by S. M. Nolan
He saw now that her strength was tenfold what it had seemed. What he'd before attributed to trust in his experience, was something more; delicate tendrils of love in a soft core of hope. They feared unfurling, reaching out lest they shrivel, undernourished.
His empathy stirred. Sadness tore at his heart from her hint of desperation. Coldness and indifference always masked his own fears, mustered as his way of coping. Maggie lacked that ability. She wanted to cope, to survive, but saw little incentive to.
Now, she was looking to him for help finding it.
During the heat and terror of battle, Russell had always found something to fuel him, propel him through each day, each skirmish. It had become ingrained in him, but he'd overlooked its existence, significance; hope. He'd hoped to return home, hoped to live out his life, and hoped for a better future, a better tomorrow.
Maggie's eyes conveyed a lack of hope. She wanted it, needed it, but the tendrils refused to grow, refused to give rise to the blooming hope.
But Russell had hope to share, given proper reciprocation.
A sudden fear forced them to accept reality; either they devoted themselves to one another now, or they'd be forced to survive alone, apart. They both sensed as much.
In defiance to his own fear, Russell's hand rose again to her face. Her eyes flared; glowing emeralds alight against the sun. She nuzzled his hand and leaned in again, her fear all but gone.
Their lips met with a sensual tremor that fluttered commitment through their breaths. The cool metal of Maggie's lip-ring and the warmth of her skin mingled with her hot breath to press hard against him.
Something she couldn't place centered in Maggie's chest. It coursed along her arteries and warmed her body. She exhaled against him, drew back to find his open eyes dulled by a placid gaze.
She rested her temple on his cheek with a whisper, “Thank you.”
His voice was low, gentle, “Anything for you, Maggie.”
The comm crackled with perfectly poor timing and Davis' intrusive voice sounded, “We've found it.”
Maggie pressed the Lash at her throat, “On our way.” She flicked the ring in her lip with her tongue and gave Russell a small smile. “We'll finish this later.”
She pushed herself up. He gathered his bag and rifle, followed her toward the temple. She led with a fresh liveliness, near strutting as she hurried inside.
Davis beckoned them toward the fire-pit in the temple-proper, a map splayed across the grate atop it. Matthews stood with the small device in hand, keying it with a finger. Russell and Maggie stood beside them.
Davis passed over a piece of paper, “We found this.”
An odd arrangement of lined triangles were scrawled across the paper. Numbers in fresh ink were etched beneath them.
Davis pointed them out, “Newer dialect of Cuneiform—what the ancient language devolved to. The symbols were scattered through-out the rooms. We had to run it a few times to get the right heading, but it's a set coordinates.”
Russell glanced between Davis and the page, “You sure it's right?”
“Certain. Any other possibilities place the destination too far out. The Reverberant would've never ordered a move like that.”
Matthews explained, “This is a map of Nepal and China, here's the coordinates. Here we are.” He pointed to an X on the map, slid to a second, then a circled area. “This is the airstrip we were supposed to land at. Here's the radius of the temple. It's somewhere in this area. Straight-line across the terrain.”
“Would've taken a while,” Maggie said, hands on her hips.
“Right, they've probably been gone a while. If we're lucky, and can catch a transport from a local, we might make it there in a few days. Problem is—” He lifted the large map to reveal a second with elevation markings, “This is a topographic map of the area—We're somewhere in here.”
He pointed to a high elevation marking and a dotted line.
Russell examined the map, confused, “What's the problem?”
“This is a closed range, there's no other way out,” Davis said.
Maggie's brow furrowed, “So we go back the way we came.”
“Yes, but we're picking up sporadic radio chatter. It's the strike-force. They're closing in. We're already looking at a fight.”
“Have they found the temple yet?” She asked, prepped to fight.
“They will soon. They're following our path from Brown.”
Russell was seriously concerned, “They're tracking us?”
Davis nodded, “Like hunters—right to the overturned stone outside. It won't be long before they move in.”
