This was different.
Somebody laughed.
Somebody else snapped out a scolding.
The laughter wasn’t repeated.
But it was too late, the enemy’s position revealed.
And they were close.
Too close to pass up the opportunity.
He knew Dawson was taking the civilians across the river. It was the right move, these rebels moving too fast to outrun, but they needed time. There were almost fifty people to get across and at the rate these guys seemed to be moving, maybe an hour left to complete the job.
Not enough time.
We have to delay them.
He motioned for the others to fan out then activated his comm. “Control, Bravo Zero-Two, come in, over.”
“Zero-Two, this is Control Actual. What’s your status, over?”
“We’ve found the rebel force, about two hundred yards east of us. They’re going to be on top of the survivors in less than an hour. Is there any chance of an airstrike?”
“Negative, Zero-Two. Pentagon says they can’t risk the President.”
“The flyboys would really have to miss at this distance, Colonel.”
“You and I are in agreement, but no one wants to chance a friendly fire incident.”
“I think the chances of a hostile fire incident is much greater.”
“Preaching to the choir, Zero-Two, but there’s nothing we can do. More SEALs are on the way but they’re dropping in well back due to what happened. Pentagon is playing this cautiously. It’s their position that the President and his family will be the first across the river so they will be safe. The others are acceptable losses should it go bad.”
“Nice. Permission to harass and delay?”
“Granted. Just watch yourselves, the odds are a little against you this time.”
“Roger that, Colonel. Zero-Two, out.”
He switched frequencies, whispering to the others. “Okay boys, delaying tactic. We’re not really trying to hit anything, we’re trying to slow them down and draw them toward us. Let’s just get about one hundred yards out, lay down some fire, then fall back to the southwest. Understood?”
Acknowledgements came through his earpiece. He flipped his night vision goggles in place and using hand signals, ordered the advance. As they neared the large group the quiet whispers of conversation became more obvious, and soon one could be forgiven for thinking they were coming up on a group of people just out camping. They were clearly in good spirits, the banter quiet though interspersed with snickers and chuckles.
Probably thinking they’re about to be rich.
“Hold.”
He stopped behind a tree, the western edge of the force visible. Most of them had torches in one hand, AKs in the other or slung.
They had no idea they were about to be hit.
“One mag each then fall back on three… two… one… execute.”
He opened fire, single shot, picking his targets as best he could, the jungle dense from this distance, it hard to find enough targets worth the thirty shots available.
As panic spread among the hostiles, a few had the presence of mind to drop and return fire as Red shot his final round. He turned and tore ass west as he ejected the empty mag and reloaded. The gunfire began to increase as the rest of the enemy found their balls, somebody coordinating them, and he could hear the trees behind him getting ripped apart, but with every step more and more lumber was between the team and their enemy. He could hear the others on his flanks, a quick glance showing everyone still on their feet, and as the bullets faded, he turned to the left, heading south, the others mirroring his move.
He signaled a stop and they all took a knee. “I took out about six.” He looked at Spock. “You?”
“Same.”
“Five.”
“Four.”
“Nine.”
Red eyed Jimmy. “Nine?”
He grinned. “What can I say? I had a good shot at a cluster of them.”
Red started to do the mental math. “So what’s that, six—twelve—seventeen—”
“Thirty,” interrupted Spock.
“Math whiz.”
Spock cocked an eyebrow. “No, I just paid attention in school.”
“Show off,” muttered Jagger.
Spock gave him the finger in the pitch dark.
“Umm, you do realize we all have night vision?”
Spock’s eyes popped wide. “Oops.”
Everyone stifled a laugh.
Red glanced back toward the firefight. “They’ve stopped and I’m not hearing any signs of pursuit. Looks like they’re not taking the bait. Any other ideas?”
“Keep hitting them. If we could get thirty at a time, we just might thin them out enough to either break their lines or at least make it a winnable fight when they reach BD.”
Red looked at Jagger, chewing his lip. “That’s a big if. I don’t think they’ll be caught with their pants down this time. My guess is they’ll drop on the first shot then open fire. We took them by surprise this time, it won’t happen again.”
“Then what do we do?” asked Spock.
Red grinned. “Rather than harass, we annoy.”
North of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique
Afonso Domingos took cover behind a tree, content to let his men return fire as he listened. The burst of fire on their position was short lived, his men quickly responding. He knew enough about military tactics to know this was a delaying action. If it were fifty men like Nyusi had claimed, there would have been a massive amount of firepower concentrated on their position, and it wouldn’t have stopped.
If there’s half a dozen, I’ll be surprised.
Which meant they were trying to delay them because he must be close.
His men were used to the jungle, used to moving at night by torchlight or less. They would absolutely be moving faster than the survivors, for there clearly were survivors. A small force wouldn’t risk their lives to protect wreckage.
Survivors mean money.
