The Lazarus Moment (30 page)

Red
waved and Dawson turned to the Secret Service agents. “You two get back to the
main party and let them know everything is going to be fine. Set up camp, get a
fire going, and let’s hunker down until the SAR team gets here.”

Pleased
expressions abounded as the Secret Service agents disappeared into the jungle.

Somebody
shouted in the distance, downriver.

He
cursed.

Clearly
some had survived.

Maybe
this isn’t over.

Domingos heard one of his men shout from the shoreline and he kicked
toward him, his hand outstretched as he struggled for breath. He felt fingers
grasp his, then someone grab his wrist, halting his progress, his legs swinging
toward the shore as he was hauled out of the water. He collapsed on the riverbank,
clearing his lungs of water with several involuntary heaves, then dropped onto
his back, his chest rapidly rising and falling as a few of his men gathered
round him, some wounded, others unscathed.

“How
many?” he asked, pushing up onto his elbows.

“Six.”

“Six?”
He felt his stomach tighten.

“That’s
all so far. There may be more, but…”

He
nodded, putting his arms up, his men hauling him to his feet.

Six.
Out of two hundred.

And that
didn’t count Nyusi’s seventy men. Almost three hundred soldiers, three hundred
comrades, dead. With nothing to show for it.

Nothing.

It was
heartbreaking, though not for the reasons it should be. He was supposed to be
rich, and now he was poorer than he ever had been. His army was wiped out, his
command in tatters.

He had
nothing.

He had
no one to command, no one to lead, which meant those he lived off of had no
reason to obey him. The income from the tolls would disappear, the respect of
the villagers would be lost, and he’d probably be driven out of the area.

To
return to what?

His
wife?

Better
death than that.

He
looked at his men in the moonlight, recognizing and feeling their fear and
anger, their confusion and uncertainty. Their lives as they knew it had just
ended, almost everyone they knew dead.

For
nothing.

“What do
we do, sir?”

He stared
upriver. It would be suicide to try and pursue the Americans. It was over, the
President and the others no longer a prize that could be caught.

But he
was forgetting one thing.

“Let’s
get down to the plane and see what we can retrieve. There’s still one hell of a
payday there, and with there so few of us left, we don’t need to split it so
many ways.”

This
brightened the faces of the men around him, and probably staved off a summary
execution.

I
might still get my Jaguar.

Air Force One Survivors’ Camp, Mozambique

Dawson rested against one side of a tree, his knees drawn up
halfway, Niner, Atlas and Spock circling the rest of the trunk. They had wanted
to help but the civilians were so grateful they had ordered those who had
fought for them, off their feet. The brush was almost cleared away, two good
fires going, water and rations being handed out.

And the
mood was optimistic for the first time since the virus had wiped their control
systems.

He
looked over at Airman Lennox, the relief on his face clear, he and Cornel
getting along once again. They had been stranded on the opposite side of the
river during the ordeal, and with almost no one left alive that knew of his
crime, he had been treated as just another survivor, Cornel apparently biting
his tongue. Dawson was no lawyer, and definitely not a judge. He understood why
the man did what he did, though couldn’t condone it. The man had acted to save
his family yet in the process killed almost fifty people. He didn’t know if the
man would be thrown in prison when they got back, though he was pretty sure his
Air Force career was over.

No
matter what, there were no winners here, only victims. Lennox was a victim, of
that there was no doubt, and through his actions dozens died and some would
argue—though he’d call bullshit on it—that the blood of hundreds of dead rebels
stained his hands as well.

“Meatloaf
and mashed potatoes with gravy.”

Dawson’s
head lolled over to the side, staring at Niner. “Huh?”

“What I
want to eat when I get home.”

“Doesn’t
sound very Korean,” rumbled Atlas from the opposite side of the tree.

“You’re
the one who keeps telling me I’m American.”

“You
are.”

“I know.
And my parents insisted we live like Americans. My mom makes awesome Korean
food, but most nights around the table were American style. My mom never wanted
my friends to turn up their noses at what was served if they stayed for dinner,
so she only made Korean food twice a week or on special occasions.”

