Fallen Angel (36 page)

"Thanks," Bartley said.

"I meant my mom."

"Thanks." She took Gina's hand.

Nothing ever felt so good.

"Hey, Squirt." Rob stood at the foot of the bed.

"Hi, Rat-Face."

"She's going to be okay," Rob said.

"I'm really sore."

Her mother smiled. "It could be from the gunshot wound, or the CPR, or the surgery."

"I'm confused."

"She's the same ol' Gina." Rob's smile widened.

PETE HEARD THEM FIRST.
The
whup-whup-whup
of a helicopter. "I hope those are the right birds."

"Take positions, just in case. Let's make sure Boss and Shaq are away from the windows and doors. Get Hawkeye and Doc to help you, then I want a man at each cardinal point of the building. And see if you can't get Captain Masters to stop trying to take over the mission."

"I think he has a few pent-up emotions."

"He needs to keep them in the pen."

Pete disappeared into the building. J. J. scanned the sky and found a single distant dot approaching. He retrieved his binoculars and aimed them at the dot. An Mi-26. It was a monster built, if J. J.'s memory was on target, in the mid-1980s.

It came in loud and low, making no attempt to hide its approach. J. J. took that as a good sign, although the pessimist inside reminded him the helo could carry up to eighty troops. For a moment he envisioned a steady stream of armed men pouring from the craft like water from a hose. He was part of the best Spec Ops team working, but he didn't like those numbers.

The craft found a clear corner of the compound and settled on its wheels. Only one man exited the craft. He wore a Russian Army uniform but carried no weapons. He walked with confidence and purpose. J. J. stepped out to meet him.

"I am
Srarshiy Serzhanf
Demidov, Army of the Russian Federation. I have been told to speak with a man named 'Colt.'"

"That would be me."

Demidov took a step back and saluted. "My orders are to convey you to your next destination." He looked at the giant satellite, opened his mouth as if to ask a question, then closed it, keeping his silence.

"You are a welcome sight."

"We also have medical supplies including plasma and blood."

"I could kiss you," J. J. said. The man looked stunned. "It's an American expression. I'll settle for a handshake."

It took twenty minutes to get the team and the wounded into the large helicopter. Igor the doctor—whose name it turned out was really Igor—connected Moyer, Masters, and Rich to IVs.

J. J. moved to the pilot's area. "I have one last thing to do and I can do it from the air. Take us up and out about a kilometer." The pilot nodded.

The Mi-26 lifted to five hundred feet and moved back the distance J. J. requested. He removed the remote detonator. "You want the honors, Boss?"

Moyer waved him off.

"In three, two, one." J. J. activated the detonator. The shock wave made the aircraft bounce and shift from its location. A column of fire and smoke crawled up the air. Shrapnel peppered the front of the former hospital, a hospital that held only the corpses of Russian dissidents, terrorists. The helicopter was filled with three wounded men, two corpses of Masters's team, J. J.'s team, and Dr. Igor. The latter would not be leaving the helicopter with the others. People in Moscow had questions for him, and J. J. had no doubt the man became a bargaining chip with the Russians.

Pete looked at Connie. They received another message. J. J. had never seen a bigger smile. Pete moved to the side of the helicopter where Eric Moyer lay strapped to a litter. He motioned to J. J.

"Boss. You awake?"

"Yeah, just a little loopy from the . . . um . . . um . . ."

"Pain meds," Jose suggested.

Pete lifted his head. "Listen up, team. They found Gina. She's alive and Stacy is with her."

The cheer shook the sides of the helicopter. They took turns congratulating Moyer. The moment the cheering ended, Sergeant Major Eric Moyer broke into tears.

EPILOGUE

Three months later

STEAKS WERE SIZZLING ON
the barbecue in Eric Moyer’s backyard. There were drinks, baked potatoes, and Moyer’s closest friends. J. J., Tess, and Chaplain Bartley sat in lounge chairs, soaking in the sun. Jose, his wife, and what seemed like fifty-two kids were nearby. Pete, Crispin, Colonel Mac, and Sergeant Kinkaid stood on the lawn telling jokes. Rich and his wife sat in the shade. Even with the new eye patch covering his friend’s eye, Rich looked good.

“May I have everyone’s attention, please?” Moyer stood in the center of the backyard, the smell of barbecue filling the air. “The steaks are almost ready and I don’t let anything interfere with such important things.”

There was light laughter.

“Then get to it, Boss,” Pete said. “I’m hungry.”

“Okay, I’ll make this quick. First, having almost everyone in one place allows me to say thank you to all of you for what you did, especially for Gina. Data, you and Agent Lazzaro did a great job. My family will never be able to repay you.”

“I’m still calculating the bill.”

Moyer turned to Agent Terry Wallace. “I’d like to thank you for helping to save my daughter’s life.”

