They used the overturned vehicle for cover as Zach shot at their assailant. The horse reared, throwing its rider, before galloping off. After several minutes in which the rider did nothing but lie in the sand, Zach got to his feet.
“What if he’s faking it?” She tried to pull him back down.
“That’s what I have to find out.”
He kept low, his weapon drawn. He reached the body. Recognized the prone figure. “McKenna?” he said.
The man raised his gun. Fired. Zach leaped away.
Michelle fired. Once. Twice. Dead on target.
The man, McKenna, dropped back to the sand, and Zach kicked his gun aside.
McKenna coughed and sputtered. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. He laughed, a bitter wheeze of a sound. “They shoot down our jets. They kill our pilots and we do nothing but talk.” McKenna laughed. “They should have killed her. Her life wasn’t worth anything anyway. Just like my brother’s life wasn’t worth anything when he was shot down.” He coughed again. “She was my Helen of Troy. But she escaped. My plan still would have worked. If the al Ra’id had finished the job. We would have been drawn into war. But the al Ra’id is weak! Mitch is weak. You’re all weak.”
“You’re the one who’s weak,” Michelle said.
“You brought only shame to your brother’s sacrifice.”
AFTER THEY BURIED McKenna, they righted the buggy and managed to get it going again. They’d have to find another way to escape now that the plane was destroyed. It was while they were driving that she noticed for the first time the rip in Zach’s sleeve.
“You’re hurt,” she said, reaching for his arm.
He shrugged off her touch. She pulled back.
The dune buggy began to slow, then roll. “Come on, come on.” Zach tapped the gas pedal. The vehicle stopped.
“Out of gas?” she queried.
“Yeah.” Zach put his head against the steering wheel. “Just my luck.”
He hopped out and unhooked a five-gallon gas can from the back of the buggy. “Dry as a bone,” he said, tossing the damaged can aside. Muscling their gear, he started to walk. “According to the map, we’re about six miles from the nearest airport, which happens to be in Iraq.”
Michelle sat in the disabled buggy. “I’m not going back there.” She stared at him, heart pounding in her chest.
“We have no way of getting in touch with anyone. We need to make it out on our own.”
Michelle turned and looked in the direction from which they’d come. When she turned back their eyes met.
Zach cursed under his breath. Then he walked the few steps back to her. He tipped his head. She got out and started walking. They followed the sandy road in single file well into the afternoon. Zach came even with her once to offer his canteen. She took a long pull and would have had a second, but he tugged it away.
“That’s enough for now,” he said without taking a drink himself.
The next time he offered she took one cautious sip, stopping when she dribbled, wanting to save every drop. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. This time she made sure Zach took a drink.
She wished he’d say something to her.
Her dreams of this day, of seeing him again, shattered with the reality. She sighed and stepped back in line. By the time they’d walked a few more miles in the scorching sun, Michelle could barely manage to put one foot in front of the other.
“You’re not going to make it much farther,” he said. How he knew that without once looking back at her, Michelle didn’t know. He stopped and checked his watch. “Why don’t we rest and wait out this heat.”
They hiked together to the spot he’d indicated. He set up a lean-to for shade, then started digging in the sand with his bare hands. Michelle was left to feel useless.
“Why don’t you get out of the sun?” he suggested.
She moved to sit in the lean-to.
“Are you taking me home?” she asked in a lost voice, still disoriented by the turn of events.
“Yes.” He nodded reassuringly.
She let out a breath that she seemed to have been holding forever. And took several more deep cleansing ones. Tears formed at the corners of her gritty eyes and she swiped at them.
“What are you doing?” She attempted a conversation.
“Digging a well.”
“A what?”
He had dug down about two feet in a four-by-four square hole, then dug out another round hole in the center. He cut off the top of an empty water bottle and placed it in the middle of the hole. Then he climbed out and placed a clear plastic sheet over the whole thing.
After securing the four corners with rocks, he placed a small rock in the center. He stood back to admire his handiwork as Michelle admired the hard planes of his body.
God, she’d missed him. Last night they’d made love and this morning they were strangers again.
“It creates a greenhouse effect,” he explained. “Condensation forms and drips toward the bottle.”
“I remember. From survival training. Rest at night. Replenish during the day. Only I didn’t have any plastic.”
She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on top, watching Zach as he began working on another well. She sighed heavily. He was hurting more than he was letting on.
She reached for the first aid kit. “Zach, would you please stop so I can have a look at your arm?”
“We need two wells.”
“I’ll finish the next one,” she offered.
Zach stood and brushed the sand from his hands, but didn’t move to sit beside her. Michelle got up and went to him.
“Let me have a look at your arm.”
“It’s just a scratch.”
“Even scratches can get infected.” She picked at the hole in his sleeve, deciding whether to rip it or have him take off his shirt.
He didn’t shrug her off this time, but he seemed indifferent to her touch.
“Let’s do this in the shade.”
He snorted, but complied, ducking inside the lean-to. She sat down on the side of his injured arm.
