The Machiavelli Covenant (60 page)

He had looked away purposely because he was afraid he would be caught staring at her and that such a thing might make her nervous. Still, he couldn't help thinking about her. The train would reach Berlin in a little over five hours. What would happen then? Did she have friends, family, someone to meet her? Or was she alone? And if she was, did she have a job or a home, at least somewhere to go?

Suddenly he felt an almost overwhelming need to protect her. As if she were his wife or his sister or even his daughter. It was then and for the first time he realized
why he was here and why they had sent him. To take action to protect her and people like her
before
something happened. He was a
preventive force
.

It was why he had done what they had asked in Washington, why he had done as Richard had asked and walked through the Atocha Station terrorist bombing site in Madrid, why he had killed the jockeys in Chantilly, and why Richard had put him on this train, sending him to Berlin and then on to Warsaw, where he had promised him the most significant situation of his life. Where, if he carried out his directives properly, a major step toward halting the spread of terrorism would begin. The circumstances he knew would be complex, even dangerous, but he wasn't afraid or even nervous. Instead he was honored, knowing that if he succeeded he would be helping to protect the lives of innocent people everywhere. People like the young woman reading her book across from him now.

•
3:03 A.M.

They'd followed a slippery, dangerous trail downhill for a little over a mile in the dark before they reached the stream bank where they were now, stopped on a low rise, waiting as José went down to the water's edge trying to get some sense of the best place to cross the rushing current. So far they had seen nothing of the ground troops and assumed they were probably still in the hills behind them, though there was no way to be sure.

Ten minutes earlier the attack helicopters had abruptly pulled away from where they had been crisscrossing the area upstream and flown off to the southwest. It made them think Miguel had been found and was doing everything he could to delay them because so far they hadn't come back.

Marten moved partway down the bank, trying to pick José out in the dark. This was no time for their only guide to misstep and be swept away by the churning water. He was nearly to the young Spaniard when the wind suddenly picked up. For the briefest moment the clouds parted and the moon shone through. As it did, Marten saw shadows coming down the hill behind them. In front of him, across the water, was the two-hundred-yard-wide unprotected area José had described. Then the clouds returned and the moonlight faded.

Quickly he went to José. "Men are coming down the hill behind us. We have to cross the water and then the open space fast, before the moon shows again."

•
3:07 A.M.

They clasped arms in a human chain to get across. Difficult enough under normal circumstances, next to impossible while trying to keep their balance against the force of cascading water and at the same time stay beneath the Mylar blankets. The order of alignment now, the same as it had been: José, then Marten, then the president, then Hap.

"Look," Marten said as something above the high ridge upstream caught his eye. Immediately the searchlight of an attack helicopter swung across the mountainside and started down over the stream coming right at them, its light playing on the hillside where they had
been and where they could now see at least a dozen uniformed men rushing down toward the water.

"José, go, go!" the president yelled.

The teenager moved as if he had been shot. In seconds he was on the far bank and helping the others up. Then they turned and ran, crossing the open space and slipping into the trees a heartbeat before the helo reached the site where they had forded the stream. Abruptly it pulled up, swinging the searchlight over the open area and toward the trees where they were and then back across the stream and the hillside where they had been. Further up they saw the second and third helos crisscrossing the stream, their searchlights playing over it and the rugged hillsides on either side.

•
3:13 A.M.

They were in the thick woods, climbing through increasingly difficult and complex rock formations. José looked back, then stopped and waited for the others to catch up. All were nearly spent—their legs turning to rubber, gasping to draw in air under the thin Mylar blankets, by now fighting just to keep moving at all.

•
3:15 A.M.

They crouched at the base of a massive boulder, hidden in the close overhang of a long-dead tree fallen against it. Seconds later an attack helicopter made a pass directly overhead, the beam of its searchlight lighting up the rock formations and casting enormous shadows through the trees. A second helo followed in its path. And then came a third.

"¡Por aquí!"
This way! José yelled as soon as it passed. In a blink they were up and moving.

•
3:17 A.M.

"¡Por aquí!"
He yelled again, turning sharply off the trail and squeezing through a narrow slit at the base of two towering sandstone pillars. The others followed on the run, slipping through behind him.

"It is called 'The Devil's Slide.' It is very steep and very far to the bottom. Pretend this is a game and you are blindfolded. Follow my sound and just slide with it!" José said quickly in Spanish. As rapidly the president translated.

"Okay?" José asked in English.

"Go," the president said.

"Sí." Instantly the teenager stepped off into the blackness and was gone. They could hear him below, sliding on the shale as he went down. From high above came the distant thudding chop of the helos.

"You're next, Hap," the president ordered.

"Yes, sir," Hap nodded and, with a glance at Marten, stepped over the side.

Marten looked at the president and half smiled. "Promise kept. You didn't die in the tunnel."

"We're not going to die here either." Now it was the president's turn to smile. "I hope."

"So do I. You're next, Cousin. Go!"

The president nodded, then abruptly turned and slid into the pitch black. Marten waited for him to clear the space beneath, then took a breath and followed.

•
3:19 A.M.

It was as if they had stepped into an elevator shaft. The chute was as José had said, very steep and very far to the bottom. Steeper and farther than any of them had imagined. Straight down through the blackness. Those above showered the ones below with pieces of flying shale.

José. Hap. The president. Marten. Plummeting down sightless. Standing on one foot and then the other. Each trying wildly to keep his balance while the earth slid out from under him. Each man above hoping to hell he didn't overtake the man below him.

