The Omega Command Read Online Free

embarrassments. He finally settled as a cipher operator in Paris.”
    “And he’s stuck it out, hasn’t he?” Stimson challenged. “Does everything he’s told to from confirming scrambled communications to sorting paper clips even though it’s probably busting him up inside.”
    “An agent could do a lot worse.”
    “Not an agent like McCracken. It’s a waste.”
    “More a necessity, Andy. He’s brought all this on himself.”
    “Fine. Then I’ll take the responsibility for lifting it off.” Stimson’s eyes found the President’s. “Sir, I would like McCracken reassigned from the Company to the Gap to take the place of Easton.”
    “Out of the question!” McCall roared.
    “Which,” the President began with strange evenness, “would have been my exact reaction if you told me yesterday that one of our agents was going to be gunned down at a bordello in the company of two pubescents. Andy, if you want to use McCracken to clean up this mess we’ve got, then use him. Just get it done.”
    McCall’s face reddened. “Sir, I must protest—”
    “The matter is closed, Barton.” The President sighed. “In the past twenty-four hours, we’ve had a deep-cover agent murdered and a space shuttle blown right out of the sky. Nathan Jamrock will probably be here tomorrow with a report indicating that little green men destroyed Adventurer and, who knows, maybe the same little green men visited Madame Rosa’s this afternoon carrying Mac-10s instead of ray guns. Wonder where they’ll strike next?”
    A heavy knock came on the Oval Office door. Before the President could respond, his chief aide stepped swiftly into the room.
    “Sorry to intrude, sir,” said the wiry, bespectacled man, “but we’ve just got word a jet has been seized by terrorists in Paris with over a hundred Americans on board.”
    The President’s empty stare passed from McCall to Stimson, then to neither. “Well, boys, it looks like my question’s been answered.”

Chapter 2
    “SO WHAT ARE THEY asking for?” Tom Daniels, chief of CIA operations in France, asked Pierre Marchaut, Sureté agent in charge of the seizure at Orly Airport.
    Marchaut regarded the American patiently as he moved away from the telephone and consulted his notes. “The usual things, mon ami . Release of political prisoners being held in French jails, safe passage to the country of their choice, a message to be read over the networks this evening.”
    Daniels strode abruptly to the window and looked out over the 767 in question, apart from other aircraft on one of Orly’s main runways.
    “The deadline?” he asked Marchaut.
    “The first batch of prisoners must be delivered here within two hours.”
    “Delivered here ? Great, just great. And if we refuse?”
    “They will blow up the plane.” The burly Marchaut, whose face was dominated by a pair of thick black side-burns, shrugged. “Did you expect anything different? The terrorists also requested fresh meals for their hostages.”
    “How compassionate …”
    “My thoughts exactly.”
    A thin man walked quickly into the operations room with a manila folder open in his hands. He spoke so rapidly in French that Daniels was barely able to keep up with him.
    “We have just received positive identifications of the two male and one female terrorist involved. They are known professionals wanted in a combined total of seventeen countries. They have all killed before, especially the bearded leader, an Arab named Yachmar Bote. The woman has been linked to a number of brutal assassinations as well.”
    “So now we know they are capable of doing everything they say,” Marchaut concluded grimly.
    “If they’re caught, it means the death sentence,” said his assistant. “They have nothing to lose.”
    “Wonderful,” Daniels moaned, starting for the phones. “I’d better call Washington.”
    “What about the explosives?” Marchaut asked.
    His assistant shrugged. “Inspection of pictures snapped through