“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.
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.
COLONEL WEIDMAN TOOK THE
satellite phone from his aide. “Weidman.” He listened for a moment. “Why aren’t you dead?”
“I haven’t got that far down my to-do list, sir.”
Weidman chuckled, then he laughed loudly. “This has been one lousy day, but you just put a bow on it. I can’t tell you how good it is to hear your voice.”
“Thank you, sir. Is the base secure?”
“For now, but we have quite a gathering out front.”
“I’m ready to report, sir.”
“Save it, Master Sergeant. Your mission isn’t over. Something’s come up.”
J. J. DIDN'T LIKE
the sound of that. He looked around the small communications room in the basement of the building. It smelled of warm electronics. He didn’t feel ready for more shocking news. He digested the last bit served up by the ambassador. Nonetheless, he said, “Ready, sir.”
“There was an attempted bioagent attack at the front gate. A sharp-eyed local cop prevented its execution and was somehow able to take control of a canister filled with a still undefined agent. The local police took the man into custody. Somehow they or the local military or Intel group got the man to confess. I have a feeling the details are unpleasant.”