The Lazarus Moment (13 page)

The
woman walked off stage as a barrage of shouted questions and camera flashes
erupted. She broke down in tears before she cleared the curtains.

Screw
you.

One of
his men turned to him. “Did you know his family was on board?”

Khomenko
nodded.

“Sometimes
the innocent must die in order for the victims to be heard.”

Maggie Harris Residence

Lake in the Pines Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina

Maggie Harris sat on the couch, her feet up on an ottoman, a blanket
draped over her legs as she munched on some popcorn. Red’s wife Shirley was
humming in the kitchen, melting some butter in the microwave for their snack.

A kernel
escaped, dropping onto her chest then rolling down to her stomach. She glanced down
and frowned, a little belly greeting her. She had put on some weight since the
accident, or incident, and was none too pleased by it, though the doctor had
said it was good for her, a sign of recovery. The love of her life, Burt “BD”
Dawson—she just couldn’t picture the Big Dog moniker—didn’t seem to mind, though
her mother had commented on it when they had visited last week.

“Don’t
use this as an excuse to let yourself go, dear.”

Her
father had admonished her, saving poor BD from the awkward moment. She knew BD
was the type quick to jump to anyone’s defense if he felt they couldn’t do it
for themselves, and in her weakened state, he had become very protective.

She
found it cute.

He doted
on her when he was around, not letting her lift a finger. It was a revelation
that the man could actually follow a recipe and cook, he merely shrugging,
indicating if he could field strip an MP5 with his eyes closed and fly an
Apache, he should be able to cook a casserole.

“But
don’t tell any of the guys. I’ve got a rep.”

She
smiled at the memory as Shirley plopped onto the couch beside her, leaning over
and pouring a small bowl of melted butter over the popcorn. Maggie grabbed a
few freshly topped kernels and popped them into her mouth. She looked over at Shirley.
“Much better.”

Shirley grinned.
“Told you!”

“I blame
you for making me fat.”

Shirley gave
Maggie’s stomach a look. “If you’re fat, then I’m a behemoth.”

Maggie
suddenly felt horrible. “You’re not fat!” And she wasn’t. Shirley had a few
extra pounds on her, but so what. America’s obsession with wafer thin models
and actresses wasn’t healthy, and Shirley was in perfect health even if she wasn’t
a size two.

And Red
certainly didn’t seem to mind her curves.

Shirley patted
her own stomach bulge. “I’ve gotta hit the treadmill. When you get better,
we’re both going to hit the gym. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Maggie
returned her attention to the game of Wheel of Fortune playing out on the
screen. “L!” It was a guilty pleasure, watching Wheel and Jeopardy, one making
her feel superior to most, the other letting her realize how little she really
knew. BD was surprisingly good at both. She was always amazed at how
intelligent the men in the Unit were, most of them speaking several languages,
all good at math and electronics. The amount of training they underwent that
had nothing to do with weapons and tactics was jaw dropping.

It all
kept them safe.

She had
been able to communicate with him quite regularly on his current assignment,
which meant he wasn’t in some hellhole under radio silence. Where he was, she
had no clue, though she knew from experience he might only be twenty miles away
guarding some bigwig, or five thousand miles away in a cave. But with regular
texts and phone calls, she was leaning toward the twenty-mile distance, this
one of the few missions where she wasn’t worried at all about him not coming
home.

If he
can talk, he’s not within weapons range.

It was
an oversimplification, she knew, but she only truly worried when she didn’t
hear from him. And the longer she didn’t, the more worried she got. The fact
she had already heard from him twice today via text had her content in her own
little cocoon on the couch with her friend, chowing down on a guilty pleasure
while watching inane gameshows far too early in the day.

Life
is good.

And it
was better with BD in it.

She
loved that man, more than anything. She had always been attracted to him, from
the moment he had first walked into the Colonel’s office, though she hadn’t
acted on it, the grapevine suggesting he was a loner who would never entertain
a long-term relationship, and that was what she was looking for. She had zero
interest in a hookup. She wanted something with a future and had been reluctant
to act on her feelings until Shirley had caught her checking out BD’s fantastic
ass at a softball game.

