The plane taxied out of the hangar as Lopez yelled out the window, “Come on, I want to get us to Ljubljana while they’re still serving sarkelj.”
Brandt turned to the van. “Davidson, let me help you get her out.”
But the younger man shook his head, gathering Bunny into his damaged arms. They shook, but still he carried her. “I’ve got it.”
Yes, apparently he had. Last year when they’d first met Bunny, Davidson had been the only one capable of dealing with the young woman. It appeared that several disasters later this was still the case.
Davidson carefully stepped from the van as Bunny roused a bit. He murmured something and she settled right down again.
“So he’s along for the long haul?” Rebecca asked as they followed the two to the plane.
Brandt didn’t answer. To say out loud that Davidson was officially on this mission would be breaking about a dozen military codes. And to say that Davidson wasn’t on this mission just seemed stupid.
Rebecca nodded. “The kind of don’t ask, don’t tell. Got it.” A timid smile curled her lips. “Thanks.”
He didn’t do it for the reasons she thought though. He hadn’t forgiven the traitor or come to peace with the past. He did it because Davidson was in a unique position to keep them safe. To keep Rebecca safe.
If he had to make a pact with the devil, then so be it.
* * *
There was a flurry of activity, including handcuffing Aunush to the chair. Not surprising since she’d killed her first interrogator. The Chinese guards didn’t seem to know quite what to do with her. Or the body that lay on the floor. Clearly everyone here was simply a grunt.
The Chinese must have thought they’d captured some low-level mercenary crew. Little did they know.
Finally a man, dressed in a suit that was probably bought at the Louis Vuitton store that she and her sniper had destroyed, stepped into the room. Clearly she was working her way up the food chain.
“Hello, Aunush,” he said in nearly perfect English. “I am Commander Hsu from the MSS.”
The Ministry State Security. Basically China’s secret police. Just what she was hoping for.
“So you know that kidnapping me was probably not your most intelligent move,” Aunush answered, watching his features cloud. The Disciples had influence across the globe. When the master heard of this? The consequences would be severe, however Aunush didn’t have time for the diplomatic machinations to do their work. She needed to be in the air. Now.
“We know that you attacked Sergeant Brandt and Dr. Monroe in London,” the man stated. “You then followed them to Pushchino, where you attacked again, losing most of your team before destroying St. Basil’s in a failed attempt to kill them.”
Clearly the man was trying his best to make her feel defeated. A failure.
What the MSS commander didn’t understand was that Brandt and Monroe only survived in London due to bad intel, and Pushchino? Any loss there was due to containing the nature of Osip’s death. And she’d never meant to kill them at St. Basil’s. She’d meant to flush them out. Dr. Monroe was looking more and more like an asset that could be used to track down Amed’s final steps and claim what he stole.
None of the mission had gone as planned, yet she was closer to claiming the Disciples’ heritage than any other before her. She would take it.
“I can get you your Rinderpest,” she stated.
Commander Hsu squinted. “How?”
Aunush tilted her head. “You know how.”
“And we leave you to your own agenda?” he asked, sounding as if he already knew the answer, so she didn’t bother to answer it.
“I will need a plane and a team of eight men, preferably far more insightful and competent than your interrogator.”
Hsu chuckled. “We are to turn over a team, under your control?” His mirth died quickly. “Your file states you are brazen, Aunush, but really what would compel me to do such a thing?”
“I know exactly where Brandt is headed,” Aunush answered, pleased to see the shock cross Hsu’s features before he put on that MSS mask.
It took a single heartbeat for the career spy to answer. “Your men will be assembled upstairs.”
Like she said. Not ideal, but she’d take it.
* * *
Rebecca glanced out the window of the plane. In the distance the Alps rose before them. White-capped and majestic. And quite the bitch to get over given the storm system moving in from the north. A late spring storm.
Although Lopez appeared quite invigorated by the bustling winds. With no clouds in the sky yet, the wind sheet coming ahead of the storm seemed like an invisible hand smacking them around the sky. They’d already “lost air,” a colloquial term for basically falling out of the sky several hundred feet until Lopez got the jet under control again.
To avoid any lingering “hard feelings” in Hungary since their last visit, Lopez had charted a northern course across the Ukraine, over Slovakia, and finally arcing over Austria, coming into Slovenia from the north. For the most part they had avoided populated cities, instead streaking over Eastern Europe with the skies practically to themselves.
Now though? Heading into Austria? Civilization lay under them like an urban carpet. That is until the valley floor abutted against the towering mountains. Mountains notorious for their fickle weather.
“Everybody buckle up,” Lopez said over the intercom. “It is going to get bumpy from here.”
Great. If Lopez thought it would be bumpy…
Bunny rustled in the seat next to Rebecca. “Where are we?” the younger woman asked.
“Just about to go over the Alps into Slovenia. We should land in Ljubljana within the hour.”
The intercom cut in. “Make that forty-five minutes…max.”
Rebecca corrected. “Less than an hour then.”
Davidson reached over across the aisle and handed Bunny a water bottle. “Best you get hydrated as soon as possible.”
