The Lazarus Moment (28 page)

Starling
nodded. It was obvious the man was troubled. His wife was in rough shape.
Dawson was almost regretting sending McNeely up in the chopper first, though it
was the right call at the time. McNeely was worse than the First Lady, but now,
after hours more of suffering, that couldn’t be said.

She was
dying.

The
doctor had confirmed she wouldn’t see the morning if she didn’t get help.
Dawson wasn’t sure if that information had been shared with the President, and
he wasn’t sure if he himself would want to know if the roles were reversed. He
thought back on how tortured he had felt when he thought Maggie was dead, then
equally tortured when he thought she wasn’t going to survive.

He never
wanted to experience that again.

And he
never wanted to contemplate life without her.

I
wonder if I proposed would that be considered stressful.

He
grunted.

“Something
on your mind?” asked Starling as Niner helped him into the harness.

“Domestic
matters.”

Starling
nodded. “Sometimes the best kind, sometimes the worst.”

Dawson’s
head bobbed in agreement. “I’m beginning to realize that.”

“Okay,
Mr. President, off you go.” Niner gently pulled on the rope as Starling stepped
off the edge, slowly sliding across. He held his breath as Niner continued to
feed the rope, a little slower than with the others, this cargo particularly precious.

Three
flashes.

“He’s
across.”

Smiles
all around as the two Secret Service and eight Air Force personnel
congratulated each other. Dawson turned to Jane. “Ladies first.”

Jane
smiled. “This is one time I’m happy to take advantage of being a woman!”

Dawson
laughed, Niner hauling in the harness and helping her into it. Within seconds
she was sliding across and Dawson found himself breathing a sigh of relief. The
woman had been a rock since they had evacuated the aircraft, seeing to young
Nancy’s needs and keeping the civilians in line, making sure they were busy and
focused.

She
definitely deserves a medal.

Gunfire
erupted behind them, the distinct sounds of AKs initially, then the familiar
reply of MP5s and a Glock.

He
looked at Atlas and Niner. “That’s got to be Red. They’re close.”

“Too
damned close,” said Niner as the other side signaled Jane’s successful
arrival.”

“How far
do you figure?” asked Atlas. “Half a mile?”

“Hard to
tell with all these damned trees, but half a mile at most. Red wasn’t supposed
to engage, he was supposed to join us. Something must have gone wrong.”

Niner
helped one of the Secret Service agents into the harness. “No time for a slow
ride, okay?”

“Let ’er
rip.”

Niner
pushed the man off and he slid rapidly to the other side, less than a minute
later the harness on its return. The gunfire intensified, the sound of the
enemy fire almost overwhelming, the friendly fire more sporadic.

God,
I hope they’re okay!

The last
surviving Secret Service agent began his trip, all that remained his team and
seven of the Air Force crew that had manned the doomed flight. He watched as
the agent reached the other shore.

Ten
minutes. That’s all we need. Ten minutes.

North of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

Red fell back, firing a short burst at the enemy then taking cover
behind the next tree. Shit had hit the fan when they found themselves between
an advance party and the main rebel force, a group having scattered after their
last delaying tactic.

They had
made quick work of the half dozen men, but it had drawn the others, 150 men now
hell bent on getting past them, Red and the others now between the rebels and
the survivors.

What was
working against them however was also working against the rebels.

The
trees.

They
were so thick that it was almost impossible to hit anything on purpose, and
because they were so many, not many of the rebels could actually get a clean
shot without risking hitting their own men.

It was
the only reason they were alive.

If they
were in the desert with 150 weapons firing at them, they’d be dead by now, but thanks
to hundreds of thick tree trunks, he and the others were beating an orderly
retreat to the southwest, slowly moving away from Dawson’s position and out of
the forward path of the main force.

There
was no way they were going to be stopping them.

If
only we had air support.

Earlier
when they were well away from the survivors, it had been a bullshit decision
made by the brass too concerned with covering their asses. Now that it was too
late, it wasn’t an option. They were just too close.

His comm
squawked as he dove behind another tree.

“Bravo
Zero-Two, Control Actual. The survivors are clear, I repeat, the survivors are
clear, do you copy?”

More
gunfire tore apart the trees around them as the others returned fire,
continuing the withdrawal. He activated his comm. “Bravo Team, cease fire and
continue to fall back!”

The
gunfire immediately halted, Spock’s Glock squeezing off a couple of rounds
before he realized what was going on, he without comm equipment. Red pushed
himself to his feet and sprinted through the trees like he was deking around
pylons, the gunfire behind them noticeably dying with the returning fire that
had spurred them on ceased.

He could
hear boots pounding on the jungle floor on both sides of him so at least two
had survived, the Colonel’s message repeated. He switched channels. “Zero-Two,
acknowledged, stand by.” The gunfire behind them dwindled to nothing and he
eased up, the others joining him, he breathing a sigh of relief as he counted
off a full complement.

“Let’s
get to BD’s position ahead of these bastards. They’re going to need every gun
available.”

North of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

Domingos listened but heard nothing, the enemy fire having stopped.
Whoever they were, they were good. If they were the same soldiers that had
eliminated most of Nyusi’s men, then they were extremely good.

“Did we
get them?” asked one of his men.

Domingos
shook his head, not saying anything.

I
doubt it.

“I saw
two people running away,” said another.

“Two?
Only two? You mean two people did all this?” cried his nephew, Domingos
immediately regretting bringing him along, the murmuring started, fear setting in.
He had to act.

“It
wasn’t two men, he just
saw
two men. Smarten up, you’re soldiers, act
like it. They’re obviously scared of us otherwise they’d stand and fight. We
know we’re close, we saw their fire pit and that downed helicopter a few
minutes ago. From all the footprints, we know there’s a lot of them, which
means an even bigger payday for us all. Now man up and move!”