Maggie adjusted her pack and rifle, “We need to go.”
Davis folded the maps for Russell, “We could be walking right into them.”
He took them, stepped behind Maggie to stuff them in her pack, “We'll chance it.”
“Let's go,” Maggie said, headed for the escape-tunnel.
Russell followed, stopped by the false-wall. Maggie raised her hand to feel for a hidden switch and depressed it. The wall came loose before the two pushed hard against a side.
Russell stayed Maggie, “Let me go first.”
She hesitated, waited to follow him into the tunnel. He stopped at the corner near the ladder, halted the others with a finger to his lips. He made his way up the ladder, duffel bag over his back and his rifle slung forward.
He removed the pistol from his side, balanced himself on the ladder, and pushed up the wooden door with one hand. He peered out to scan the area, his ears strained. Silence urged him forward.
He eased from the hole, crouched to watch the trees ahead. Maggie's head emerged, followed quickly by her body, Davis and Matthews hot on her heels.
“Get behind that tree, keep your eyes and ears sharp,” Russell whispered.
She slipped behind a cedar, her rifle ready. Something metallic sounded near the clearing's edge. A flock of birds took flight and an object thumped the ground nearby.
“Down!”
They dropped to the dirt. An explosive bang rocked the area with a blinding flash. Russell was up. Muffled cracks erupted from the trees. He drug Maggie away for a fallen trunk that made thick cover.
“Stay down!”
He took a knee, fired loud bursts. Davis and Matthews were slow to recover, but charged after them. Davis vaulted over the tree a second earlier than Matthews. A crackled burst riddled his back. He went limp mid-jump, tumbled head over heels over the tree, dead.
It took a moment for Matthews to comprehend his death. He pulled Davis over, shrank down as Russell ducked to reload.
“Davis? Davis! Damn it!”
Weapons-fire cut a swath forward. Two men emerged from the tree-line. They moved low and fast, weaved to avoid Russell's aim. He recognized Kurst and Hoff, fired and missed. Hoff dodged behind a tree, diverted Kurst. A pair of fast rounds toppled the massive German in mid-stride. He hit the ground already dead.
“That's for Davis, you bastards!” Matthews yelled.
Hoff tried for the far end of the overturned stone, but Matthews fired off a round at every attempt to move.
“Pin him!” Matthews yelled, reloading his pistol and fishing through Davis' jumpsuit. He produced the small tracking device, tossed it behind Russell to Maggie.
“Take this and get out of here. I'll hold them off.”
“Are you mental?!”
He ducked again to reload. Ammunition splintered the tree's far-side. Dust and wood ejected through the air. Russell racked the bolt and squeezed off a burst to keep Hoff at bay. Reese and West rushed Kurst's body from the trees.
“The Protectorate has to know this temple's been compromised!” Matthews yelled, rising to fire. A single round struck the right side of his abdomen. He slumped. Blood poured from on to a shaking hand.
Russell glanced over, “Shit! Maggie, put pressure—”
“No! God damn it. Don't waste time!”
His pistol spit rounds at Reese and West as they drug Kurst into
the trees.
“Go,” he begged Maggie.
Maggie watched blood edge from his mouth. Humility overcame her, “Russell.”
He cast her a look and readied himself.
Matthews rose to keep Hoff pinned, “Good luck.”
She crouched to sprint with a weak smile, “You too.”
Russell instructed her, “Run. Zigzag through the trees. Don't look back. Keep your eyes forward. Watch the ground between you and your next cover. Don't stop. And don't worry about me. Understand?”
She nodded with a deep breath.
“Go!”
They bolted. Trees splintered and dusted the air around them. Matthews' pistol rang until it became a distant hammer pounding rhythmically at its aggressors. Maggie's muscles ached. Her lungs burned. Still she refused to stop. Russell kept pace alongside her, edged his way over.