He smiled at the thought as he stepped out from behind the tree.
Nobody will stop me from getting my payday.
“Cease fire!” he ordered, the gunfire quickly dwindling to silence. “They’re just trying to delay us! We keep moving forward!”
Somebody moaned to his right, a stomach wound that would have him dead within the hour, either from blood loss or jungle beast. He pulled his Beretta and put a single shot in the man’s chest.
A hushed silence spread across the group.
“That was not punishment, that was mercy. There’s no time to take care of the wounded. If you’re wounded and can walk, head back to the boats. If you can’t, you can take your chances in the jungle alone, or ask your comrades to finish it for you. Either way, we move out, now!”
A gunshot rang out to his left, another to his right.
Then the entire force moved forward, the idle chatter silenced, the excitement over what was supposed to be an easy payday, forgotten.
This had become real.
Leaving South African Airspace
Igor Khomenko stared out the window at the night sky, the sun barely a sliver to the west, the stars forcing their way onto the deep blue canvas overhead. In the distance, he could see the red and green lights of another plane, but his eyes were focused on the ground below.
How did they survive?
He had spent the entire time in the bathroom reading every report he could find, but there were no details yet, the White House not even confirming the reports the President was alive, instead issuing a statement that there would be a press conference shortly.
Shortly.
Unfortunately, he was now on an airplane with no Wi-Fi, it apparently disabled for some reason.
Maybe they know about the hack on Air Force One.
If they did, then he would imagine that every airline in the world would have their Wi-Fi networks disabled, thinking that their systems were vulnerable. He was no t
ech expert and wasn’t about to speak up to tell them they had nothing to worry about.
That’s not how I did it, so it’s okay to turn the Wi-Fi back on!
He smiled slightly, his face reflected in the small portal to the outside world.
Then sighed.
What had been the point? He wasn’t out to seek revenge on the rest of the plane, just the President. His family was gravy. The others he couldn’t care less about, their deaths doing nothing to quench his desire for revenge.
Starling killed my family. He’s the one who had to die.
And now he was alive, and probably perfectly fine, perhaps already rescued and sipping lattes with his family, laughing at what had just happened.
Would they even know that it wasn’t an accident?
The thought gnawed at him for a moment then he smiled. They had to know it was done deliberately, otherwise they never would have tried to capture him at the motel. They definitely knew, which gave him some comfort. But by the grace of some miracle, Starling survived an assassination attempt so bold, it would have to send chills down the spine of even a coldhearted bastard like him.
He’ll be looking over his shoulder forever.
And if Khomenko weren’t dying, there’d be a legitimate reason for the man to look.
Yet it wasn’t to be. He could feel the life draining out of him. He had seen it enough on the oncology ward over the past six months, he recognized the death in his eyes, the sallow cheeks, the pale skin that barely clung to his body.
His body was shutting down now that the reason to live was gone. He had held on longer than he should have, all for this one shot to settle the score, to balance the scales of karmic justice.
And he had failed.
There were no more attempts in him, no more will even to try.
He just wanted to get home.
He wanted to die in his beloved homeland.
To rest in eternity, next to his wife and daughter.
A tear rolled down his cheek and he wiped it away, closing his eyes then resting his head against the seatback, the image of his wife and daughter the morning he last saw them alive, vivid.
I miss you both so much.
South of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique
Felix reached up and someone grabbed his hand, hauling him up and onto the riverbank. He took a few seconds to catch his breath, the trip across none too easy, he having slipped twice, despite his training.
Atlas is never going to let me live that down.
He swore he had heard the big man laugh on his second fall.
He pushed himself to his feet, unhooking the cable as the civilians stranded on this side surrounded him in the dark, there barely any moonlight making it through the trees overhead, the canopy from either side almost touching at this narrowed point.
How the hell that pilot spotted this, I’ll never know.
“Who’s in charge?” he asked as he looked for the sturdiest tree he could find.
“I am. Senior Airman Cornel,” said a voice in the dark.
Felix reached out and shook the man’s hand as he stepped forward. “Call me Felix. We’re going to be sending everyone over to this side.” He swung the cable around a large tree trunk and pulled, handing it to the man. “Wrap that around for me, would you?”
Cornel carried the cable around the tree and Felix took the end, repeating the process several times before hooking the end back onto the cable, everything taught. He removed his flashlight and flashed it three times, it decided that the rebels were too close to be shouting across the river.
Three flashes acknowledged.
He turned to the group. “Okay, the line is a little higher on the other side, so we’re going to slide the wounded over first. Our job is to unhook them as quickly as possible so that they can pull back the harness and get the next person across. We’ll move the wounded about a hundred yards back from the river so they’ve got lots of cover in case the shit hits the fan.”
“Do you think it will?” asked a woman behind Cornel.
