* * * * *
Duardo didn’t see Flores go down. He heard it happen. They were in the rear of the line of Loyalists fighting to climb the steep track to the top of the cliff. Duardo needed one hand to pull himself up the track, so he slung the assault rifle and used the Mauser instead. They were close enough to the Insurrectos that the .45 slugs had stopping power.
He fired and watched the grizzled Insurrecto who had been stupid enough to lean out to see what he was firing at drop with a harsh gurgle. At the same time Duardo heard Flores grunt. He ducked down again and turned to check on Flores.
The general was dead. The bullet had drilled under the edge of his helmet, through his cheek, shattering the bone. It was a one in a million shot and for the Insurrectos, pure shitty luck. No one among them had the necessary aim needed to pull it off.
Duardo hung his head for a moment, silently saying goodbye.
Then he slapped Juarez on the shoulder. “Let’s finish this. A timed rush. Let Altira know.” He put his Mauser away and checked the load on the rifle and waved the last of the stragglers behind him to belly crawl their way up to his level. “Let’s go!” he shouted and surged up the hill.
Everyone followed, as the rifles cracked in a volley from across the strait, sounding like a roll of thunder.
* * * * *
A jetty platform made of new wood was attached to the side of the cave. Lights were strung from pitons hammered into the rock, which confirmed they were in the right place.
As soon as they cleared the mouth of the cave, guns fired from hidden positions farther in and everyone ducked. The men in the prow of the boat lifted their heads high enough to spot the guns and shoot back.
Parris had seen enough in her first sweeping glance to not have to raise her head. She tapped Ramirez’s ankle, all she could see from her squat in the bottom of the boat. “Go right past the landing platform. They’re expecting us to stop there and it’ll pin us down.”
“And go where?”
“Just keep going,” she said.
Ramirez grinned. “Brace yourselves!” he called out and opened the throttle again. The nose came up and everyone hugged the bottom of the boat. It cut through the water and the rear end scraped and bumped over rocks and then sand.
Then the boat slid over sand and rocks not covered in water, the metal grinding and scraping with sour notes. The motor roared, then cut out.
“Out and flip it!” Parris ordered and rolled to her left. The boat tilted as everyone followed her, and bullets pinged against the hull as it came up.
Handguns, she cataloged. A decent rifle round would drill right through.
They pulled the hull over until it ground against rocks and leaned over them.
There was a metallic crack and the whizz of a bullet. A hole punched through the corner of the boat.
“They’ve got at least one rifle,” Ramirez pointed out.
“Take a run at it,” she told him. “Everyone, cover Ramirez, then follow!” She slapped Adán’s arm. “You stay behind me, no matter what. Got it?”
He nodded. His expression was calm, which was astonishing. Civilians always flinched and cowed. They couldn’t help it. Their survival instinct made them do it.
She didn’t have time to wonder or worry. She turned back to the boat and lifted herself up to see over the edge as Ramirez launched himself around the stern and ran like a rabbit, dodging and firing.
Everyone laid down suppressing fire. She could see where the Insurrectos were all hugging a break in the cavern wall, firing over the top of them.
Ramirez dropped behind a big rock, ten yards from the Insurrectos and changed out his clip. He glanced back and nodded.
“Now!” Parris called.
They renewed their fire, keeping the Insurrectos ducked down.
Ramirez lifted the rifle and laid it over the top of the rock, sighted carefully and took a single shot.
An Insurrecto cried out and fell forward, his rifle clattering on the wet, rocky ground.
“Go!” she cried and leapt around the stern of the boat. The others poured out from around the boat, firing from the hip and running like hell. They surged past Ramirez, bounding from rock to rock, up to the level where the Insurrectos were falling back, their eyes wide.
Then they turned and ran.
“Keep going!” Parris yelled, picking out the slowest of the Insurrectos and bringing him down. “Follow them!”
It wasn’t a tunnel they followed, for a tunnel would have had smooth walls and a horizontal floor, and something that could be called a roof. Instead, the crack in the cliff face they had come through narrowed down and down until they were running through a vertical slit that had accumulated debris and dirt for millennia. The debris provided a floor for them to run on. The floor sloped up at a sharp angle. It was rocky and shifted under her boots. It slowed the Insurrectos, too.
Their dirty gray uniforms did not blend well with the black, wet sides of the tunnel and they were easy to pick off. “Leave at least one to show us the way,” Parris yelled, slowing down.
Ahead was a brighter light that didn’t flicker from the chug of diesel generators. The slit narrowed until it came to a sharp, abrupt end. The single Insurrecto jinked sideways before he reached it and disappeared.
Gomez hugged the wall and leaned to check where the Insurrecto had gone, then waved forward.
Parris pushed forward and saw the hole was a man-made one, with scrapes and furrows where the equipment had dug out the sides. Beyond was an even bigger cave, with bright lights and…
“People,” she whispered, staring at them.
There were perhaps two hundred women and men, young and old, sitting on the floor or lying on it. They watched Parris’ men at the entrance, their eyes wide. Every single one of them was dirty and all of them looked ill and listless.
The Insurrectos’ work force.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Guns spoke from far to the left. Parris threw herself against the left wall of the tunnel and glanced around it.