Spock
grunted. “I find that hard to believe.”

Dawson
could hear Niner shift. “Excuse me?”

“Not
your mom’s cooking. I find it hard to believe you had friends.”

Dawson
laughed, the thud of a landed punch heard behind him. Atlas grunted. “Could
anyone else see these friends?”

“Don’t
make me come over there and kick your ass,” replied Niner.

“You and
what imaginary army?”

Dawson
heard the comm beep, the call he had been waiting for arriving, Red’s team
having handed over their comms while they rested.

“Bravo
Zero-One, Control Actual. Come in, over.”

“Control
Actual, Zero-One, I read you, over.”

“Zero-One,
happy to report that your hostiles are in complete retreat back down the river
with no one on your side. SAR team wants to know if you can get back across the
river.”

Dawson
glanced at Niner who grinned. “Negative, Control, that was a one way ride.”

“Roger
that. SAR team should be crossing any moment.”

“Any ETA
on a medivac for the First lady?”

“It’s
inbound now. Should be over your location shortly.”

Dawson
looked up, the moonlight barely making it through the thick canopy. “I’m not
sure they’ll be able to get anyone down here, let alone back up.”

“SAR
team will take care of it. You and your men can take a break. Control Actual,
out.”

Dawson
listened for the chopper but heard nothing. The sounds of the jungle were
almost drowned out by the weary yet happy survivors, most in great spirits. He glanced
over at the first family, near one edge of the clearing that had been made,
Starling and his daughter lying on the ground on either side of the ailing
First Lady.

She’s
not going to make it.

The comm
squawked. “Bravo Zero-One, Sierra Zero-One. We’ve got activity at the river,
over.”

Dawson
stood, the others doing the same. “SAR team should be arriving, hold your
fire.” The SEALs had volunteered to take first watch at the river and Dawson
had readily agreed, he and his men exhausted. Red and his team were already
sacked away nearby, their ordeal a little more grueling, fighting and running
through the jungle for almost eight hours with no rest a bit harder than
corralling fifty people.

Though
he’d remind them of the fact he and the others had fallen out of the sky, if
they tried to sleep longer than the two hours agreed to.

Dawson
followed a trail hacked out earlier, Atlas, Niner and Spock behind him, the
sound of the river growing as they approached.

“Confirmed,
SAR team has arrived,” came the announcement over the comm, Dawson feeling the
tension in his shoulders immediately ease. The burden of command was about to
be lifted. He didn’t mind it in combat, in fact, he thrived off it, but being
in charge of almost fifty civilians including the President of the United
States and his family? Not his cup of tea. He did it because it was necessary,
and he was pretty sure the brass would privately agree he did a good job, though
the public record would probably somehow blame him for what went wrong.

Air
Force One had crashed due to a terrorist act. Over forty people were dead and
the First Lady may yet die.

Somebody
had to be blamed.

About
his only saving grace at the moment was that he officially didn’t exist, though
that blanket of protection might be thrown to the wind if a satisfactory
scapegoat couldn’t be found.

“You
hear that?” asked Niner.

Dawson
cocked an ear and nodded, the distinctive sound of several Seahawks approaching
from the south echoing through the trees. Dawson arrived at the river, the SAR
team using the jury-rigged cable with their own trolley to slide across.

 Skerritt
glanced over at them as they emerged from the trees. “The cavalry has arrived,”
he said, nodding toward the first man as two of his team unhooked the SAR team
member.

“Just
after
the nick of time,” replied Atlas.

“Oh,
that reminds me of an awesome movie,” said Niner, Spock and Atlas immediately
groaning. “Nick of Time. Johnny Depp stars in it. His daughter is kidnapped and
he’s blackmailed into assassinating a politician.
Awesome
movie. We
should do that next movie night, you guys will love it.”

“Does it
have all four cornerstones of a good movie?” asked Atlas.