“See
something you like?”

She had
blushed, but nodded.

“You
should go for it. That man doesn’t know what he wants.”

It had
taken a little more prompting but she had finally made her move, shocking the
hell out of the poor man, yet making him take notice of her. The rest was
history.

The
broadcast was suddenly interrupted, ABC’s breaking news banner replacing Pat
Sajak’s smiling mug.

“That’s
never good,” commented Shirley, sitting up a little straighter.

“We
have breaking news at this hour. A statement from the White House has confirmed
that Air Force One is missing and believed crashed after departing South Africa
earlier today. We have few details at this time, however the White House is
apparently operating under the assumption that there are no survivors. Vice
President Roberts has already returned to Washington and met with the Chief
Justice of the Supreme Court, apparently sworn in as the next President. Let’s
join Terri Crossman with the latest.”

Maggie
reached out and grabbed Shirley’s hand, squeezing it, the popcorn and Wheel
forgotten as the talking heads took over, speculation rather than news filling
the hours between the minutes of facts. On one side of the screen a video loop
of the President’s visit to South Africa ran, jarring footage of him waving
goodbye from the steps of Air Force One just hours ago, his wife and daughter
flanking him.

“My God,
his family too!”

Tears
filled Maggie’s eyes as she thought of the terror they must have gone through,
the words of the reporters lost as she and Shirley watched.

She
sucked in a breath.

“Was
that who I think it was?”

Shirley said
nothing, her hand merely clenching tighter.

Maggie
looked over at her and saw the fear in her eyes. “That was Niner, wasn’t it?”

Shirley nodded,
almost reluctantly, as if not acknowledging what her eyes had seen would somehow
make it untrue.

Maggie
leaned forward, setting the popcorn aside as she stared at the screen, footage
of the President shaking hands at a reception line the night before showing
Niner in the background.

And BD.

“Oh my God!”

She felt
her chest tighten and her stomach flip as her pulse pounded in her ears, her
scar throbbing.

“Oh my
God!” she repeated, over and over as she rocked back and forth. “Oh my God!”

Shirley still
said nothing, then suddenly leapt to her feet, racing for the phone. She
grabbed it, thrusting it into Maggie’s hands.

“Call
the Colonel!”

Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

Dawson hurt everywhere.
Everywhere.
Even his eyelids hurt as
he struggled to open them. Something had smacked him in the head when the plane
hit, knocking him out, for how long he didn’t know.

“BD! You
okay!”

Everything
was still a blur, the voice distant as he heard little but the roar in his
ears. As he tried to focus, his head still ringing from whatever had smoked
him, he felt someone checking him for broken bones then the sensation of being
hauled to his feet.

Suddenly
the world roared back, replaced with the screams and cries of the living and
dying, the tortured creaks and sparks as the torn open fuselage seemed to rock
and jerk forward, forcing Dawson to grab hold of a nearby seat.

“You
okay, BD?”

Dawson
nodded at Niner. “Yeah, I’m back. You squared away?”

“You
know me, I’m blessed.”

“Check
on the others.”

“Already
done, Atlas and Spock are good.”

Dawson searched
for McNeely and spotted him unconscious, being tended to by one of the
civilians. Nobody seemed to be in charge, panic the order of the day as the
flight crew seemed to be missing in action. “Where’s the flight crew?” he
asked.

Niner
shook his head. “That section of the plane was torn open when we hit. Most of
them and the Secret Service agents didn’t make it.”

Dawson
paused for a brief moment, a silent prayer delivered for the fallen warriors.
Then he became all business. He glanced out a window and saw they were exactly
where the pilot had said he was aiming for.

A river.

And they
were slowly sliding down it, to where, God only knew, but if the river was
swift enough to move something this size, they couldn’t risk staying on board.

“Listen
up, people!”

A few
did, though not many.

“Silence!”
roared Atlas, the plane and surrounding nations pausing.

