The Lazarus Moment (16 page)

Dawson
smiled. “Doc, am I ever glad to see you. We’ve got a lot of wounded.” He
pointed to where the First Family was. “Check on the First Lady. She’s been
injured.” He pointed to the other man. “You’re his crutch.”

The man
smiled. “No problem.”

The two
shuffled toward the family and Dawson whistled. Niner looked up and Dawson
pointed at the new arrivals. “President’s physician!” Niner gave a thumbs up
and jogged over to the man, a consult quickly under way.

“Any
luck with comms?” asked Atlas.

“Negative.
None of the satphones are working, they’re all wet, broken, or still on board.”
Dawson paused, his eyes narrowing.

Spock smirked
at Atlas. “Uh oh. I recognize that look.”

“In a
minute he’ll be looking for volunteers,” agreed Atlas.

Dawson
smiled. “Is the plane still there?”

“Uh
huh.” Atlas answered as if he were terrified to.

Spock
cleared his throat. “BD.” Dawson looked toward where the man was nodding and
found President Starling walking toward them. Dawson closed the gap.

“Mr.
President, what can I do for you?”

“Have
you seen Major Simmons?”

“Not
that I know of, who’s he?”

“He’s
the officer who carries the nuclear football.”

Atlas
cursed.

“That’s
one hell of a piece of lost luggage.”

Operations Center 2

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“I can’t believe he’d travel on his own passport.”

Leroux
had to agree with his boss. It was ballsy, though it did make sense. No one was
looking for the man. If he travelled on a fake passport he ran the risk of
being caught, but travel on a perfectly legitimate passport, and there was no
reason for him to be flagged.

Though
Leroux doubted the man would be using it to travel home.

“I think
we have a very limited window of opportunity here,” said Leroux. “If I were him
I’d be bugging out now if I hadn’t already.”

“Agreed,”
said Morrison. “What do you recommend?”

Leroux pointed
at Therrien. “See if you can trace his cellphone.”

Therrien
nodded, quickly entering the number provided by Moscow, one of the monitors on
the wall flipping over to a map. “Pinging it now.” A red circle appeared and
the map zoomed in as the system narrowed down the cellphone towers in use.
“It’s on.”

“Idiot,”
muttered Child, watching the map quickly coalesce into buildings and streets.
“It’s like this guy doesn’t care if he’s caught.”

“He
doesn’t.”

Leroux
looked at Morrison. “What do you mean?”

“He’s
dying of cancer. He’s got months, maybe weeks, to live. He’s succeeded in
getting his revenge, he’s got nothing left to live for.”

Leroux
pursed his lips, thinking. It made sense, yet something still nagged at him.
Something didn’t
feel
right. He tapped his chin. “If I were dying, I
wouldn’t want to die in a foreign land. I’d want to die at home, with those I
loved.”

“His
family’s dead,” said Child.

“They’re
dead, but they’re buried somewhere.” Leroux snapped his fingers at Sonya Tong.
“Find out where the family is buried. That’s where he’ll be heading.”

She
smiled. “Your gut?”

He
nodded, then pointed at Child. “Find out if he has a return booking.”

Child
shook his head. “Sorry, boss, I already checked. He doesn’t.”

Leroux
smiled. “Then he’s not as dumb as he looks.”

Morrison’s
eyebrows narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“It
means he knew we’d trace him there, but didn’t care, because he already has a
way out.”

“Which
means if we don’t catch him now, we may never.”

Leroux stared
at the neighborhood highlighted by the cellphone towers.

“Find
every hotel, motel, hostel or apartment rental in that area. I want that
bastard found before he flies the coop.”

Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

Dawson felt his chest tighten for a moment as he realized the most
important briefcase on the planet was missing in hostile territory, and the man
who could operate it stood next to him, unsecured.

“Where
did you see him last?”

“He was
with us when the plane crashed.”

“In the
same room as you?”

“Yes.”

Dawson
flashed back to that moment, trying to remember what he had seen.

Two
dead personnel. Was one a Major?