Maggie huffed, terrified but exhilarated. The edge of the forest came into view ahead. A small dirt road cut it in half, led into the mountains. They charged onto it, followed it around a corner of limestone that rose higher the further they ran. Russell slowed, exhausted. He stopped Maggie with a pant, doubled over to catch his breath.
A Man's voice sounded on their radios, “Have you ever heard the sound of a dying man?”
A painful groan was intensified by a heavy thud. It morphed into a shriek. Reese's feminine laugh sounded over the male on the radio.
“Such a waste of a life, to devote it to… their cause.”
“Has to be West. Don't let them know we hear them.”
Matthews' cries were audible between their words. West's voice continued with a malevolent laughter, “I know you are there Detective. Tell me, how is Ms. Doherty? I imagine she tastes like a sweet, English candy.” Reese gave a malevolent groan of pleasure. West's voice soured, “You cannot stop Omega. We are coming. Maybe, I'll taste her myself—” His voice shifted to a dark rasp. “Before I cut her throat.”
A gunshot chorused on the radio and in the distance. Static sounded before the radio cut out. Maggie stared at Russell, aghast.
He put a hand on her arm, “They're trying to get under your skin, Maggie. They know you're the weak link. You've never been through anything like this. They're trying to weigh you down. They want you afraid. Don't give them the satisfaction.”
Maggie swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded, “Let's go.”
They started along the dirt road. It ascended into the mountains with widening clearings and cliff-faces to one side. Opposite them, craggy limestone was sheered in precipices stacked and staggered atop one another and rising further skyward with each change.
The mountain leveled out an hour later, the two in fatigued agony. The sides of the road opened on more, semi-forested areas between lush plains. Within one, a small village was centered around the road. They approached its edge with cautious steps.
Shacks and lean-tos were situated in long columns, each with a plume of smoke rising from its roof or side. The locals wore Sherpa's clothing; long, heavy ponchos and warm furs. The dissonant murmur of the village carried on in spite of their appearance, though some inhabitants eyed them suspiciously.
Maggie stopped at a stand beside a man tanning furs, roused him with a word. She pointed to his truck with money in-hand. They bartered out a small sum before Russell removed the map from Maggie's pack and pointed out their destination.
He ushered them into the truck that sputtered to life and carried them up the mountain. The road ended at a small airstrip. The pair climbed from the truck's bed before it knocked and sputtered around and back down the mountain.
A single-engine prop-plane sat amid the empty airfield. A lone man beside it had his feet kicked up on a box with his eyes closed. His loose, denim pants, were neatly draped over beat-up hiking boots. His leather bomber-jacket was dry and cracked, the wool around its collar all but gone. It perfectly complimented his weathered face and long, wild hair. They approached him carefully, but he did not stir.
He spoke with his eyes closed, managing to only move his mouth, “Standard fee is four-fifty—American. Out of country's a thousand. Cash only. Up-front.”
“You're American?” Maggie asked. The pilot grunted. “How'd you—”
“Only a damn foreigner makes that much noise coming up the side of the mountain, and only an American walks that loud around here.” He pivoted his feet downward, produced a cigarette. He lit it with a forward lean, “That accent's not enough to fool me either—may've been born English, but that went the way of your virginity in high-school.”
Maggie pursed her lips, “You ought'a be nicer to someone you're demanding money from.”
“You'd think that,” he said without missing a beat. “But then again, there ain't another pilot within a thousand miles can get you into China without clearance.”
Maggie scowled, reached into her pocket. He examined her with a squint. “Just get us there.” He extended his hand to grasp the money. She held it back, “Quietly.”
He gave a smart grin, “Anything for a lady.”
He plucked the money from her hand, stood to close his folding chair. With it and the box, he led the way to the far-side of the plane. He shoved his things inside and held the door open.
“Boyfriend's kinda' quiet.” He took a long drag of his cigarette. “But I suppose that's the way you like 'em.”
“It is,” Maggie replied without batting an eye. She followed Russell into the cramped plane.
