Sahara Crosswind (15 page)

Pierre showed his concern only with a deepening of the creases of his face. “And the woman with him?”

“Yessir. She's okay.” Akers permitted himself a small smile. “Miss Coltrane is some classy dame, sir.”

“They sent me along to make sure you were really who you said you were,” Sally explained. “After I twisted their arms a little.”

Jake smiled at her and asked, “When are we supposed to move out?”

“Now, sir. If you're ready.”

“Now?” Visions of a lingering reunion faded swiftly.

“Time for all that later,” Sally said softly, understanding him perfectly. “I promise.”

“We were going to try and bring in a transport tomorrow, find some way to sneak you on board,” Akers said. “But Captain Towers here has agreed to fly us out this morning, soon as we can stop by Valletta and get off a coded message to Paris.”

“Spies and traitors and pretty ladies and sunrise rendezvous,” Towers said, and laughed out loud. “I wouldn't have missed this for all the tea in China.”

Jake asked, “So what's the plan?”

Towers swung his grin toward Jake. “Believe me, you don't want to know a second sooner than you have to.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You'll find out soon enough,” Towers promised.

“But—”

“I'm telling you,” Towers insisted. “Don't ask.”

“Time to be moving out, sir,” Akers pressed. “Now.”

Chapter Nineteen

They stopped once for refueling at the U.S. military base on Sardinia. They evidently were expected, as they were directed to a quiet corner of the airfield and left utterly alone, save for the fuel truck and a jeep of military police parked beneath the plane's nose.

Jake peered through the pilot's window at the white-helmeted MPs studiously ignoring the plane and asked no one in particular, “What gives?”

“You are strictly persona non grata, sir,” Akers replied.

“Monsieur le Ministre Clairmont has panicked,” Pierre surmised.

“I wouldn't know anything about that, sir,” Akers said. “They just told me to get, and we got.”

“You're bound to know something,” Jake pressed.

“Not really, sir. Only whatever it is, it's
big.
”

The habitually silent Lieutenant Slade added, “Never seen the like of the comings and goings here. Haven't spotted so much brass in one place since we left Washington.”

“What were you doing in Washington?” Jake demanded.

“Long story, sir,” Slade replied, his features returning to poker-faced blankness.

“All we know,” Akers went on, changing the subject, “is that we have to get you back to Paris without talking to
any
official. No police, no customs, no military, not even a postman.”

“But why?” Jake asked.

“Sir, if you don't know, then I don't guess anybody on this plane does. All I can say is that you and the major here are a pair of walking powder kegs.”

“And just how,” Pierre wanted to know, “do you intend on bringing us into Paris without some form of clearance?”

“You're headed back into that ‘don't ask' territory I was
telling you about,” Towers warned. “Okay, folks, the fuel truck's done and those Happy Harrys in the jeep are giving us the go sign. Not a moment too soon, either. So just get back to your places and settle down for the ride.”

They flew on through the sunset and into the night. Pierre gathered with Towers and Akers and Slade in the cockpit, granting Jake and Sally a semblance of privacy back in the cavernous hold.

Their seats were formed from dusty burlap sacking and canvas straps. The hold was drafty and smelled of oil and dirt and previous cargoes. The ancient plane creaked and groaned and bucked and roared.

Jake had never felt happier or more comfortable in his entire life.

It was far too noisy for conversation, save the occasional few words spoken loudly and directly into the other's ear. Words about loving and missing and wanting. The hold was dark save for a single dimly glowing lamp that granted just enough light for them to see each other's eyes if they drew up close, which was how they remained. All else was said with looks and embraces and lips.

Too soon the hold echoed with shouts and movements. Reluctantly Jake released her and rose to his feet, pulling Sally along with him. They walked up to where the others gathered at the back of the cockpit. “What's up?”

Towers turned from his controls and grinned. “You remember that part I said you didn't want to know about? Well, it's done arrived.”

“Here, sir,” Akers said, thrusting a bulky knapsack toward Jake. “You need to put this on.”