After downing half the bottle, Bunny wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Thanks,” she said, then looked more closely at the scarred face. Davidson tilted away, pretending to suddenly become interested in one of the onboard magazines. “Are you the same soldier from France?”
Davidson gave a brusque shrug of his shoulder and then really delved into that Sky Mall catalog, but Bunny reached her hand out. “I never got a chance to thank you.”
Reluctantly Davidson extended his hand, riddled with the crisscrossing of a dozen scars. Bunny shook it, then traced one of those purplish lines. When Davidson tried to pull back, Bunny raised the edge of her shirt to reveal her midriff. Rebecca flinched at the cracked-glass appearance of the skin. Bunny too had deep and extensive scars. It truly was shocking she’d survived those injuries back in France.
“My physical therapist said those like us are joined by more than just damaged collagen,” Bunny said, then tucked her blouse back into her pants.
Davidson gave an unintelligible mumble and went back to shopping for useless consumer electronic goods. As Bunny took another swig of the water, Rebecca sought Brandt’s gaze across the aisle. His eyes flickered from Davidson to Bunny and then back. She could practically read the sergeant’s thoughts.
Easy to say if you weren’t the one betrayed.
Even Rebecca wished to wipe the memory of that horrible night from her mind. To removed the memory of his betrayal and just see Davidson for what he was now, as Bunny could. Rebecca wished she could trust Davidson the way Bunny clearly did. Like Davidson and Bunny’s physical scars, Brandt and Rebecca wore theirs deeper down. The cord of trust frayed, burned, and tattered.
The seat belt suddenly cut into her thighs as the jet fell from the sky. Really fell. It was like riding one of those amusement park free-fall attractions, only at 32,000 feet in the air. Or at this rate 31,000 feet. Now 30,000.
She dug her fingers into the hand rest as Bunny’s nails dug into her hand. Rebecca’s teeth chattered as the entire plane shimmied v
iolently. She wouldn’t be surprised if screws undid themselves or the wings sheared off. Then as suddenly as the weightless sensation come on, Rebecca’s butt hit the seat cushion as the jet’s engines kicked in again, surging them forward.
“No worries, people,” Lopez chuckled. “That little drop just saved us time on the descent.”
Rebecca was glad someone could laugh about it. Because she certainly couldn’t.
Tightening her seat belt, Rebecca dug in for a rough forty-five minutes.
* * *
Aunush finished dressing as her sniper entered the small room. Nannan, looking decidedly far worse for the wear, joined them. None spoke. The room was bugged, there was no doubt. Even Nannan sensed it. From here on out they would need to be extremely careful in their choice of words. That was until their Chinese details outlived their usefulness.
Holstering the sidearms provided, Aunush noted they were American issue, not Chinese. Guess it would be a tad difficult to explain to the international press if anything went wrong why Jewish mercenaries were carrying Chinese guns.
The sniper checked out the rifle provided to replace the one damaged from the desperate tumble out of the GUM building. He grunted his approval and then broke the weapon down, securing it in its case. Nannan simply stood there, shell-shocked, dark-eyed and limp-lipped.
Slapping him on the shoulder, then digging her nails his thick arm, Aunush guided them out of the room and followed the short hallway to a staircase that led them up to the roof. A helicopter awaited. She quickly calculated how far away the Chinese had taken them. Did they go all the way back to China? Or maybe south to Pakistan?
They were halfway across the roof when Aunush stopped in her steps. She looked over the railing to find…Moscow.
The Chinese hadn’t transported her anywhere. They were at the Chinese consulate in Moscow. As Commander Hsu walked up, she assessed the man a bit more admirably. That took balls. To torture and interrogate them right under the Russians’ noses?
Hsu nodded to the twelve men already loaded in the helicopter. “The helo will transport you to the airport, where you will fly under diplomatic colors to…?”
“Lay in a flight plan to the Alps,” Aunush answered, “and I will instruct your pilot of our final destination once we are close.”
Her unspoken words were loud and clear. Once we are outside the influence of the Chinese government.
The commander nodded curtly though. Why wouldn’t he? Aunush was certain that the Chinese assault squad had their own termination orders for her and her team.
So be it.
They were two scorpions in a dance where they promised to only sting their enemies. As soon as Brandt and the Rinderpest were neutralized, that dance would turn deadly.
Without further pleasantries, Aunush loaded into the helicopter as the sniper and Nannan followed suit.
For the first time since their capture Aunush felt hope stir in her chest. Brandt and Monroe didn’t have the perk of diplomatic clearance. Their team must have spent the night on a slow and deliberate attempt to flee overland. They couldn’t have taken to the air until they were outside Russian borders. Which meant Brandt had lost hours upon hours of lead time.
Aunush was but a few hours behind them.
She held onto a hand strap as the helicopter lifted off the roof and sped across Moscow.
To think. The tablets of the Ten Commandments might be within her reach by nightfall.
She could feel the rough stone against her fingers already.
What a fine present for the master. No one would question Osip’s death if she brought such a prize back to the shrine.
No one.
* * *
Brandt tried to ignore the rattling of the plane as they descended down the west slope of the Alps and headed into nearly gale-force winds. Hail bounced off the surface of the plane. Rain fell in sheets. Lopez must have been flying by instruments only.