“The
only people alive in that room were you, your family and one staffer. I think I
remember seeing a Major in there, dead. If that’s him, then the football must
still be in there.”

“Do you
think it will be safe there until the rescue team gets here?”

Dawson
thought for a moment. They were in the middle of Mozambique, a country with a
rebel problem. If the rebels were to find them, they could be in for a hell of
a problem, the football the least of their worries. If it was still on the
plane, it was probably secure for the moment, it taking a lot of balls for
anyone to board it where it was now. Though if they were at all informed, the
rebels might know the President travelled with it and would make every effort
to recover it.

His eyes
narrowed. “What’s the SOP in this situation?”

“Excuse
me?”

“Standard
Operating Procedure. If you were to crash and they lost all communications with
you, what would they do?”

Starling
smiled. “They’d probably presume I’m dead and deactivate all the codes.” He
sighed. “I was worried there for a moment, but you’re right. If they lose
contact with me in a situation like this they assume the codes might be
compromised and deactivate them.” He frowned. “In fact, they’ve probably
already sworn Jack in.” He smirked at Dawson. “Huh. Dead man walking.”

“We’re
not dead yet, Mr. President.”

“Not
sure if you can still call me that.”

Dawson
chuckled. “Let’s err on the side of caution.”

Starling
patted him on the back. “Good idea.” He turned to walk away then stopped. “Has
anybody thought about the emergency satellite gear?”

Dawson
shook his head. “When the virus infected the system it wiped out all our comms.
The two specialists only had time to reinstall what was needed to try and get
the plane flying again.” He paused, realizing he hadn’t seen Lennox or Cornel since
the crash.

“Not the
hardwired stuff, the portable gear.”

Dawson’s
jaw dropped as he realized what the President was talking about, kicking
himself for not remembering. The President—in fact, most senior members of the
White House—travelled with portable secure satellite gear almost everywhere
they went. It allowed them to set up secure comms wherever they might be staying,
whether an embassy or a hotel.

And that
gear would be stowed on board.

“Any
idea where it is?”

Starling
shook his head. “Sorry, son, that’s on you.”

Dawson
nodded, the President returning to his family.

“We need
to get that gear,” said Atlas.

Dawson grinned
at him. “You volunteering?”

Spock
smacked the big man on the back. “Told you he’d be looking for volunteers.”

“I was
thinking of going on board to find a dry satphone, but this would be even
better. It’s hardened, waterproof, bulletproof. If we can get our hands on that
case, we’re pretty much guaranteed it’s going to work.”

“And the
football?”

Dawson
shook his head. “Like the President said, it’s just a piece of pigskin now.” He
waved Jane over. “Did you see Airmen Lennox or Cornel?”

She
nodded. “Yes, they’re on the other side of the river.”

“Want me
to get over there, Sarge, put some cuffs on him?”

Dawson
looked at Atlas then across the river at the small group gathered by the shore,
Lennox and Cornel suddenly recognizable. “Negative, I don’t think he’s a
problem anymore.” He headed for McNeely, the doctor and Niner still tending to
him.

McNeely
looked up at him. “Status?”

“I’ve
got everyone busy,” said Dawson. “It’ll keep their minds off things until the
rescue teams arrive. In the meantime, I want to reestablish comms. There’s a
rebel situation in the area and I want to make sure they’re nowhere near us. Besides,
I think the folks back home would like to know they’ve still got a President.”

“The
portable comm gear, it’s still on the plane.”

Dawson
smiled. “That’s exactly what I was going to ask you. Where is it?”

“Aft of
the President’s office, locked in a secure cabinet. There’s also weapons and
ammo, body armor, you name it, it’s there.”

“What
kind of security?”

“Keypad.
Code of the day is seven-six-four-nine-six-enter.”

Dawson
repeated the code, as did the rest of his team. Three times in his head and it
was committed, memorization techniques one of the things taught to Special
Forces the world over. In this case, he simplified it by reducing it to three
numbers—76-49-6, then associated each number with something that would twig a
memory. Carter elected in 76, San Francisco 49ers and 6 sides of the dice. Now
he didn’t need to remember the numbers, just Carter, San Francisco and dice.