Jake looked down at the bundle. “What is this?”

“Showtime, old son,” Towers said gaily.

“This is a parachute,” Jake said. “What do I need a parachute for?”

“Makes the drop a lot easier to take,” Towers replied. “Especially the last part.”

Sally moved up close to him. “You wouldn't make me go out there by myself, now would you? Not in the dark.”

He looked down at her. “You knew about this?”

“Right from the start, sir,” Akers confirmed. “The brass spent a good half hour describing a night drop to her, trying to convince her to give them something they could use to confirm that you were who you said you were. But she wouldn't budge.” He looked at Sally and shook his head. “Looks like you and Major Servais both got more than your share of luck in the dame category.”

“It wasn't luck,” Sally said, her eyes resting on Jake.

“Anything you say, ma'am.” Akers adjusted his own chute and said, “Better get a move on, sir. We're at two minutes and counting.”

A creak and roar and rush of wind announced the winching down of the back ramp. Pierre moved up to Jake and shouted, “Have you ever jumped before?”

“Not since basic training.”

“That's more than I have had. Any advice?”

“Bend your knees before you hit, and stay out of the trees.”

“How am I to see trees at night?”

“That's the part I never figured out.” Jake turned toward the grinning Towers. “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Wait until you're safe and sound and send me a postcard.” Towers stuck out his hand. “Good luck, old son.”

“You're a true friend, Frank.”

“I suppose somebody's paid me a nicer compliment somewhere along the line, but I don't remember when.” Towers had a grip as hard as iron. “I'll be praying for you, Jake.”

“One minute, sir,” Akers pressed. “Chute up.”

Jake's fingers fumbled with unfamiliar straps and catches. He watched Akers tighten Sally's rig and followed his example. Together with the others he walked back toward the cold clear night that shone through the aft opening and felt
his heart rate surge. He found Sally's hand nestling in his own, glanced at Pierre, found himself trading an idiot's grin.

“Hook on, everybody!” Akers called and connected Sally's clip to the overhead wire. As Jake followed suit, Akers yelled above the roaring slipstream, “Slade goes first, I go last. Five seconds between each person. Ready?”

Sally reached up and planted a final kiss firmly on Jake's lips. She shouted something that the wind whipped away. But the look in her eyes was crystal clear.

“Go! Go!”

Chapter Twenty

The instant of free-fall before his chute opened seemed to go on and on forever. Then there was a great whomping tug on his shoulders, and his view of the stars was suddenly cut off by a huge circular envelope that glowed pale and beautiful in the faint illumination. Jake took a look around, spotted two other chutes within range, hoped one of them was Sally, resisted the urge to call to her.

The ground rushed up impossibly fast, dark and foreboding. Jake found his heart rate surging to an impossibly high pace, his breath coming in explosive little gasps. Shreds of distant training echoed around in his panicking brain. Choose a point, bleed air, stay loose, try to take up a coiled position like a spring ready to bounce.

Then all thought froze, the ground charged up, his feet struck, and he rolled and rolled and bumped and finally stopped. Jake lay completely wrapped up in the cords and the silk, gasping hard, his heart thundering in his ears. He took stock. Everything hurt. His feet and legs and back and arms and shoulders and head. Everything. But he could feel his toes; he had read somewhere that was a good sign. And his fingers moved. He checked his thighs, found nothing out of the ordinary. And then his breathing eased, and suddenly he found himself laughing.

“Colonel Burnes, is that you, sir?”

“That was great,” Jake said. “Just don't ask me to do it again, okay?”

“Anything you say, sir. Hang on and let me cut you loose.”

“Where's Sally?”

“Slade's seeing to her.”

“And Pierre?”

“Landed like a pro, sir,” Akers replied, his voice registering
both shock and approval. “By the time I got to him he was already stowing his chute.”

Another set of footsteps approached, and Pierre said, “Is that a shroud for the dearly departed colonel, or is he merely having a rest, I wonder.”

“Show-off,” Jake muttered.