“There’s a passage up there,” she said, pointing. “Thirty yards. Held by three Insurrectos. Hand guns only. I can see daylight beyond.”
Adán hugged the wall beside her. “We have to find the bomb,” he said, his tone urgent.
Parris shook her head. “It’s here, somewhere. That’s all we need to know.”
“They’ll take it somewhere and use it, if we don’t find it!” Adán cried.
“It’s not going anywhere,” Parris assured him. “Trust me.”
Adán’s gaze met hers. For a moment, she thought he would argue. Instead, he nodded. “I trust you.”
Her breath evaporated in surprise. She sucked in more air. There was too much she wanted to say. How she loved that he would flat out trust her like that. That he was standing back and letting her do her job. He acknowledged her expertise and wasn’t dripping his male ego all over her because he felt threatened by her competence.
Instead, she found his hand, next to hers, and tangled her fingers in his. “Thank you.”
Adán’s smile was small. Heated. She could see there was a lot more he would say, if they were anywhere else.
“Go on,” he said, and pushed her hand forward.
“Stir up the people,” she told him. “Get them out of here. This place won’t be here in a few minutes.”
His lips parted in surprised. Then he nodded. “Got it.”
She pushed off from the wall and signaled her men. They had watched her and Adán. They had heard all of it. Yet not a single eye rolled. No one looked irritated or even uneasy.
She waved them forward. They swept into the larger cavern, their guns raised, and firing down the passage.
Parris followed them. The passage was longer than she thought, with off-shoots that turned out to be the administration wing of this little installation. A heavy pocket of armed Insurrectos cowering behind bunks and tables.
It was a rout. The numbers were on the Insurrectos’ si
de but not the impetus. Parris and her team swept through the rooms and chambers and raw caverns, cleaning them out. She didn’t bother with prisoners. Every time she thought of the frail people back in the larger cavern and what these soldiers had been forcing them to do, her mercy evaporated.
By the time they climbed the smoothed and rolled slope up to the mouth of the cave and out into the sunlight, there wasn’t a single Insurrecto still standing. She didn’t give a damn. She didn’t have the men to spare to watch prisoners, anyway.
They strode out into the bright mid-morning sunlight, to find themselves on a grassy, wind-whipped spit of land at the end of the island. The cliffs dropped into the sea, half a mile away.
Parris waved them onward. “Keep moving!” she ordered. “Amos! Radio!”
Amos jogged over to her and kept pace with her as they walked directly south, away from the cliffs.
Paris took the radio from him. She turned and walked backward, watching the dark mouth of the cave entrance.
“Come on, come on…” she muttered.
“He’s smart, Captain,” Amos said. “He’d wait until the firing stopped.”
She glared at him.
“Just saying, sir.” He grinned.
“Movement!” Ramirez called, raising his rifle. They were all walking backward, now, watching the cave.
“Check your targets!” Parris yelled.
The people who poured from the cave shuffled, hobbled and leaned against each other. They emerged with smiles, babbling and waving their hands in victory.
Adán walked in front.
Parris waved them on. “Move it!” she screamed.
Adán picked up the pace. He called over his shoulder and everyone quickened their speed, although no one had the strength to run.
Parris lifted the radio to her mouth. “Do you have eyes on me, sir?”
“We see you.” Strickland’s voice was static-filled, for he was in California.
Parris looked up at the sky. She could never see the drone although it didn’t stop her looking. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said.
“Job well done, Captain. Come on home.”
She handed the radio back to Amos.
The first missile told her where the drone was—a mile out to sea and high up. The missile streaked across the sky, leaving an orange after-image dazzling on her retinas. The missile dropped below the edge of the cliff and she heard and felt the dull roar. The ground trembled.
The Vistarians screamed and stumbled forward into a slow run. They were at a safe distance, only that wouldn’t stop them from panicking. They tripped and helped each other up and came stumbling forward.
Adán jogged to where she and her men stood. “They’re weak and sick and dying,” he said in an undertone. Anger colored his voice.
“Better to die out here and free,” Ramirez growled.
Adán sighed and nodded.
Another missile shrieked. This one took out the mouth of the cave. Rocks and dirt erupted. A fireball swelled and rose into the air.
“If anyone is still in there, they’re staying there now,” Parris said. “That’s both exits gone.”
“The cave system runs everywhere,” Adán said.
“Not for much longer,” Parris told him. “The drone carries eight missiles. Strickland will drop all of them before pulling it back home. The bomb and the cobalt will be buried under so many tons of rocks and earth, no one will ever reach it again.”
Adán considered the burning headland. He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “That will do.”
“Glad we have your approval, Silva,” Ramirez growled.
Adán grinned. Then his eyes widened. “Parris!” He lunged at her, his arms slapping around her. He spun, bringing her with him.
A rifle fired twice. She felt the impact through Adán. He grunted and folded forward, as the others shouted, bringing their guns to bear on the threat. Parris gripped the armor over Adán’s chest with one hand, guiding his fall while she pulled out her Glock and spotted the lone Insurrecto lying in the grass twenty-five yards away.