Marten bounced off an unseen wall of rock to his right, that all but knocked the wind out of him. He pushed himself up and shifted to the left, hoping he could remain centered and not run into a wall on the other side.

He heard a heavy grunt below as the president hit something. He wanted to yell out, ask if he was alright but he was moving too fast. Suddenly he was afraid that if the president had been hurt he would slide right past him in the dark and not know it. The idea of reaching bottom and then having to climb back was no idea at all because it would be impossible. The shale would never hold. Then he heard the president cry out again as he hit something else and knew at least he was still in front of him.

A half second later his right foot caught on something and pitched him headfirst down the hill. He slid at terrifying speed, desperately flinging out one arm and then the other trying to slow himself. Then his right arm encircled a large rock. He jerked himself toward it and stopped. He was dazed and breathless. Then he saw the searchlights of the helicopters sweeping the forested rock formations above. It made him fear that at any
moment their pilots would realize what had happened and suddenly swoop down to light up the entire area, at the same time sending a wave of troops cascading down in pursuit. Or worse, they would be waiting at the bottom when he finally got there.
If
he got there. Another breath and he stood. Then again stepped off into the dark.

•
3:24 A.M.

Miguel stood inside the command post with his arms folded over his chest. Captain Diaz stood in front of him. So did Bill Strait. So too did Dr. James Marshall. Hector and Amado were off to one side, silent, in the custody of two CNP officers. To Miguel's relief and delight, everyone seemed to be as exhausted as he was. It meant the longer he could drag this out, the longer it would be before they took action.

Hap had bought the president, Marten, and himself precious time earlier by giving up Hector and Amado. Miguel had given them a bit more by going off on his own and then watching the movement of the helicopter searchlights from the hilltop. When he'd seen the helos start downstream he'd taken off the Mylar blanket and exposed himself to the satellite's thermal imaging. It had worked almost instantly. In seconds the three helos pulled away and headed straight for him. Less than a minute later he was in the blaze of a searchlight. Then the helos touched down and armed men came running.

He'd told them his story at gunpoint, then repeated it to CNP and U.S. Secret Service agents in the helicopter on the way here. And now he was determined to tell it once more. Using up time was everything.

"Look," he said patiently in his Australian-accented Barcelonan English. "I will try and explain it to you once again. My name is Miguel Balius. I am a limousine driver from Barcelona. I came to visit my cousin in El Borràs. When I arrived he was not there and his wife was crazy because my nephew Amado and his friend Hector were missing. Amado," he pointed at his nephew, "is that chap there. Hector is him," he gestured directly at Hector. "They were gone all day, did not come home for supper, nobody knows where they are, everybody's upset. Except I know where they are. Or I think I know. They're where they're not supposed to be. Up in the old mine tunnels looking for gold that's not there but everyone thinks it is. There is no gold in these mountains, but nobody believes it. Anyway, I tell no one, and take my cousin's motorcycle and come up here. I find their motorcycles where they always leave them. It starts to rain. I start to look. Eventually I find what I think are footprints. I follow them. It gets later. I'm wet and cold. Then, all of sudden, boom! Bright lights from the sky and in come these helicopters. Men jump out with guns. They want to know about the president of the United States. I say, 'I understand he's a nice man.' They say, 'What else do you know?' I say that I saw on the news he was taken away from Madrid in the middle of the night because of some terrorist threat. Next thing I know here I am and luckily I find Amado and Hector safe."

"You were with the president, out there on the mountain," Bill Strait said flatly.

"The president of the United States is out there on the mountain?"

"Where
is
he?"

"I came up here after Amado and Hector."

"What were you doing with a Mylar blanket?" Strait's manner was like ice, his questioning increasingly accusatory.

"I'm going into the mountains alone in the cold and rain and dark. I'm going to take something to help protect me. It's all I had."

"The protection you were looking for was from satellite surveillance."

Miguel laughed. "I'm running around in the dark and you've got a satellite looking for me? Thanks very much. I appreciate the help."

"Where is the president?" Strait pushed hard. "Who else was with him?"

"I said I came up here after Amado and Hector."

"Where
is
he?" Strait was right in Miguel's face, his eyes like stone, his stare cutting him in half.

"The president?"

"Yes."

"You mean now?"

"Yes, now."

Miguel suddenly stopped his banter and looked Bill Strait in the eye. "I have absolutely no idea."

•
3:30 A.M.

They sat on the flat of a rock-strewn trail at the bottom of the chute. They were shaking, breathless, scraped, bloodied, torn, wasted. But they'd made it. Each man accounted for. Each had said something to make sure he still had a grip on his senses. Each was enormously thankful to have made it down alive.

Far above they could see the helos still moving back and forth, playing their searchlights over the high pinnacles and the conifer forest below them. It meant that, for the moment at least, no one had found their trail or the drop into hell they had used for their escape.

The president took a deep breath and looked to José. "You are a very special person," he said in Spanish. "I thank you for myself and for all of us. I would like to call you my friend." He reached out and extended his hand.

José hesitated for the briefest moment, then looked to the others and back at the president. A shy, proud smile crept over his face as he reached out to take the president's hand.

"Gracias, sir. Usted es mi amigo,"
he looked to the others and nodded.
"You es todos mis amigos."
Thank you, sir. You are my friend. You are all my friends.