You won't have the time. The Americans will build up their forces and push your people back into Mexico within a few days."

"Not if I threaten to burn the scrolls and destroy the art objects."

Robert patted his lips with a napkin. "My jet should be refueled by now. I'd better return to Mexico and set the operation in motion."

Respect for his brother's inventive reasoning showed in Paul's eyes.

"With their backs against the wall, the American government will have no option but to deal. I like that."

"Certainly the largest horde of people to invade the United States since the British in the Revolutionary War," said Robert. "I like that even better."

They began arriving in the thousands the first day, in the tens of thousands the next. from all over northern Mexico people inspired by the unpassioned mvings of Topiltzin traveled by car, overloaded bus and truck, or walked to the dusty town of Nfiguel Ale across the river from Roma. The asphalt roads from Monterrey, Tampico, and Mexico City were glutted with a continuous stream of vehicles.

President De Lorenzo tried to stop the human wave rolling toward the border He called out the Mexican armed forces to block the roads. The military might as well have tried to stop a raging flood. Outside of Guadalupe, a squad of soldiers about to be swept away by a crush of bodies fired into the crowd, killing fifty-four, most of them women and children.

De Lorenzo had unwittingly played into Tbpiltzin's hands. It was exactly the reaction Robert Capesterre had hoped for.

Riots broke out in Mexico City, and De Lorenzo he had to back off or face mushrooming unrest and the lighted match of a possible revolution.

He sent a message to the White House with his sincere regrets for failing to stem the tide, and then he called off the soldiers, many of whom deserted and joined the crusade.

Unrestrained, the throng swarmed toward the Rio Grande.

The Capesterre family's hired professional planners and Robert's Topiltzin followers raised a five-square-kilometer tent city and set up kitchens and organized food lines. Sanitation facilities were trucked in and assembled. Nothing was overlooked. Many of the poor who flooded the area had never lived nor eaten so well. Only the clouds of dust and exhaust smoke from diesel engines swirled beyond human control.

Hand-painted banners appeared along the Mexico bank of the river proclaiming, "The U.S. stole our land,"

"We want our ancestors' land returned,"

"The antiquities belong to Mexico." They chanted the slogans in English, Spanish and Nahuatl. Topiltzin walked mnong the masses, agitating them into a frenzy rarely seen outside Iran.

Television news teams had a field day taping the colorful demonstration.

Cameras, their cables meandering to two dozen mobile field units, stood tripod to tripod on top of Roma's bluff, lenses panning the opposite shore.

Unwary correspondents who wandered through the crowds did not know that the peasant families they interviewed had been carefully planted and rehearsed. In most cases the simple, impoverished-looking people were trained actors who spoke fluent English, but answered quesfions in a stumbling, broken accent. Their tearful appeals to five permanently in California, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas drew a wave of sob-sister support across the nation when the segments ran on the evening news and the morning talk shows.

The only ones who stood grim and unimpressed were the dedicated men of the U.S. Border Patrol. Until now, the threat of a massive incursion had only been a nightmare. Now, they were about to witness the realization of their worst fears.

Border patrolmen rarely had call to draw their firearms. They treated illegal immigrants humanely and with respect before shipping them back home. They took a dim view of the Army covering the U.S. side of the river like nests of camouflaged ants. They saw only disaster and slaughter in a long line of automatic weapons and the twenty tanks whose deadly guns were trained on Mexico.

The soldiers were young and efficient as fighting units. But they were trained for combat with an enemy who fought back. They were uneasy about facing a wave of unarmed civilians.

The commanding officer, Brigadier General Curfis Chandler, had barricaded the bridge with tanks and armored cars, but Topiltzin had planned for that contingency. The riverbank was packed with every kind of small boat, wooden raft and truck inner tube gleaned within two hundred miles. Footbridges made of rope were stretched out and knotted to be carried across by the first wave and positioned.

General Chandler's intelligence officer estimated an initial rush of twenty thousand before the flotilla returned, loaded and ferried the next wave. He couldn't begin to guess the number of swimmers. One of his female agents had penetrated the dining trailer used by Topiltzin aides and reported the storm would be launched in the late evening after the Aztec messiah had whipped his devotees into near-frenzy. But she couldn't learn which evening.

Chandler had served three tours in Vietnam; he knew first-hand what it was like to kill fanatical young women and boys who struck without seaming out of the jungle. He gave orders to fire over the heads of the mob when they began their move across the water.

