“You don’t have an Iridium satellite phone?” Amelia seemed stunned.
“We had CONNIE but someone helped themselves to it.”
“CONNIE?”
He explained about the satellite communications device. “We left it in one of our vehicles when we made entrance into the pharmacy. We went in hot so we left some things behind. Fortunately, we didn’t lose Hawkeye’s gear or we might never have found you.”
“So you’ve been working without contact with Manas?”
“We often work with limited radio contact. It’s part of what we do. We also have cell phones but you already know how useful those are right now.”
“The embassy,” Amelia said. A moment later, “Sorry, I’m just thinking out loud. The embassy is close, south of the violence, and they will be able to make radio or satellite contact with Manas. They also have a local doctor on call. We can hole up there. It’s closer than the air base.”
“I like it, Boss.” Nagano found third gear on the fourth try.
“Me too. You can be our GPS, Captain.”
“That I can do—”
The streetlights went out and a fresh darkness like a black blanket fell over the city.
NASIRDIN ROUNDED THE CORNER in time to see the semi drive slowly down the street, moving north, then turn right at the next street. Rasul raised his handgun, drawing a bead on the retreating big rig.
“No,” Nasirdin ordered. “Not yet. Follow me.” He ran down the street parallel to the path the truck took. He dallied enough to see the driver drag the rear tires of the trailer over the corner curb. Clearly a novice was at the wheel, and that was good news. Nasirdin raised his radio to his mouth. He finished his transmission then received one of his own. One he didn’t want to hear.
He slowed, then stopped.
“What? Why are we stopping?”
“We’re needed elsewhere.” Nasirdin muttered.
“HEY, WEPS. I HAVE an idea. Try and keep all the wheels on the road and off the sidewalk.”
“That would make this kinda boring, wouldn’t it?”
J. J. glanced at the man. “Whatcha got against boring? Sounds good to me right about now. Besides, you hit another curb and the guys in back are going to come after us, and when they do, I’m going to be pointing at you.”
“I’m not afraid of them.”
“What about Joker?”
Nagano pushed out a lip. “Okay, he scares me a little, but the captain will protect me.”
“You’re on your own,” Amelia said. “I’ll be pointing at you too.”
“As always, an innovative man stands alone. . . . Um, Boss, we got troubles.” Nagano slowed and nodded forward.
The truck’s headlights painted the black street and a row of armed men blocking the intersection. J. J. recognized several as men in the mob that torched their vehicles.
“Get down, Cap,” J. J. said. He activated his radio. “Down in back. Prepare for firefight.”
The calm voice of Aliki: “Roger that.” A moment later, “What we got, Boss?”
“A line of hostiles in the intersection. Handguns and automatics. I make out about fifteen.”
“We got ’em behind us too, Boss,” Nagano said. “Maybe ten more. Not good.”
Their luck had just run out. They had no stealth; no element of surprise. They were outnumbered three to one. It was an O.K. Corral situation where men stood a few yards from each other and started pulling the trigger, except Wyatt Earp wasn’t looking down the barrels of automatic rifles.
“Boss, you got any orders?”
A second passed.
“Boss?”
J. J. took a deep breath and his mind savored three seconds thinking of his wife and unborn children. What a lousy time to die. He opened his door, propped it in position with his foot, and aimed the barrel of his M4 down the street. “Floor it.”
“Floor it? Really?”
“You got a better idea?”
“Now that you put it that way . . . Flooring it, Boss.”
J. J. spoke into his microphone. “Brace yourself, we’re running the line.”
The truck lurched forward. Then it lurched again. J. J. kept his eyes trained on the line of men determined not to fire until someone raised a weapon. Whoever did that would be the first to fall. Nagano scooted as low as he could in the seat. J. J. didn’t know if the man could see the road, but the truck ran straight.
Another lurch. The engine groaned, complaining about the low gear. Somehow, Nagano managed a smooth shift.
A man with an embarrassingly thin beard brought up his weapon and leveled it in their direction, then twisted and fell as a burst of bullets from J. J.’s M4 ripped him in the chest. J. J. was through waiting, he sent spurts of hot rounds across the line. There was a word for men who stood shoulder to shoulder in a gunfight: targets. J. J. swung the weapon in an arch. Men went to the ground: wounded or just diving for cover, he didn’t know and didn’t have time to care.
The windshield shattered, sending spiderweb cracks along its length. The side mirror on Nagano’s door exploded into shards, smacking the raised window.
The thundering sound of familiar weapons rolled forward from the trailer. The doors had been loosely tied in place so the men could open them if need arose—and it had.
Nagano hunkered in the seat. Leaving one hand on the wheel, he drew his M9 pistol and fired through the windshield, opening a small hole that helped him see and aim. He emptied all fifteen rounds in moments.
The truck continued forward, the sound of bullets striking its metal skin hitting J. J.’s ears like needles. J. J. pulled his weapon back. “Reloading.”
More gunfire from within the cab. Not J. J. and not Nagano. Amelia had slipped from the sleeper cab with the 9mm she had been carrying since removing it from one of the attackers in the pharmacy.