“Do you need help getting your shirt off?” she asked, thinking to prompt him into making an effort.
He just turned and stared at her with challenge in his eyes.
She reached in with one hand and opened his first button. He seemed intent on making her do all the work. She had to use two hands in order to untuck his T-shirt.
She felt his stomach muscles tense, but he watched her in silence. “Let me know if I’m hurting you,” she said.
“Ouch,” he said sarcastically, even though she’d done no more than unbutton his shirt. But there was something behind the look in his eyes that told her she’d hurt him.
“We need to talk about the baby,” she said.
“There’s a whole lot we need to talk about, but we need to get the hell out of here first.”
The desert-print fatigues looked like those her dad used to wear. She slipped the material past his shoulders, careful of his injured arm. She’d forgotten to undo the buttons at his cuffs and had to work at them to free his arms.
Dried blood kept the T-shirt beneath stuck to the wound. She didn’t want to just peel off the shirt and start it bleeding again. So she opened up the first-aid kit to see what she could use. She dabbed at the injury with one of the premoistened towelettes. When that didn’t work, she moistened the T-shirt directly with water from his canteen.
Even that started him bleeding again.
She stanched the flow with gauze. The arm was much worse than she’d first suspected. Fortunately the bullet had passed through the meaty part of his shoulder, missing the bone.
“We should have stopped and taken care of this earlier.”
“I’ll live. In spite of you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You tell me.”
She sat back on her heels. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yo
u might try.”
“What in hell has happened to you?” She stunned him into silence. She wanted to apologize, make him understand. “You said you didn’t want to talk about the baby right now.”
“I don’t!”
He stalked away. She stumbled to her feet.
“I waited for you!” she screamed. “I waited. But you never came.” She turned her back on him, not knowing what to do with her anger or her tears. It was all out in the open now. The baby. The blame. The botched elopement.
When Michelle mustered the courage to turn back around, she could see Zach sitting in the distance, hat pulled down over his eyes. She took a few steps in the same direction, then turned her attention and frustration on digging the second well.
When she finished, she kept her hands busy by tidying up the first-aid kit. She’d never dressed Zach’s wound. And he’d left his shirt and all his gear behind.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. Without realizing it, she buried her face in the collar and breathed in his scent.
“Maybe you’d better put that on,” he advised.
She jumped, but slipped her arms through the sleeves of the shirt and wrapped it around her. It would get cold tonight. She picked up the bourque, but didn’t put it on. Instead, she ran her hand through her short crop of curls.
She spent a long afternoon waiting out the sun. With nothing to do except nap and watch the water droplets form on the clear plastic, time passed slowly.
Finally the sun set and Zach said it was time to go. They gathered up their fresh water supply, and packed up camp.
“What are we going to do when we get there?” she asked. “Steal a plane?”
“Yes.”
“What if we get caught?”
“That’s a chance we have to take.”
She sucked in her breath. He looked at her and in a gentler tone said, “We’re not going to get caught.”
After a couple of hours, a control tower came into view, heavily guarded by men wearing green turbans.
Cloaked by darkness, they kept to the shadows. Zach might not have known where they were going, but he seemed to know what he was doing.
There were no large commercial jetliners at the airport. Only small commuter planes. And a couple of cargo planes. The cargo planes looked to be Russian surplus. If she searched her memory hard enough she could probably even remember the exact make and model from fighter school.
One of the supply planes had its cargo door down and was being unloaded by forklifts. They watched the operation from the shadow of a nearby hangar.
For the next hour they watched the plane being unloaded, circling the hangar at regular intervals as the guards made their rounds.
There was a flurry of activity as the last crates were put on forklifts. The cargo door of the plane started to close.
“Time to go,” Zach said under his breath. “Now,” he barked at her when she didn’t move fast enough.
He sprinted into the hangar and jumped through the closing cargo door, disappearing inside. She followed, and when she reached the chest-high lip of the cargo door, he pulled her inside just as the door closed completely. Someone shouted from the lighted bay that warehoused the plane’s cargo. They’d been spotted.
Instinct moved her toward the cockpit. She plopped down into the right seat. Zach was in the left, their hands met on the throttle in the center. He surrendered control, trusting her to do the job.
She fired up the engines. The heavy cargo plane picked up speed as they taxied down the runway. He pulled back on the stick, taking them airborne.
She’d almost forgotten that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling of takeoff.
THEY FLEW INTO Turkish airspace without incident until they reached the American military base.
Zach zeroed in on the tower frequency. “Tower, permission to land.”
“Identify yourself.”
“We’re an unarmed Russian-built aircraft carrying precious American cargo.”
The air traffic controller hesitated. “Repeat.”
“We’ve recovered Navy pilot Lieutenant Michelle Dann. We’re just trying to bring her home, Tower,” Zach explained. The tower remained silent. “Permission to land.”
“Russian craft, permission denied. Divert to civilian airport.”
“Negative, Tower. We’re out of fuel.”