Which, of course, the corporal would brag about.
“We’ve got a convective storm, guys,” Lopez announced.
Great, Brandt thought. Another feather in the corporal’s cap. They were going to hear about this forever.
Suddenly the pelting stopped. Everything stopped. The wind. The rain. The sleet.
Not good.
“Hang on!” Brandt shouted as the jet got knocked by a striation of the storm. They must be sitting right under the anvil.
“What’s happening?” Rebecca asked, her lips pinched together. She was trying to be brave, but the jet was getting knocked around like one of those balls in the lottery spinner.
Brandt unhooked his seat belt and, gripping each chair back, made his way to the cockpit. Lopez struggled with the yoke as Talli focused on the weather pattern.
“Wind speed increasing rapidly and we’ve got updraft starboard.”
“Still no thunder or lightning?” Lopez asked, sounding uncharacteristically subdued.
“Nope,” Talli reported.
Fuck.
There had been a storm in the region like this back in ’06. It had practically taken out four countries’ entire infrastructure. Power transformers. Streetlights. Bridges.
And just like back then, the region had just experienced an early heat wave followed by a cold moist storm from the north. And the lack of lightning? That was an extremely poor sign. This storm had all the characteristics of tornadogenesis.
“What’s ground control saying?” Brandt asked.
“They want to wave us off to the south.”
Brandt glanced to the map. South was Croatia. And given how large the storm was spreading out across the Alps and valleys, they wouldn’t be able to get back into the air for hours, if not days. Yet looking out the window at that huge black wall of roiling, churning, angry clouds up ahead, Brandt wasn’t sure if they had any other option.
“Can you do it, Ricky?” Brandt asked, not in the mood to give an order to the corporal to land under some of the roughest conditions known to mankind.
“Phfph,” Lopez snorted. “Try and stop me.”
“Yes,” Talli said, although Brandt wasn’t sure if the perimeter specialist was kidding or not. “Please stop him.”
Talli’s opinion didn’t really matter though. The mission’s objectives did.
“All yours then,” Brandt informed Lopez. South just wasn’t an option. Not if Lopez felt confident he could get them on the ground.
The corporal hit the radio switch. “Control, be warned we lost radar and your beacon about a minute ago.”
Yeah, Brandt thought, that would have been nice information to know before he gave the all-go.
“Once I get sight of your lights,” Lopez explained, “I’m going to be coming down on your heads.”
Brandt was sure control wasn’t all that thrilled about the prospect.
“Sarge, you better buckle up,” Lopez said as he strained to keep the jet upright. “No guarantees we’re landing wheels down, if you know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, Brandt did.
* * *
After the sarge got himself situated in the seat in front of him, Davidson readjusted his seat belt. The jet would go nose up to nose down in a fraction of a second. And as they entered the storm they cut across the forming funnel cloud.
Once again hail, rain, and wind buffeted their metal tube. A tube that really had no right to be in the sky under these conditions.
“I’m just going to go with the odds here,” Lopez announced over the intercom, “and say everyone should assume crash positions.”
Davidson leaned over clutching his knees, creating the tightest ball he could. Although if they hit anything at this air speed no position was going to save them. His eyes slid over to Bunny. He watched a timid hand reach out. This time he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly.
Perhaps it was best they couldn’t really see what was happening as the jet lurched to the right, tilting at nearly forty-five degrees, then buffeted back to center.
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He went to murmur a prayer as he had been trained for so many years to do. The Knot had taught him, when in trouble, reach out to God. Yet where had such righteousness gotten him? A vow he’d taken as a child had cost him so much as a man.
The warm hand in his though, thawing some of the ache from his scars, felt real and tangible.
Could God be so forgiving?
Could he be forgiven?
Davidson felt his good lip tug up into a grin. He guessed the next few minutes would give him a pretty good ballpark answer.
* * *
Rebecca desperately did not want to keep looking out the window. She really should put her forehead to her knees and ignore the groan and churn outside the plane. Yet she couldn’t. Each piece of debris that flew by the window or clanged off the wing or whipped past held her fascination.
It was impossible to tell how high, or worse how low they were to the ground. The winds and clouds made it almost seem like they were deep under the North Sea again. Rebecca clutched her knees even tighter. Actually, it was more like their flight over Romania last year after the RPG attack. Or maybe it was a combination of the two.
Which wasn’t at all comforting.
Then suddenly out of the dark, a light blinked. A red light. It must be the control tower. The only problem? Actually, only problems?
They’d completely overshot the runway and they were flying low. Like their wheels were barely clearing the airport’s fence low.
How Rebecca wished she could close her eyes and let fate take its course, but she felt compelled to watch every moment of their doomed landing.
Lopez banked hard right, tilting the plane nearly vertical to come back around toward the emergency-lit runway. But that lost them even more altitude if that’s what a few feet above the ground could be called. There was no way, just no way they were going to come into this landing parallel.
Then the storm picked them up. A rush of air under the wings had them gliding for several yards. Rebecca felt her stomach lurch. Then the same storm slammed them down long before Lopez could steady them out.
The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection Page 71