She aimed for the man’s forehead. Everyone else was firing at him. Parris knew it was her shot that found home, though. The Insurrecto threw back his head, then fell flat on his face and didn’t move.
By then, she was on her back, with Adán on top of her. The impact should have winded her, except she had braced herself and her adrenaline compensated. So did the armor. She pushed Adán onto his back, as Ramirez and the others split up and quartered the ground, looking for other holdouts.
Odesky slithered over the grass and pulled the first aid kit from his thigh pocket. He bent over Adán. “Now you’ve done it,” he told him, then moved back to examine his leg.
Adán groaned. He clutched at his thigh, where blood oozed from two holes on the back of it, turning the dark green trousers to a dirty brown.
Parris got to her knees beside him, fury tearing through her. “You stupid, stupid man! I’m wearing body armor! Why did you have to be fucking heroic! Jesus!”
“Told you,” Odesky muttered, slapping sterile pads onto both wounds and holding them in place.
“Years!” she cried. “It took fucking years for these guys to learn I could take care of myself and you just ruined it. You and your Vistarian honor thing! Damn it, Adán!”
His gaze, pain-filled, met hers. “I guess, when it comes right down to it, I can’t help protecting the woman I love.”
Parris sucked in her breath. Shock was piling up on top of shock, this morning. “What?” she breathed.
Adán gripped the edges of her chest plate and pulled her to him and kissed her.
Parris wanted to smack him for it, except she was dripping tears on him like a pathetic woman. She gave in, just for a moment and let herself rest against him. She stroked his cheek. “Don’t ever do that again,” she whispered.
“I’ll try,” he said. “Only now I’ve got to work against muscle memory.”
Odesky snorted.
“Shut up, corporal,” Parris told him, sitting up. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.”
Odesky shook his head. “Figure this is patient privilege or something,” he murmured and lifted the pad. “In and out. Once it heals, you’ll have a real war wound to show off.”
Another missile whistled and thudded into the cliffs, making the ground shudder. Fire was burning in the dried out summer grass and the westerly breeze was expanding the front.
“We should find safer ground,” Parris said, getting to her feet.
Odesky wound a bandage around Adán’s thigh, holding the pads in place. He moved quickly, competently. Then he jabbed a needle pen into his thigh. “You’ll love this stuff,” he told Adán. He snapped the pack closed and pushed it back into his thigh. “Up you come.” He held out his hand.
“I’ve got him, corporal.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go help the others clean up.”
Odesky touched his forehead and hurried away.
Parris held out her hand. Adán took it and she hauled him to his feet and ducked under his arm. She kept the Glock in her other hand. “Step at a time,” she told him, as his weight settled on her shoulders.
“Story of my life,” he muttered. “God, that stuff is already making my head spin.”
“It’s meant to. Can’t have wounded soldiers screaming in pain on the battlefield.” She measured her pace to his. “We gotta talk, Adán.”
“About time,” he breathed, with a soft sigh. “Finish the job first. I’ll wait.”
“You can’t wait. There’s things you have to do, too.”
“After, then,” he said. His voice was wavering. He would be out on his feet in a minute. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” she said.
He sagged.
She waited until she knew for sure he was unconscious. She stopped and hitched his whole body over her shoulders and carried him that way. There was no need to bruise his ego more than she had to.
> She couldn’t get the smile off her face as they finished the mop up and set up a debriefing station for the survivors and began the post-operation processes. No one mentioned it, though.
* * * * *
Callan Davenport woke shortly after two p.m. He gripped Olivia’s hand with clutching fingers and she covered it with her other hand. “I’m here,” she told him.
He turned his head, taking in the people ranged behind her. “Just you,” he said hoarsely.
Olivia looked over her shoulder. “Give me the room, please.”
The doctor, the nurses, the agents and Doug Mulray all filed out of the room. Olivia waited until the sliding glass door closed and looked back her father. “We’re alone,” she murmured.
His fingers tightened. “I don’t know how much time I have.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she assured him.
He grimaced. “You must listen. There’s no one else I can tell. No one I trust.”
Her heart squeezed. “Tell me.”
“This isn’t me telling my daughter. You understand?” His gaze met hers.
Olivia swallowed. “I’m not American anymore, Dad.”
“That’s why I can tell you.” He paused for breath. His face, she noted with alarm, was losing color even as he spoke. There was a gray cast around his lips. “Daniel…is a spy. You don’t have to confirm that. Just bring him here. He can figure it out.”
She made herself speak despite the tightness in her throat and the searing ache in her eyes. “Figure out what?”
“The other spy.”
Her blood chilled. “In the White House?” she breathed. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder, for she knew everyone who had shuffled out of the room would be peering through the door.
Her father gasped for breath, wheezing. He got control of himself once more. “I don’t know who to trust. You’re outside. Thank god you’re out of it all. You and your Daniel. I think the President might be in danger, Livvy.”
She bent closer, for his voice was weakening. “Why do you think that?”
“I came here. L.A. To meet Falworth.”
Sydney Falworth, Director of the CIA. Olivia squeezed her father’s fingers. “You were meeting him here at the hospital, weren’t you?”
Casualties of War Page 26