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.
A bundle of teenager burst out, grabbing onto Niner as if he were the only thing between her and a precipitous fall. Dawson stepped past and found the President leaning over his wife who appeared to be in some distress, holding the left side of her ribs. One staffer and an Air Force major were down, dead, hit by a dislodged table, their heads crushed.
Another was fine, holding life preservers, urging the President to put one on, the man ignoring his pleas.
“Mr. President!”
President Starling stared at Dawson, shocked at being yelled at. “My wife—”
“Is alive, but only if we get her off this plane.” He grabbed one of the lifejackets. “Now put this on and let’s get the hell out of here!”
The man nodded and a Secret Service agent helped him as Dawson quickly checked over the First Lady. Something had hit her hard on her upper left side, probably the table that had killed the two agents. She was clearly in pain, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He fitted the lifejacket over her head, tied it off, then helped her to her feet.
“Let’s go! Now!”
They exited the room, the fuselage twisting to starboard then port as it slowly scraped along the river bottom, and as they approached the nearest exit, the lines of passengers gone, the roar of the river became almost overwhelming.
Atlas and Spock were with the flight attendant, the rest of the cabin appearing empty save the dead, there thankfully few from what he could see. He handed the First Lady to Spock, one of their strongest swimmers. “Get her to shore!”
“Yes, Sergeant Major.” He grabbed the woman from behind then leapt out into the water, immediately being swept out of sight. Niner took the daughter and jumped out after her mother. Dawson pushed the President toward Atlas.
“Take him!”
“Yes, Sergeant!”
Atlas bear hugged the man, much to his surprise, then dove out.
“Is everyone off?”
The flight attendant nodded. “I think so!”
“Can you swim?”
She nodded.
“Then let’s join them.”
She pushed out the door then Dawson grabbed the frame, looking down the river as the survivors bopped up and down, struggling for the shore.
And the roar continued to get louder.
He jumped.
Niner grabbed a low-lying branch, bringing them to a rapid halt, his shoulder protesting. He pulled hard on the teenage girl, her panicked screams settling for a moment.
“Make for the shore!”
She kicked hard, paddling with her one free hand, continually reaching out too soon then floundering. Niner gave her a
bit of a swing and her free hand reached the shore, grabbing onto some vines.
“You good?”
She nodded and he let go of her hand, she immediately grabbing on with both to the vine, her legs still in the water. Niner scrambled to the shore then reached in and hauled her to her feet.
He took a split second to confirm they were secure then stared out at the water as the young girl grabbed him, hugging him hard, her head buried against his chest as she sobbed. He patted her on the back as he surveyed the water.
He spotted Spock struggling against the current with the First Lady. She appeared to be a dead weight, not helping at all, apparently unconscious.
Shit!
He extricated himself from the distraught teenager and dove back in, swimming hard toward Spock, the current carrying him swiftly to them. He reached out and grabbed the First Lady’s free arm then kicked hard toward the shore, the two Delta Operators able to carry the dead weight between them. Spock reached the shore first, grabbing onto a vine, halting them then swinging them toward the shore. Niner grabbed onto a vine then together they pulled the injured woman out of the water, dragging her away from the edge, laying her gently on the ground.
Her daughter was on them in seconds.
Spock pulled her gently away as Niner began first aid. “Stand back, honey, give him some room.”
Niner checked for a pulse and found none. He immediately began CPR as the daughter sobbed in Spock’s arms. Suddenly the woman coughed, water bursting from her mouth. Niner rolled her to her side as she coughed several more times, clearing the water out of her lungs, then rolled her onto her back.
Her daughter pounced, hugging her mother and sobbing, the woman weakly embracing the terrified girl.
Spock frowned at Niner, nodding toward the pair. “What do you think?”
Niner shook his head, lowering his voice. “She’s definitely got cracked ribs and she’s wheezing. Might be a collapsed lung. She needs treatment, fast.”
“Melanie! Nancy!”
They both turned to see the President rushing toward his family, Atlas behind him looking none the worse for wear. Niner stepped aside as the man’s daughter jumped up and grabbed her father, sobbing in relief.
The Lazarus Moment Page 10