“Assume holding pattern, Russian craft.”
“I’m not kidding.”
“Neither am I.”
A few minutes later two F-16 Falcons whizzed by. One rolled out to come around behind.
“Looks like we have an escort.” Zach tried to offer her a reassuring smile, but he was playing this all by ear himself.
Michelle lowered the landing gear, and they touched down on a runway full of emergency equipment. Then taxied down the runway behind a military jeep as they’d been instructed.
As soon as they came to a complete stop, they were boarded by armed soldiers shouting instructions.
Zach saw Michelle’s panic-stricken face. “It’s all right,” he tried to reassure her in the second before the soldiers entered the cockpit.
“Hands on your head!” the sergeant shouted.
Twenty-four hours later
HOLDING FACILITY,
Incirlik Air Base, Turkey
ZACH LAY on the bare mattress of the rack in his holding cell staring at the ceiling. Well, this was a familiar feeling. His injured arm began throbbing, but he barely noticed.
“Zach?” Michelle called to him from the other cell.
“Right here, sweetheart.”
Before she could say more, a commanding voice rang out. “I understand you’re holding a couple of my men.”
The instant Zach heard Admiral Dann, both feet hit the floor. He moved to the bars just in time to see the airman pop to attention in response to all that gold braid standing opposite his desk.
Michelle stood, equally anxious.
“Sir. Yes, sir.” The young man snapped a sharp salute.
The admiral extended the courtesy and returned it with a casual tip of his hand, not bothering to explain that the Navy didn’t salute uncovered or indoors.
“At ease. I can see that you do.” Taking in the row of cells, he moved around the desk. “Go ahead and release these men.” The admiral flashed his credentials.
“I’m going to have to clear it with my commanding officer, sir,” the airman almost swallowed his Adam’s apple making the assertion. “Security breach, sir. He’s holding these people for questioning—”
“See these stars!” The admiral pointed to his shoulder boards. “Unless he can pull a five-star general or higher out of his ass, I suggest you start unlocking some cell doors right now, Airman O’Sullivan.”
The soldier tripped over his boots to comply.
“Daddy!” Michelle ran straight into her father’s arms.
Zach extended his hand, but instead of shaking it, the admiral pulled Zach to him in a hug. “Nice job, son.”
“Ah,” Zach barely stifled the groan.
“You hurt?”
“Just a graze—”
“Let’s get you looked at, anyway.” Admiral Dann turned to the airman. “Why wasn’t this man given medical attention?”
“I…uh…”
They filed out past the stuttering airman, the admiral bringing up the rear.
“Admiral, sir. I need you to sign these release forms—”
“See this designation?” He pointed to the Trident insignia he wore above his ribbons. “Special Warfare, Navy SEALs. We were never here. I suggest you burn those forms, Airman.”
“He’s going to be in trouble,” Zach observed as they left the building.
“Oh, yeah,” Admiral Dann agreed. “But save your sympathy for his commanding officer. By the time I get through with the whitewash, young O’Sullivan will look like a hero.”
“It’s easier to apologize than ask permission?”
“Exactly.”
; 1555 Thursday
ANDREWS AIR FORCE BASE, MD
HER FATHER’S PERSONAL jet taxied to a stop. “There are people out there, a lot of them.” Michelle stared out the window of the Learjet, mortified. She focused on flag-waving patriots, shiny band instruments and… “Reporters! Dad!” She turned on her father.
“The president insisted. It’s out of my hands.” He addressed her with a patience that set her teeth on edge.
Since she couldn’t get a reaction out of her father, she turned on Zach. “I’ll just bet you love this.”
But his own eyes reflected an ever deeper resentment than her own. Or was it disappointment?
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” she said with more attitude than grace. She plucked at an imaginary thread from the new flight suit she wore. She realized now why it felt more like a prison jumper. After a quick stop at the base hospital in Turkey they’d been in the air. She’d be forced to play puppet a while longer.
Had there ever been a time when she was in control of her life?
“What do you want, Michelle? Can’t you see your dad’s bending over backward for you.” Zach unbuckled and eased himself from his seat, dwarfing the cabin as he stood.
Seeing no rescue, she made her way to the door just as the stairs were being lowered and the red carpet rolled out. She’d expected the Navy band to start with something traditional, such as the national anthem. So the brassy rendition of the old Bananarama song “Venus” caught her off guard.
She stood at the top of the stairs feeling like anything but a goddess. And she’d crashed into the mountaintop.
Her dad placed a guiding hand at the small of her back. “Smile for the camera. You’re America’s favorite daughter.”
“What about yours?”
“Mine, too.”
“I’m your only daughter.”
“And I’m so happy to have you home.”
Michelle managed to turn her frown upside down and pass it off as a smile. At the moment she raised her hand to wave, the crowd cheered.
She descended the steps on jelly legs, glad for her father’s support. Right now she was Miss Apple Pie, female fighter pilot. But how long would that last once they found out she’d become a conscientious objector.
Sign, SEAL, Deliver Page 14