Much
easier.

“Okay,
we’re going for the comm gear. Hopefully back in less than an hour.”

“Good
luck.”

Dawson
smiled. “Thanks, I think we’ll need it.”

Top of the falls, Lugenda River, Mozambique

The tail section was still wedged against the riverbank, the front
of the fuselage slowly tearing through the rock Dawson and Jane had taken
refuge on earlier. It was now a good halfway down the body, the plane jerking
forward several inches every few seconds.

There
wasn’t much time.

And this
was stupid.

He
nodded at Atlas. “You’re our lifeline. You hang onto that rope like our lives
depend on it.”

“Cuz’
they do.”

Niner
gave Atlas a sideways glance. “Thanks for reminding me, jackhole.”

“Hey,
I’d go, but you need a
real
man on the other end of this rope. Your
dainty little frame would just be pulled right in.”

Niner smacked
Atlas on the cheek then darted back. “This dainty little frame makes me wily,
lets me float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.”

“Don’t
you be channeling my man Ali. He’s like my brotha from anotha motha. Yous
talkin’ family, boyee.”

Niner
grinned, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Atlas. “Look at my man, goin’ all
street on us.” He quickly spun his head around, giving the stink-eye to Atlas.
“You know I’m the only one from the hood in this unit, so you best be watchin’
yourself.”

Atlas eyed
him. “You’re from Florida for Christ’s sake. Don’t be makin’ like you’re from
the Bronx.”

“Hey,
the streets of Tallahassee were rough for a handsome Asian kid.”

Spock
held up the lengthened line. “Ready when you are, BD.” He nodded toward Niner.
“Any objections if we just leave him on board?”

Dawson
grabbed the rope and stepped into the water. “We’ll take a vote once we get
there.”

“Hey,
that’s not fair,” whined Niner as he took hold of the intertwined vines. “It’ll
be two against one.”

Atlas’
deep voice rolled over the roaring water. “Then you better start kissing ass
now, sweetheart.”

Dawson
heard Niner do an ass-smack behind him as he made his way along the fuselage
toward the open emergency exit where the wing used to be. Once inside,
depending on conditions, it should be a straight shot down the aisle running
the port side of the plane to the security room.

Please
God, no surprises.

His foot
slipped and he went under. He felt a pull on the rope and the others stopped
his slide allowing him to recover quickly, the water still shallow but quickly
getting deeper. He pushed off the river bottom, letting the current carry him
as he gently kicked, the water actually not too rough, the massive fuselage
providing a break.

I can
just imagine the pressure on the other side.

As if in
response, he heard a terrific shriek of metal tearing ahead of him, the plane
jerking a good foot.

We’re
running out of time!

He
grabbed hold of the inflated slide dangling out the emergency exit and pulled
himself up, rolling onto the floor of the main deck, taking a brief moment to
catch his breath before hauling Niner then Spock in. He untied the rope and
headed for the security room, Niner following him as Spock tied off the vines.

He
ignored the bodies of those left behind and instead sloshed through the water,
it getting deeper the farther they went, up to his knees by the time he reached
the door.

He pulled.

It
barely budged.

“Shit.
Something’s wrong.”

Niner
joined him. “What?”

Dawson
pulled at the door as hard as he could, it still refusing to open. He looked at
the frame then cursed, pointing at the floor. “The floor’s bent. The whole
fuselage must be buckling.”

The entire
plane jerked forward, sending them all scrambling for handholds.

“Okay,
no time to waste. Spock, check the door on the other side.” Spock nodded and
left, Dawson pointing at the hinges of the outward swinging door. “Let’s pry
the pins out.”

Niner
pulled his knife and dropped to his knees as Dawson pulled his own, tapping at
the bottom of the hinge, the pin popping up slightly, enough for him to wedge
the blade in.

Niner stood,
holding his pin, grinning. “I win again.”

Dawson
ignored him, pulling his bolt free then wedging the knife between the doorframe.
He pried, pulling it out slightly, when the door suddenly pushed open from the
inside.