“We are
alive, remember that! Now we need to get off this airplane! I want everyone to put
on their lifejackets and inflate them now. Help the injured and check the dead.
They might just be unconscious and I don’t want anyone being left behind. We’re
on a river and we’re floating. Open the emergency exits and get into the water,
then swim for the shore. Once you reach the shore walk back toward the airplane,
and we’ll regroup. Understood?”

“Yes,
Sergeant!” belted his three men, the others merely nodding or gazing on in
shock.

“Now
move!”

Activity
erupted, more coordinated than a minute ago, allowing Dawson to head toward the
nearest emergency exit. He spotted two flight attendants still strapped into
their seats, one dazed, the other bleeding from the back of her head, a large
pool of blood on her shoulders. He quickly unstrapped the young Airman then
checked her friend’s pulse.

“Is she
okay?”

He shook
his head. “No, she’s dead.”

The
woman cried out, reaching for her friend but Dawson grabbed her by the
shoulder. “Remember your training! These people need you!”

She
looked startled then angry, then ashamed. She nodded, rising to her feet, a
little unsteady at first. Dawson held her by the shoulders. “Get your
lifejacket on then get these people off the plane. We’re on a river and we’re
moving.”

She
nodded, color starting to return to her cheeks, her eyes more focused. “Okay,
I’m good. Thanks.”

Dawson
slapped her on the shoulder then left her, heading for the cockpit. The door
was flapping off its hinges. Inside he found the copilot moaning, blood pouring
down one side of his face, the pilot dead, impaled by a branch. The flight
engineer was still strapped in his seat, a look of shock on his face. Dawson shook
his shoulder gently. “You okay?”

The man stared
at him blankly for a moment then nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I think so.”

“Check
yourself for broken bones, then give me a hand.”

The man
nodded, unbuckling himself then quickly checking his legs as Dawson unbuckled
the copilot. He examined the wound, relieved to see it was only superficial, a
branch apparently scraping his cheek badly. Other than that, the man seemed to be
merely in shock.

“Colonel
Pliner, are you still with me?”

Pliner’s
eyes fluttered open and he looked at Dawson. “Yeah, I think so. Little woozy.
What happened?”

“You
guys performed a miracle landing, that’s what happened. Now how about we get
you out of here so you can enjoy it?”

The man
nodded and Dawson helped him to his feet. “Captain!” Pliner pushed Dawson out
of the way and reached for the pilot who had saved them.

“I’m
sorry, Colonel, but he’s dead.”

“Mitch!”
Pliner paused for a moment, his eyes closed, a hand resting on his friend’s
shoulder, then turned to Dawson. “Let’s get these people off.”

Dawson stepped
toward the door then looked at both men. “You two good?” They nodded. “Okay,
I’m going to make sure they’ve got the President and his family off.”

“We’ll
help,” said Pliner.

“Negative.”
Dawson turned to the flight engineer and pointed at Pliner. “He’s your
responsibility. Get him off and help him to shore. That river looks pretty
swift so don’t forget your lifejackets.”

“I’ve
got him,” said the Chief Master Sergeant, Pliner’s arm draped over his
shoulder. “You go get the President.”

Dawson
left them alone, heading deeper into the airplane. Several emergency exits were
open now, water pouring in. He spotted Niner and the others manning two of the
exits along with what appeared to be the only surviving flight attendant. Rows
of people, all with bright yellow lifejackets were slowly jumping into the
water, too many of them injured. They had survived the crash, but he had no
idea how many would survive the water.

And the
roar in the distance he was hearing had him fearing the worst.

“Niner!”
His friend turned. “Did the President get off?”

Niner
shook his head. “No idea! I haven’t seen him!”

Dawson
rushed toward the President’s suite, Niner on his heels. He could hear panicked
screaming from the man’s daughter, Nancy, pounding echoing through the
corridor, and he quickly saw why. A drink trolley had fallen over and was
wedged between the door and the fuselage, preventing anyone inside from opening
the door. They both bent over and shoved it out of the way, Niner yanking the
door open.