“Perhaps you and I could get together again when this is over,” Pierre offered, “and I could give you a few lessons.”

“Not on your life.” The ropes loosened, and Jake managed to clear the chute from his face. He looked up at a broadly smiling Pierre and asked, “How did you do it?”

“To be perfectly honest, I have no idea. One minute I was up and flying, the next I was standing in this glorious field under this beautiful sky.”

“Beginner's luck,” Akers said, sawing through the final rope. “Okay, sir. You're clear.”

Jake kicked his legs free, scrambled to his feet, and looked over to where another chute lay spread out in the moonlight about a hundred feet away. Something about the scene caught in his throat. He raced over.

Jake fell to his knees beside where Sally sat, with Slade crouching by her legs. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” Sally snapped, but even in the dim light he could see she was in pain.

“Ankle,” Slade said. “Doesn't appear too serious, though. Just a twist or maybe a minor sprain.”

“Maybe we should leave you here with the others, ma'am,” Akers said, coming up alongside.

“Not a chance,” Sally said. “Jake, make them listen to reason. I didn't come this far to miss out on the grand finale.”

Jake looked up at Akers. “What others?”

Pierre hissed, crouched, and pointed at the trees bordering their field. Jake squinted, saw a series of shadows separate and begin walking toward them. He was reaching to scoop up Sally when Akers stopped him with, “It's okay, sir. They're some of ours.” He straightened and whistled softly. Again.

A slender figure broke away and raced ahead of the others. A familiar voice called out, “Pierre?”

“Jasmyn!” Pierre leapt to his feet and bolted toward her. They came together and embraced and their two shadows became one.

“Like I said, sir,” Akers said approvingly. “That's some dame.”

Chapter Twenty-One

We did not fight and sacrifice for our freedom to see it taken away from within.”

The gruff-voiced elder was the only one of the group crammed into the back of the ancient transport van who spoke any English. Yet the intensity with which the others listened to his words left no room for doubt that they all felt the same.

“We have always known there were those among us who would climb upon the backs of their countrymen, ever hungry for more land, more money, more titles, more power.” The elder passed on the flagon without even seeing what moved through his hands. “The tradition of
La Résistance
is as old as France herself. We have ever had to fight the forces of greed and tyranny. It is the way.”

The way. Jake fed hungrily on the fresh-baked bread and crumbly farmer's cheese and ripe early summer apples, taking great bites from each in turn while he pondered what the old man was saying. The way. He listened and heard not only the words, but the same connecting thread he had found in the desert reaches, a world and more away from this rattling van rumbling through the night toward Paris.

Men and women would be ever faced with choices. Their values and actions formed both who they were and the world in which they lived. And those who chose the path of honor would ever be challenged by the fierce crosswinds of those who sought to live for self alone.

Jake suddenly saw that he would be called to stand and defend all he saw as precious—his faith, his land, his way of life. But all he said was, “It is good of you to help us.”

“It is an honor to serve with Mademoiselle Coltrane and the brother of Patrique Servais. Even here in the north we have heard of their work. Friends of theirs are friends of
ours.” Dark eyes glinted beneath brows frosted with the winter winds of age. “And while there is still strength left in this old body, ever will I stand ready to do battle for my beloved country.”

“Let us hope it does not come to that,” Pierre murmured, his eyes resting upon Jasmyn.

They were all dressed in worker's blue denim, the traditional uniform of the countless denizens who labored at menial tasks throughout all France. Sally and Jake sat squeezed together at the back of the jouncing wheezing van, one of many bringing day laborers into early-morning Paris.

A hiss of warning from the front seat silenced further conversation as they approached the police checkpoint marking the city's outskirts. A pair of blue-caped men opened the back doors, requested papers, inspected each face in turn. Jake glanced at Sally and saw a face smudged and lined with exhaustion and pain, her hair tucked up into her denim cap. Indeed they all looked exhausted, their features matching those of people bored and sleepy and disgruntled over an uncomfortable daily routine.