She crouched between the seats, sending round after round through what was left of the windscreen, firing systematically, each shot spaced by a second of time. Brass casings flew through the cab and bounced around.
“I said get down!” J. J. snapped.
“Shut up, Sergeant. I’m busy.” Her gun clicked dry. Without hesitation she snatched Nagano’s M9 while he reached for a fresh clip. She took it and jammed it in place.
Smoke stung J. J.’s eyes; his ears hurt and he was certain they were bleeding. He leaned out the door and let loose another series of bursts.
Yep, a lousy place to die. A lousy time to die.
ALIKI LAY ON HIS belly, his weapon pointed out the back of the trailer. There were ten hostiles and he saw at least three fall within a second of the team opening fire. Next to him was Jose, working his weapon like he came into this world with it. Kneeling behind, Crispin tapped his trigger again and again, and Pete did the same.
Brass casings rolled in the trailer. Noise of gunfire in a closed space threatened to melt Aliki’s brain, and he was half-deaf.
It took only moments to send those attackers still living scampering for cover.
The truck bounced and a crushed body appeared then rolled from beneath the truck. Aliki assumed they were running over the dead or those too wounded to get out of the way.
More gunfire came as they burst through what had been a line of men. Again, Aliki and the others sent a fusillade of bullets into anyone stupid enough to still be in the fight.
The truck made a sharp right, and centrifugal force sent the team sliding to the left. A moment later, Aliki could see nothing but a dark street.
“Joker, report.” The voice from his earpiece sounded a mile away.
“Hold one, Boss.” Aliki pushed to his knees. He looked at Pete who gave a thumbs-up. Crispin just nodded. Jose said, “I’m . . . I’m good.” At least, that’s what Aliki thought the man was saying. The ringing
in his ears was joined by the buzzing of a hundred beehives.
“We’re all good, Boss. Hawkeye wants to do it again.”
J. J. LOOKED AT Amelia. “You know you frighten my men, don’t you, ma’am?”
“Just adding my two cents to things.”
Nagano snapped his head around. “Two cents? That was a ten-spot if ever I saw one.”
“I’m gonna check on Jildiz.” Amelia crawled into the sleeper.
Nagano looked at J. J. and mouthed the word, “Wow.”
THE LATE MODEL TOYOTA Land Cruiser carrying Nasirdin and Rasul hurried down the street, the driver moving faster than was safe.
Nasirdin heard the gunfire fade in the distance and had a bad feeling things hadn’t gone his way.
CHAPTER 30
DESPITE THE DARK STREETS, Amelia proved to be an excellent guide. They were on Prospect Mira Street despite Nagano’s gear-grinding and leaking radiator fluid. The engine continued to run but with a few new knocks and whistles. J. J. wasn’t much of a mechanic but Nagano was, and he looked worried every moment of the drive. Of course, the O.K. Corral kind of shoot-out might have put him a little off his game.
“Approach slow, Weps,” Amelia said. “And don’t pull to the gate. With all that’s going on, someone is going to assume your trailer is one big fertilizer bomb.”
“Then how do we get in?” J. J. squinted against the air coming through the shattered window and the smell of an overheating engine.
“I plan to ring the doorbell.”
“The embassy has a doorbell?” J. J. exchanged glances with Nagano.
“Not really, but they do have video cameras around the perimeter and a good number of guards. Including a few Marines. I see a few lights on so I assume they’re running on the generator.”
“You guys use Marines as servants?” Nagano said. “Nice.”
“Be kind, Weps. They’re going to be the ones who let us in.”
“I’ll go with you.” J. J. opened his door.
“Stay put, Sergeant. If you were in a regular uniform they might not assume you’re my abductor. I’ll go alone.”
J. J. let her out and retook his place in the cab.
“I’m thinking of asking her to marry me.” Nagano fidgeted, then fidgeted again. He stopped making eye contact. He looked at the steering wheel, the stick shift, the shot-out side mirror, and the steam rising from the front of the truck. J. J. recognized the signs. He had displayed them many times. Moving from the edge of a horrible death to a moment of quiet was always tough on soldiers. Adrenaline continued seeping into the bloodstream and the images ignored in battle refused to be ignored any longer. J. J. lived through this many times and hated it. He was surprised what pictures came to mind, images he hadn’t realized he saw.
“I think you should.”
“Really?”
“No.” J. J. radioed the others in the trailer. “You guys still have air back there?”
“Junior needs a shower.” The voice belonged to Crispin.
“He always does. Okay, listen up. We sit tight. Captain Lennon is trying to get us an invite onto embassy grounds. Apparently they’re fussy about shot-up truck jalopies littering their lawn. You guys still good?”
Aliki gave the official answer. “We’re good, Boss, but it ain’t all that comfortable back here.”
“Understood. We should have you out soon.”
“Roger that.”
Nagano straightened. “She’s in.”
Amelia walked through the front gate. “I wonder why there’s not a bunch of protesters here,” J. J. said.
A whispered, wheezy voice came from the sleep cab. “Most of the protesters would go to the White House or the air base.”
“White House?” Nagano said. He kept his eyes scanning the area.
“Our government building.”
Nagano didn’t let it go. “You named your government building after our White House?”