If the warning barrage did not stop them-Chandler was a soldier who performed his duty without question. If ordered, he would use the forces under his command to repel the peaceful invasion rrgardless of the cost in blood.

Pitt stood on the second-story sun deck of Sam Trinity's store and peered through a telescope used by the Texan to gaze at the stars. The sun had dropped over the western range of hills and daylight was fading, but the staged spectacle on the other side of the Rio Grande was about to begin. Batteries of multicolored floodlights burst out, some sweeping patterns in the sky while odiers beaxned on a tall tower that had been erected in the center of the town.

He focused on and magnified a tiny figure wearing a white ankle-length robe and colorful headdress who stood on a narrow platform atop the tower. Pitt judged it-from the upraised and brisk movement of the arms that the center of attraction was engaged in a fervent speech.

"I wonder who the character is in the jazzy costume stirring up the natives?"

Sandecker sat with Lily, examining the underground profile recordings from the survey. He looked up at Pitts question. "Probably that phony Topiltzin," he grunted.

"He can sway a crowd with the best of the Evangelists."

"any sign they'll attempt the crossing tonight?" asked Lily.

Pin leaned back from the telescope and shook his head. "They're hard at work on their fleet, but I doubt if it will come for another forty-eight hours. Topiltzin won't launch his big push until he's certain he commands the lead news story of the day. "

"Topiltzin -s an alias," Sandecker informed him. "His real name is Robert Capesterre."

"He's got himself a thriving racket."

Sandecker held up one thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "Capesterre is that far away from taking over Mexico."

"If that convention on the other side of the river is any indication, he's after the entire American Southwest too."

Lily stood up and stretched. "This sitting around is driving me crazy.

We do all the work, and the army engineers get all the glory. Preventing us from watching over the excavation and keeping us off Sam's property-I think it's rude of them."

Pitt and Sandecker both smiled at Lily's feminine choice of words. "I could put it a little stronger than rude, " said the Admiral.

Lily chewed nervously on the tip of a pen. "Why no word from the Senator? We should have heard something by now."

"I can't say," replied Sandecker. "All he told me after I explained Dirk's setup, was that he'd somehow work a deal."

"Wish we knew how it was going," Lily murmured. Trinity appeared on the stairs below wearing an apron. "Anybody care for a bowl of my famous Trinity chili?"

Lily gave him an uneasy look. "How hot is it?"

"Little lady, I can make it as mild on your stomach as a marshmallow or as fiery as battery acid. any way you like it."

"I'll go with the marshmallow," Lily decided without hesitation.

Before Pitt and Sandecker could put in their order, Trinity turned and stared through the dusk at a stream of headlights approaching up the road. "Must be another army convoy," he announced. "Been no cars or trucks come this way since that General closed off the roads and rerouted all the traffic to the north

Soon they counted five trucks led by a hunner, the vehicle that replaced the durable jeep. The truck bringing up the rear pulled a trailer with a canvas-covered piece of equipment. The convoy did not Turn off the road toward the engineers' encampment on Gongora Hill or continue into Roma as expected. The trucks followed the hummer into the driveway of Sam's Roman Circus and stopped between the gas pumps and the store. The passengers climbed from the hummer and looked around.

Pitt immediately recognized dirty faces. Two of the men were in uniform while the third wore a sweater and denims. Pitt climbed carefully over the railing and lowered himself until he was only a few feet off the ground. Then he let go and landed directly in front of them, uttering a low groan at the sudden pain from his wounded leg. They were as startled by his sudden appearance as he was by theirs.

"Where'd you drop from?" asked Al Giordino with a broad smile. He looked pale under the floodlights and his arm was in a sling, but he looked testy as ever.

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

Colonel Hollis stepped forward. "I didn't think we'd meet up again so quickly."

"Nor I," added Major Dillenger.

Pitt felt a vast wave of relief rush over him as he grasped their outstretched hands. "To say I'm glad to see you has to be the year's understatement. How is it you're here?"

"Your father used his powers of persuasion on the Joint Chiefs of Staff," explained Hollis. "I'd hardly finished my report on the Lady Flamborough mission when orders came down to assemble the teams and rush here by vehicle transportation, using back-country roads. All very hush and classified. I was told the field commander would not be apprised of our mission until I reported to him."

"General Chandler," said Pitt.

"Yes, steel-trap Chandler. I served under him in NATO eight years ago.

Still thinks armor alone can win wars. So he's got the dirty job of playing Horatio defending the bridge."

"What are your orders?" asked Pitt.