“Only V
and L unfortunately.”

“No S
and N?”

“Nope.”

“Then it
doesn’t make the cut.”

“Who
decided these rules?”

“You
did!” echoed Atlas, Spock and Dawson, the SEAL team laughing as the SAR team lead
walked over.

“Lieutenant
Commander Jacobson. I understand you’re in command?”

Dawson
wasn’t in uniform so didn’t salute, but did draw himself to attention slightly.
“Agent White. I stand relieved.”

“I bet
you do,” smiled Jacobson. He held out his hand. “Lead the way.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Niner
and Atlas led them through the trail blazed earlier.

“You and
your men did a hell of a job,
Agent
.”

Dawson
caught a slight smirk from Jacobson.

Must
have been briefed on who I
might
be.

“Thank
you, sir. The civilians will be relieved that you’re here.” He pointed up.
“Sounds like your choppers are arriving but I’m not sure if there are any gaps for
them to evac the First Lady.”

“You
leave that to us,” said Jacobson as they came out into the clearing, everyone
who was still awake stopping what they were doing and turning to see the new
arrival. Lt. Commander Jacobson immediately reported to the President as Dawson
heard a small motor roar to life.

“Is that
what I think it is?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

Jacobson
turned and nodded. “We brought a couple of chainsaws. We’re going to clear an
LZ so we can get the wounded and the President out immediately, then have a
large enough area cleared by morning so everyone can get out.” He turned to the
gathering crowd, almost everyone awake now. “Rest easy, ladies and gentlemen,
your ordeal is almost over!”

Cheers,
tears, hugs and kisses circulated the group, Jane beaming a smile at Dawson
that would have made most men’s hearts skip a beat. Dawson merely returned it,
oblivious to reality, his radar turned off long ago.

President
Starling led them away from his family. “Commander, I’ll leave as soon as the
last civilian leaves, not before.”

Jacobson
shook his head. “Negative, Mr. President. President Roberts gave direct orders
to physically remove you should you not leave on the first chopper.”

Starling
gave him a look, a bemused smile on his face. “Oh really.”

Jacobson
stifled a grin. “He said that as far as he was concerned he was President until
he saw the whites of your eyes, and if you had a problem with that, you could
take it up with the Chief Justice when you arrived in Washington.”

Starling
began to chuckle, then outright laugh as he shook his head. “Commander, you’ve
got moxie obeying that order. Fine, I leave with my wife and daughter if only
to save you from being court-martialed for disobeying an order.”

“Thank
you, Mr. President.”

“Timber!”
shouted somebody deeper in the jungle, the sound of a tree crashing silencing
the crowd, then only serving to fuel the excitement further as the thumping of
chopper blades pounded overhead.  

Commander
Jacobson pointed to the First Lady as more of his team arrived. “Prep her for
immediate transport.” He turned to the President. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr.
President.”

“Of
course.”

Jacobson
snapped out a smart salute, Starling returning it, then disappeared into the
woods. Starling turned to Dawson.

“Looks
like you’re going to get your steak after all.”

Dawson
tapped his watch. “I guess it’ll have to be steak and eggs.”

Starling
smiled. “Hopefully I’ll be able to join you.” The happiness melted away from
his face as he stared at his wife, the SAR team snapping together a proper
stretcher. “I have a horrible feeling my pain is only just beginning.”

Dawson
wasn’t sure what to say, or even if he should say anything, yet he felt
compelled to say something. “Everyone is praying for her, Mr. President.”

Starling
smiled slightly and patted him on the back. “Thank you, son.” He looked at the
other Delta operators, now gathered in a cluster. “Thank you all.”

Air Force One Survivors’ Camp, Mozambique

Dawson extended a hand and Niner hauled him into the Seahawk, the
last boot off the ground. One of the flight crew closed the door and the
chopper lifted off, the load of Delta and SEALs the final group to leave. As he
stared out over the thick jungle below, the morning sun already bright in the
sky, he could see nothing but trees, even the river completely obscured.