There was a weak chuckle. “That or it could be called the White House because it is a big, white building.”
“Action.” J. J. pointed at the gate. Four Marines jogged to the gate. Each was armed. They continued through the gate and toward the truck. No sign of Amelia.
“They know we’re the good guys, right?”
“I hope so, I’m too tired for another gun battle, especially with these guys.”
The unit of Marines kept their weapons with muzzles down. A man in his early thirties came to J. J.’s side, one went to the driver’s side, and the others disappeared from view. “Are you Boss?”
“I am. Who are you?”
“Staff Sergeant Larry Ryan, U.S.M.C. I’ve been asked to verify the safety of the vehicle and escort you to the back of the embassy. Will your men in the back of the trailer be a problem?”
“They could be, Staff Sergeant, if you open the doors without warning.” J. J. made the call. “Navy is here, guys. Your back door is about to be opened. Please don’t shoot them.”
“Why not? You said Navy.” Joker continued to earn his nick.
“I’d consider it a personal favor, Joker.”
The sergeant stiffened. “I said we were Marines.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Navy.”
The frown was worth the quip.
“At least we drive better vehicles.”
J. J. had to smile. Inter-service banter was a tradition.
One of the other Marines came to the front. “Just as she said, Sarge: four spec ops guys. Really tired-looking spec ops guys. Looks like they’ve seen recent action.”
Ryan nodded then looked at J. J. “This thing still run?”
“It moves, if that’s what you mean.”
“Very well, let’s move it through the gate. I’ll ride along on the running board, if you don’t mind.”
“And if I do mind?”
“I’ll do it anyway but look really sad.”
“I like you, Ryan.” To Nagano. “Let’s roll.”
LIGHTS INSIDE THE MULTISTORY embassy were minimal, illuminating only a few windows for security purposes. The embassy, like many the world over, had interior rooms set apart from exterior walls and windows. These were secure rooms: secure electronically and physically. Too many embassies had been attacked around the world to make diplomats feel secure.
Amelia stood at the rear entrance as Nagano pulled the truck forward. It shuddered and rocked as the soldier struggled to master the clutch. Not that it mattered now. This was certainly the truck’s final stop. The U.S. government would be ponying up money to replace the antique for the owner.
Two Marines helped Jildiz from the truck. To J. J. she looked two or three long strides from death. Still, she insisted on walking, which she managed with the help of the solidly built Marines.
J. J. looked up and saw a pair of men dressed in black, each with assault rifles. The place was on high alert and for good reason.
A man in slacks, loafers, and a blue dress shirt waited in the inside rear lobby, a simple room with a tile floor. His hair was thin and brown and rested at odd angles on his head. He had the look of a man at the end of a long day and facing a longer night. Next to him stood an older man with a shock of white hair and a demeanor that said “medical professional.”
The man in the blue shirt spoke so softly to Jildiz J. J. couldn’t hear the words. He smiled but the grin had to push through a mask of shock and concern. Jildiz and Amelia looked worse for wear and Jildiz’s pallor was corpse-like.
He approached J. J. and his men. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you. You know, you’re supposed to be dead.” His voice was flavored with a Southern accent and J. J. could imagine the man standing on the wide porch of a plantation house.
“Boss, this is Ambassador Robert Lee,” Amelia
said.
Lee slipped an arm around her. “My friends call me Bobby, and anyone who saves someone as precious and sweet as Amelia here is my friend.”
Amelia rolled her eyes.
“Sweet? Yes, sir, that was our first impression too.” J. J. shook the ambassador’s hand. “Jildiz?”
“That was Dr. Bryson. He retired from practice last year and I convinced him to spend some time here. We used to play golf together. Terrible on the putting green, but good with all things medical. He’s kept me healthy for years.” He paused. “She’s in good hands, soldier. How about you and your team?”
“We’re fine. Mr. Ambassador, what did you mean we are supposed to be dead?”
He cocked his head to one side as if wondering how J. J. could ask such a stupid question. “This may take a few moments. Let’s go to the cafeteria and get you some food. I’ll fill you in.”
“I need to make contact with my superiors,” J. J. said. “As soon as possible, if you don’t mind.”
“Phone service is out in the city and power just went out as well. Internet went down also, but we have satellite phones and a pretty decent communications center filled with radios. But first, you need to hear what I have to say.”
Despite the lateness of the hour, the cafeteria staff was able to serve up plates of meatloaf, rewarmed mashed potatoes, candied carrots, and pots of coffee and bottled water. It was a feast.
Ambassador Lee poured a cup of coffee for himself then looked at Amelia, who sat at the end of the cafeteria table. “As soon as Dr. Bryson has Jildiz stabilized, I want him to take a look at you.”
“I’m fine. Doc fixed me up.”
“Don’t make me say it twice, Amelia. In this building, I outrank you.”
“Yes, Mr. Ambassador.”
Lee fixed his attention on J. J. but spoke loudly enough for the others to hear. “In a moment, I need to contact the Kyrgyzstan president and you need to touch base with your superiors. So I’m going to make this quick.” J. J. listened between bites of food. Halfway through the story he lost his appetite.
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