"What?" McCaskey declared. "They killed the bishop who just flew over there?"
"Yes," Rodgers said.
"How did it happen?" McCaskey asked as he eased into a chair. His voice was flat and professional. For the moment.
"He was killed by a gunshot at close range," Rodgers told him. "When the killer tried to board a small plane that was apparently waiting for him, the pilot shot him."
"A patsy," McCaskey said.
"No doubt," Rodgers said.
"And Maria?"
"She was on the sidelines, but she's pretty sure she ID'ed one of the men who was on site," Rodgers said. "She thinks it was a Brush Viper. She's following him in a taxi."
"Did the Brush Viper participate in any way?" McCaskey asked.
"Not that she could see," Rodgers said.
"I see. Does Maria have backup?" McCaskey asked.
"Aideen Marley and David Battat will be arriving in Gaborone shortly," Rodgers told him. "They'll be in Maun in about three hours. I left a message for Aideen on her cell phone. Calls are being relayed by our consulate in Gaborone. She'll call before they catch the connecting flight, and I'll bring them up to speed."
"What about local police?" McCaskey asked.
"They were not present, and she left without them," Rodgers said. "It would have taken them about a half hour to get there."
"But you'll let them know where Maria is," McCaskey said.
"She doesn't want that," Rodgers replied.
"Does that matter?" McCaskey asked.
"Yes, it does," Rodgers said. "Maria is hoping the Brush Viper may lead her to Dhamballa and Father Bradbury. She doesn't want to do anything to signal her presence."
"Mike, it doesn't matter what she wants," McCaskey said. "She isn't running this mission. The Maun police can pick up the Brush Viper and get the same information she can. Botswana peace officers can be pretty aggressive when they want to be."
"Then how do we get the information?" Rodgers asked.
"Why do we need it?" McCaskey asked. "The police can find Father Bradbury."
"Not if the target sees them closing in and signals ahead," Rodgers said. "You know better than that, Darrell."
McCaskey stared at Rodgers. The look was pure G-man: steady gaze, neutral mouth. It was an expression that agents practiced to keep adversaries from knowing whether they had touched a weak spot in a confrontation or interrogation. Or that they had let an important piece of information slip. Rodgers did not think McCaskey was trying to keep his feelings a secret, but the former FBI agent was trying to keep them in check. McCaskey could not have liked what he just heard about his wife.
"What about you, Mike?" McCaskey asked.
"I don't follow," Rodgers said.
"What do you want?" McCaskey pressed.
"I want Maria to be safe," Rodgers replied. "I also want to complete the mission she undertook."
"In that order?" McCaskey pressed.
There was something accusatory in McCaskey's tone. Rodgers did not appreciate it.
"Very much in that order, Darrell," Rodgers replied. "I've already lost my allotment of Op-Center personnel for this year."
McCaskey looked like he'd been hit across the back with a two-by-four. There was an awkward, deadly silence. meCaskey lowered his eyes. Some of the anger seemed to leave him.
Mike Rodgers was still pretty pissed off, himsejf. But not because McCaskey had raised the subject of Rodgers's priorities. If he were in McCaskey's position, he would have asked the same question. And not as diplomatically. He would have done it for two reasons. First, to make sure his wife was not taking reckless chances. And second, to blow off pressure at having been left out of the decision-making process from the start.
No, what bothered Rodgers was one of the same things that bothered McCaskey. Maria was being forced to improvise an entire recon operation. There was no playbook for Maria to follow. And there was no exit strategy. The least they could do was to try to get her some blockers.
"Let's get back on track," Rodgers suggested.
McCaskey nodded weakly.
"One of the reasons I was going to call you is that we've got an orphan agent in the field," Rodgers said. "Who do you know over there?"
"No one we can use," McCaskey replied. "I already checked. There's an Interpol office in Johannesburg, but that's a dry well."
"They don't have anyone free, or they won't help?" Rodgers asked.
"Interpol South Africa needs authorization from Botswana to operate within their borders," McCaskey said. "That will take days to obtain."
"They can't go in unofficially?" Rodgers asked.
"They won't," McCaskey replied. "Unlawful police actions are code-one crimes. Federal crimes that carry a minimum of life imprisonment. South Africans don't get very favorable treatment in Botswana courts. It's a holdover from apartheid."
"There's no one else we can ask?" Rodgers asked.
"All of my dealings in that region were with ISA," meCaskey said. "Botswana was never a hub of intelligence activity."
"Which could be one of the reasons the perpetrators struck there," Rodgers thought out loud.
"First rule of starting a revolution," McCaskey said. "Always start where the resources are on your side. Speaking of which, Bob told me that the Vatican Security Organization has
undercover personnel in the area. Members of the Grupo del Cuartel General."
"That's true," Rodgers said.
"Can't we get them to help Maria?"
"Paul's going to ask Kline about that," Rodgers replied. "We don't know what their mandate was. I'm also not sure how far to trust them. They didn't do a very good job protecting the bishop."
"No," McCaskey agreed.
"If it doesn't work out, I need some other options," Rodgers said. "What about newspaper offices over there? Do you know anyone in Maun?"
"I might be able to find someone who knows someone," McCaskey said. "Why?"
"Maria took pictures at the airport right after the shooting," Rodgers said. "I want those. We'll need someone in the heart of town who has a computer and Modern that can take Maria's digicam software."
"I'll look into it," McCaskey said. "In the meantime, you might try the local church. They're probably hooked into the Vatican by PC. I'm sure your friend Kline can get you access."
"Good idea," Rodgers said. He turned to his computer and immediately sent an instant message to Hood.
"Thanks, General," McCaskey replied. "You want another really good suggestion?"
"Sure," Rodgers said.
"Recall Maria," McCaskey said.
He was serious.
"Do you think she would bail if I did?" Rodgers asked. "Or would she know that you put me up to it?"
"I don't care," McCaskey said. "At least she'd be back here."
"Maybe not," Rodgers said. "You don't divert a laser gunsight from seven thousand miles away."
"You do if you're a good gunner," McCaskey said.
Rodgers didn't like that. But he didn't let it get to him. McCaskey was not thinking. He was reacting. If Rodgers did the same, there would be even angrier words and probably worse.
"Look, Darrell," Rodgers said. "No one knows that Maria is in Botswana. I'm sure she will not do anything to call attention to herself."
"I know that," McCaskey said. He was exasperated, and it showed in his expression, his voice, his posture. "But hell, Mike. Maria isn't even armed. She turned in her handgun when she resigned from Interpol. Even if she had a weapon, she wouldn't have risked packing it in her luggage. Not without a license. A scanner might have picked it up at the airport. There would have been questions, she would have had to say who she was, there might have been a leak. She's too professional to have let that happen."
Mike Rodgers did not know what else to say to his friend. Even if he did, there was not a lot of time to say it. Rodgers did not want to spend any more time on hand-holding. He wanted to check in with Bob Herbert and Stephen Viens. Make sure they were doing everything possible to support Maria.