His men
reluctantly turned, the slow progress continuing as they hacked through the
underbrush. He moved forward on autopilot, his mind processing what had just
happened. If they were getting close to the President, wouldn’t these Americans
be fighting to the death? Why would they be content to shoot just a few of his
men then run away? He could understand why they did that with Nyusi and his
men. They had time. Lots of it. But here? Now? He was pretty sure they were almost
on top of the survivors. Why wouldn’t the Americans be hitting them with
everything they had?

Something
had changed.

What it
was, he wasn’t sure, though he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it.

And with
so many of his men dead, if he didn’t deliver their payday, he might not make
it out alive.

South of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

Red broke into a small clearing, the area showing a lot of recent
human activity, shoeprints, trampled grass and plants, the underbrush hacked
away. Abandoned supplies were scattered about, it clear the survivors had taken
only what they could carry. Something long and thin glowed in the dark and he
pointed.

“That’s
the cable.”

Jagger
stepped over and grabbed a rope made of vines, attached to the same tree as the
cable. “Do you think we have time?”

Red
listened, the hacking of machetes approaching quickly. “Negative.” He activated
his comm. “Control, Bravo Zero-Two. Patch me through to Zero-One, over.”

It only
took a few moments for the patch to be made.

“Zero-Two,
Zero-One, come in, over.”

He
smiled at the sound of Dawson’s voice and stepped over to the edge of the high
embankment, peering through his night vision goggles at the other side. He
spotted Dawson and the unmistakable forms of the shorter Niner and massive
Atlas.

He
waved, the wave returned. “Everyone across?”

“Affirmative.
Use the rope to pull the trolley across and get your asses over her now.”

“Negative,
they’re almost on us. Want us to cut the line so they don’t know where you
went?”

“Negative.
We want them to know.”

Red
smiled. “Ahh, I see what you’ve got planned. We’ll stay out of your way and
open up a second front if needed.”

“Roger
that.” Dawson paused. “You heard about Spock?”

Red
grinned, Spock having insisted the Colonel not inform the others, he wanting to
surprise them. “Yeah, bastard owes me money.” He motioned for Spock to step
forward and their comrade walked up to the edge and waved. “I guess I’ll just
have to collect it out of his ass when we get home.”

“Jesus
Christ, is that who I think it is?” The excitement in Dawson’s voice was clear
and he could see the others pumping their fists in the air in quiet celebration.

“Yup,
found him wandering the forest, cryin’ for his mommy.”

Spock
motioned for Jagger to give him his earpiece and he quickly fit it into place.
“Actually, I found these guys running through the jungle like a bunch of
pansies and helped calm them down. And I’ll have you know, I’ll be paying out
all debts owed next week. With interest.”

Niner’s
voice cut in. “Last time that interest was a sloppy kiss. You can keep your
interest.”

Red
laughed, stepping back and listening to the approaching force, then cut short
the reunion. “They’re almost here. We’re going to go upriver a couple of
hundred yards and monitor. Good luck.”

“Good
luck, Zero-Two. Zero-One, out.”

Red
motioned for the others to haul ass. “Let’s get ahead of this group, see if we
can get a good firing position on the river. This entire day ends in the next
few minutes.”

Domingos rushed forward, several of his men calling out in
excitement. He entered a clearing at the river’s edge and smiled. Supplies were
scattered about, several significant piles nearby, it clear this was where the
survivors had been very recently. Yet something didn’t make sense. They had
obviously left in a hurry; he could see no other reason why they’d abandon
precious supplies including food and water and some medical supplies.

Why
would you leave this stuff?

All of
it could be carried, and even if they were in a hurry, he couldn’t understand
leaving so much.

“Sir,
look!”

He
looked over and saw one of his men pulling on a rope tied to a tree, it
extending down toward the river. He walked over and grabbed it.

A
steel cable!

His head
slowly turned as he followed the line across the river and down to the other
side about three meters below. He cursed, shaking his head. Now he knew what
had changed. Now he knew why they had abandoned their supplies.

They had
crossed the river.

The
attacks on his men had been to slow them down, to give the survivors a chance
to escape to the safety of the other side. The supplies were abandoned because
they couldn’t carry them over with them.

Unbelievable!

He had
to admit his respect for his adversary had just gone up, the courage it must
have taken to cross using just this cable, astounding.

“Do you
think they crossed?” asked the man who had discovered the cable.

Domingos
nodded. “Clearly.”

“I’ll
try it,” said the man. “Make sure it’s safe.”

Domingos
frowned as he tried to enter the mind of his adversary. If the roles were
reversed, and he had crossed the river, he’d be hiding in the trees on the
other side, waiting to shoot anyone who tried to come across that line. He
shook his head. “No, they’ll pick you off.” He looked down the embankment then
stepped off, sliding expertly down to the river’s edge, this something he had
been doing since he was a child. Listening to the water, he took a tentative
step forward then nodded.

He waved
to his men above. “We’ll cross here like we always do. These Americans are soft
and have no idea how to handle themselves in the jungle. They use rope because
they are afraid to get wet. We are men! We’ll cross this river and capture
them, just like we’ve planned from the start. The river will
not
stand
in our way like it did theirs!”

His men
roared and dropped over the edge, half sliding, half tumbling, the first bunch
wading into the river, eager to get to the other side and closer to their
reward.

“Let’s
go! Let’s go!” he shouted, urging the company of men over the embankment and
into the water, the first group already half way across, hands clasped together
at the wrists to help each other across the slippery bottom.

He
stopped the last group of about twenty men before they descended. “Stay up
there. I want you to lay steady fire on the other side so they don’t get a
chance to shoot our men.”