The pilot snorted, flicked his cigarette away, and climbed in after them. He clambered through the tiny tail-compartment toward the pilot's seat and ignited the engine. It spit, struggled to gain momentum, but soon idled in loud buzz.
“You sure this hunk of shit's worth my money?”
“She don't look like much, kid, but she's got it where it counts.” He taxied to the far end of the strip. “Out of curiosity, what other choices you got?”
Maggie ignored him, unfolded the map to show their destination, “Here.”
He looked at it, eyed her with a squint, “You sure 'bout that?”
“Why?”
He laughed. “I been outta' the loop a while, but even I know Tibet when I see it.”
“Tibet?” Maggie asked, looking closer at the map.
“If you say so, kid, but if we get forced down, you're not gonna' be makin' your party.”
“An extra thousand says you'll make sure that doesn't happen.” She watched him wet his lips with his tongue. “Deal?”
He nodded with a wild eye, extended his hand, “I need incentive.”
“Make due with half,” Maggie said, counting out twenties. “You the get rest when we land.”
He smiled at Russell, “Smart girl.”
“Insurance is a good policy,” she countered.
He full-on laughed, started down the strip to gain speed and altitude. In a few moments they were rising with the mountains, the engine's incessant buzz threatening to lull Maggie to sleep. Russell nudged her to exchange spots so she might lie down in the tail compartment.
Her head hit her bag and she was out. Russell glanced back, smiled, then turned to watch the mountains disappear beneath the clouds.
16.
Tibet
October 4th
12:08 AM
Disputed airspace over Tibet
Maggie was shaken from a deep sleep by violent turbulence. On instinct she sat up, rifle clasped in her hands.
The pilot glanced back with a laugh, “Bit jumpy.”
“You blame 'er?”
“Nah.” He turned back. “S'pose not.”
Maggie relaxed her grip, set the rifle aside. She scrunched up to shift in the small compartment and edged toward them.
“What's going on?”
“Storm in the foot-hills,” the pilot said.
She wiped sleep from her eyes, “Shouldn't we be above it?”
“Gotta' stay below Chinese radar,” he corrected, eyes peeled ahead.
Thick clouds encompassed th
em, bucked the plane and splattered heavy droplets against the windscreen. Lightning splintered through the dark sky with thunder that shook Maggie's chest.
“And if we don't?”
“Won't be long before they're combing the wreckage.”
She rolled her eyes, “That's reassuring.”
Russell soothed her, “We'll be alright.”
She scowled at the pilot, “How much further?”
“'nother couple hours.”
“I'm gonna try and get some rest before we land,” Russell said, offering her his seat.
They made awkward moves to exchange places. Russell laid onto his back as Maggie settled in the seat. He called up at her, “Don't have too much fun without me.”
Maggie glared back at him, turned back with an exasperated breath. “Are you sure you can get us there?”
“Won't lie; 'tween the storm and the Chinese, we're looking at a doozy,” he said with a sarcastic bend. Maggie shot him the same dirty look she'd given Russell, though less forgiving. “I fly this route a couple times a month, just not as deep into Tibet. There's added risk, but the storm's a good thing. It'll mask our approach from ground-based sighting stations. Even if they spot us on radar, the Chinese won't launch a fighter into this.”
“Why?”
“Electronics,” he replied, gesturing around the cockpit. “A singe-engine plane's not worth the cash. If we take a hit from lightning, so long as the engine doesn't give out, we'll make it through. But we don't have millions worth of electronics flowing through the cockpit. If a Chinese MiG takes a hit —” His hand made a downward motion with a whistle.
“So you're not just a smart ass then?”
“Usually,” he smiled. “Not always.”
Maggie huffed, remained silent. She stared into the darkness that intermittently flashed to daylight. How he could see anything was beyond her. Thankfully, her reservations disappeared the more she watched the storm. An eerie beauty shined through beneath its fury. Lightning splintered. Veinous, blue and violet paths sparked and disintegrated in mid-air. Thunder boomed around and through her.