“If you want to thank me, Moyer, then take Zinsser back on your team.”

“Ain’t gonna happen.” Moyer pulled his daughter close. “Gina and I have matching bullet wounds. How many fathers can say that?”

“How many want to?” Gina said.

“Okay, to the announcements. First, Captain Masters—who as the world knows now is the son of the former vice president—is recovering nicely from his wounds and plastic surgery.”

Some of those present applauded.

“The big news, however, is this: The Army accepted my request for retirement.”

No applause, just stunned silence.

“I know, I know, but I’ve put a lot of years in this business, lost team members, and nearly lost my daughter. My identity has been compromised.”

“What are you going to do, Boss?” Pete looked stunned. “I don’t think you’re ready for the easy chair.”

Moyer grinned. “Well, I landed me a sweet job with a private security firm. I’ll be a consultant. Good money. And not only that, Rich is going with me. The Army has given him a medical discharge—losing his eye and all.”

“Anybody wanna see?”

Several women and Crispin said, “Eww.”

“Hey, Robyn says it makes me look sexy.”

“This leads me to the next announcement. Stand up, J. J.”

“Why? Last time I did that I got volunteered for something.”

“Stand up, Colt. The steaks are waiting.”

“Okay, but I’m only doing it for the steaks.”

“Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to the new team leader: J. J. ‘Colt’ Bartley.”

“What?”

Applause.

“You earned it several times over.” Moyer lifted his drink. “To Boss.”

A chorus of “To Boss” rang out.

MOYER PUT TWO FOLDING
tables together to make room for the inner circle, those in the know about the mission.

“Since your official retirement is a couple of weeks off, I feel safe in bringing you up to speed.” Colonel Mac looked at those around the table: Zinsser, Brianne, his team, Kinkaid, Tess, and Agent Wallace.

“I appreciate that, Colonel,” Moyer said.

“Of course, there are a few things I can’t share, especially about Angel-12.” Mac made eye contact with J. J. “Some of this you already know, but I asked Tess to help uncover the mole, the one who tipped off the Chinese and hired Green Zone to abduct Gina. Tell us how you did that, Tess.”

Tess shrugged. “The real credit goes to Sergeant Kinkaid. He pushed me to act on my first thoughts, on instinct. He thinks everyone knows more than he thinks he knows. He wouldn’t let up.”

“I do what I can.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I felt it could only be two people. Normally I wouldn’t say something like that. I’m an academician, I like facts laid out in order.”

“We didn’t have time for that,” Kinkaid said.

“I know. Anyway I chose—on what I first believed was a whim—Major Scalon and Captain Tim Bryan of STRATCOM. As I thought about it later, it occurred to me they knew more about Angel-12 than anyone else; they knew who was on the insertion team because they briefed them; and they knew what everyone involved was doing, because they were monitoring the situation from Nebraska.”

“Okay, Scalon is a desk pilot but Tim Bryan is a decorated Spec Ops man.” Rich scratched at his freshly healed facial wound.

“That’s why I dismissed them at first, but my gut said one of them had to be the one.”

“I love my baby’s gut.” J. J. gave her a squeeze.

“Still, Kinkaid gets the credit.”

“Nonsense,” Kinkaid said. “When you chose those two, I figured you had lost your mind.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“He was alone, Tess. He brought me the names and rejected the whole notion,” Mac said. “Had the suggestion come from anyone else, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But I did, and I called the president. He had the FBI do a background check. Captain Bryan had recently come into some money, much of which he put in an offshore account. A little deeper look and we found a connection to Green Zone. We checked their bank accounts—don’t ask—and they received a big hunk of cash from Bryan’s offshore account.”

“Wait,” J. J. said. “The Chinese paid Captain Bryan for information on Angel-12, then paid Green Zone through him?”

“Yes.” Mac leaned on the table. “Army CID in Nebraska collared him. He’s been interviewed by several organizations including intel groups. He’s confessed to everything. It seems he holds a grudge because he has received no recognition for the missions he did. He thinks he should have received more credit for being wounded in action. In his mind, the Air Force just stuck him in a desk job in Nebraska.”

“So he sold out,” Moyer said.

“Yes.”

“I think I know the answer to this,” Moyer began, “but how did the president arrange for the Russian military to extract us and deliver us to the
Michael Monsoor
?”

“He told me he just laid out the truth, asked for help, and turned over the location of Egonov’s group and one of his men.”

“Dr. Igor,” Jose said. “Man had skills. He said something to Captain Masters that puzzles me. He said, ‘My father would be proud.’ Masters seemed to understand.”

Moyer turned to J. J. “You ready for your new role?”

“Nope. Were you?”

“Never felt ready.” Moyer looked at his wife, daughter, and son laughing. “I am, however, ready for what comes next.”

He rose from the table and walked to his family.