“It will, it’s just a matter of when.” Steve felt the cable bounce and he turned back toward the river. “Okay, here comes the first person. This is one of my team, just to test it out.”
He watched as Reg Parker slid across easily, one of the reporters a former mechanic who managed to fashion a trolley out of the parts from the hoist, allowing Reg to slide smoothly across, gravity doing its job.
The only problem was there was no brake.
Reg had quite a bit of momentum built when Felix heard him curse.
“It’s gonna hurt!”
Felix reached out an arm and caught him, killing much of the forward momentum as Reg kicked his legs out, hitting the tree, his knees absorbing the impact. Felix helped him unhook then remove the harness fashioned out of belts and clothes. He tied it to the trolley then signaled for it to be pulled back using the vine tied to it. It immediately disappeared into the night as Reg gathered himself.
“So?”
Reg shook his head. “The First Lady is next. They’re sending her over on the stretcher, she’s in too rough a shape to hook into that harness. She’s going to have a lot of momentum built when she gets here.”
Felix frowned. “We don’t have much choice. We’ll just have to try and catch the stretcher on either side and hope we kill her momentum.”
Three flashes from the other side.
“Here she comes.”
They could see a black mass moving toward them though it didn’t seem to be racing faster and faster as they expected. The stretcher was making good speed, but was somehow controlled. Felix exchanged a quick glance with Reg, not sure what the hell was going on.
“Did you do it wrong?”
Reg shrugged. “I dunno.”
The stretcher reached them and they easily stopped it, Felix noticing the taught line attached to the trolley. He helped Reg unhook the stretcher from the trolley then signaled for its return as two volunteers carried the First Lady, moaning, into the darkness.
Felix looked at Reg. “I guess I never thought of that.”
Red shook his head. “All I want to know is did they figure that out before or after they sent me hurling across.”
“Who’s manning the other end?”
“Niner.”
Felix grinned. “Oh, he knew.”
North of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique
Red peered through his night vision goggles, the first of the rebel force appearing through the trees. They had managed to hoof it ahead of the group and were now spread out over one hundred yards on the enemy’s right flank. It was too dangerous to hit them like they had before, it just gave them something to shoot at.
So now they’d become insects.
Annoying mosquitos.
He squawked his comm three times, starting the three count. He picked his target, counting down in his head.
And squeezed the trigger.
A single shot from five positions, five targets down, then nothing.
There were some shouts, some returned fire, then nothing, there nothing to fire at. The rebels had taken to ground immediately, all either prone or hiding behind trees.
And not moving.
Precious minutes bought.
He watched through his night vision, nobody advancing on their position, exactly as he had predicted. These men were after a prize and knew this was a delaying tactic. They weren’t about to split their force to find this small element trying to keep them from their reward. He knew from experience that too often life was considered cheap in this part of the world. Their commander would most likely be well back so as not to be at risk, sending his men forward, unconcerned how many died, as long as he reached his target.
Dawson and the others were getting the civilians across, their last communication from the Colonel indicating the First Lady and her daughter were safe though for some reason there was no update on the President’s condition. He had to assume the man was across and with
every minute they bought the survivors, another one would make it to safety.
However temporary that might be.
The rebels would pursue them across the river, of that he had zero doubt. They had to know by now that there were survivors, there no reason for his team to be harassing them if there wasn’t.
US policy was that they didn’t negotiate with terrorists but that was bullshit. Ransoms were paid all the time, just through back channels and third parties so the government could claim they hadn’t broken their own rule.
What’s a President worth?
He watched as the rebels slowly rose to their feet.
Obviously enough for these guys to be willing to die.
He squawked three times and counted down, firing a single shot then falling back, more fire poured on them this time. He heard somebody grunt to his right and saw Jimmy stumbling. He made a beeline for him and grabbed him, swinging Jimmy’s arm over his shoulders and helping him forward in silence. Spock found them on the left and grabbed Jimmy’s free arm as they continued as fast as they could, Jagger and Wings joining them to provide cover fire should it become necessary.
But the return fire had already stopped.
They came to a rest behind a tree, Jimmy already regaining his feet by the time they stopped.
“You okay?” asked Red.
“Yeah, caught one in the vest, just knocked the wind out of me.”
Red checked the body armor and spotted the hole, the crumpled bullet embedded in the Kevlar. He pulled it out and handed it to Jimmy. “Doesn’t have your number on it.”
“Good thing.” Jimmy held up a hand and Wings hauled him to his feet. He moved around a bit, testing his joints. “I’m good. Let’s book.”
“You sure?”
“Yup. No time to waste over bruises.”
Red nodded, scanning the jungle behind them for movement, seeing none.
“I don’t think they’ll stand for that again. If I were their commander, I’d send half my company after us. He’s still got over a hundred and fifty men, even split there’s more than enough to capture any survivors.”
The Lazarus Moment Page 20