James Acton 03 - Broken Dove (31 page)

“Good to see you again, Professor.” Acton turned toward the voice and saw Chaney and the Pontiff tucked behind a rock, the old man’s hand on the forehead of the third member of the Keepers of the One Truth, drag marks indicating he had fallen dead several feet away.

Acton stepped over and knelt down. “You two okay?” Chaney nodded. The Pontiff didn’t reply, his lips moving in silent prayer, his eyes closed. Acton motioned toward the body. “What’s this?”

Chaney rolled his eyes slightly. “He insisted on giving him his last rites, so I had to risk my own neck to drag his corpse over here.”

“BD! We’ve got company!” The voice boomed through the hollow.

Dawson pointed at the Pontiff. “Can he walk?”

Chaney shook his head. “No way, his feet are open wounds.”

“But other than that he can be transported?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, get him outside, now.” Dawson strode from the hollow as Acton and Chaney helped the old man to his feet, then linking arms behind his back, and hands under his thighs, created a human chair, shuffling him out of the stone shelter and into the night air, his feet never touching the ground. Several feet away Dawson was talking to Stucco.

“At least half a dozen vehicles to the East, another maybe dozen to the south, all heading right for us.”

“Distance?”

“Eastern group, five miles. Southern, two.”

“Shit. Just for once I’d like things to go nice and smooth.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Dawson grunted then pointed at the nearby vehicles the first group had arrived in. “Get two of those vehicles running, disable the third.”

Stucco trotted toward the first vehicle as Dawson pulled a Velcro covering open on his sleeve, revealing a small touch screen computer sewn into his jump suit. He tapped the screen several times then spoke. “Bravo Two, Bravo One, come in, over.” Acton couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but it was short. “Bravo Two, Bravo One. Proceed with hookup, I say again, proceed with hookup, over and out.” Dawson resealed the Velcro and turned toward Acton and his party. “How’s he doing?”

“I will be okay, my son. God will get me through this, now that his angels of deliverance have arrived.”

“Christ, BD, we’re angels!” Niner slapped his hand over his mouth. “Shit. Sorry your popeness, I didn’t mean to, umm, you know, use the Lord’s name in vain, like.”

The old man made a sign of the cross at him. “Three Hail Mary’s in the morning, and all is forgiven.”

Niner nodded, made the sign of the cross, and trotted off toward the now roaring vehicles. The old man turned to Chaney and Acton. “Do you think he knows I was joking?” He laughed, but it soon turned into a chest wrenching cough.

“Are you okay?” asked Dawson, kneeling down in front of him.

The man nodded, and slowly regained control of his cough. “Yes, just God’s punishment for forty years of smoking.”

“Priests smoke?” Chaney couldn’t disguise the surprise in the voice.

“Yes. We even appreciate the beauty of women. We are after all men, not robots. The difference between us and you, is that we try to reserve our love for God and our fellow man, not one person or vice; try to overcome our lust with prayer, not indulgence. Unfortunately, like all men, we fail from time to time. Me, I failed every day, several times a day, for forty years, until finally I wrestled my demon to the ground, and won.”

“How’d you quit?” asked Dawson.

“Lots of prayer, followed by two patches, not one. And a pack of Nicorette a day.”

They all laughed until they saw the old man was about to join them, and, worried he might start coughing again, stopped. “Let’s get you into one of those vehicles,” said Acton. The three of them helped him up, then carried him again to one of the jeep style vehicles. Chaney and Acton climbed in the back with him, each on either side as Niner took the driver’s seat, Dawson the passenger. Jimmy trotted by and Dawson flagged him down.

“Give the Professor your sidearm and ammo. We just might need some more firepower in here.”

Jimmy pulled the weapon out of its holster and handed it, butt first, to Acton, then three mags. He pointed at the safety. “That’s the safety—”

Acton flicked it and chambered a round. “I just killed
eight
Iranians, plus two of the hostage takers. I’ll be fine.”

Jimmy shook his head with half a smile, then slapped Acton on the back as he left at a trot for the other vehicle. “You’re okay, Doc,” he called over his shoulder.

Dawson leaned into the back, handing Chaney his sidearm and three mags. “Now I know you know how to use this.”

Chaney nodded. “I think our professor here might know better from what I’ve seen, but yes, I’ve been trained.”

Dawson turned back and motioned to Niner. “Let’s go.”

Niner shoved the vehicle into gear and popped the clutch. The jeep jolted forward and raced toward a large boulder directly in front. Niner cranked the wheel to the right, easing off on the gas as he slid it into second, his passengers grabbing onto anything they could to steady themselves. “Sorry, boss, just gettin’ used to the old girl.”

Dawson grunted and tore open the pouch concealing his tactical computer. A few taps and Acton could see a map displayed. Dawson pointed slightly to the left. “That’s where we want to head. Two-eight-zero degrees.” He pinched the display with two fingers, slowly drawing them closer. The map zoomed out, revealing a flashing dot to the left.

“Red’s on the move.”

Fifteen feet inside the Green Zone

Turkey

Red’s team had only landed minutes before, less than a mile from the border. A quick speed march and they were, according to the GPS on Red’s wearable combat computer, only feet from the border, the only indication of its existence at this point two dusty trails on either side, where vehicles would patrol at most likely irregular intervals. Red scanned the horizon with his binoculars, and spotted something to the south. He zoomed in.

“Looks like we’ve got a border installation a few miles from here, Iranian with opposing Turk forces.” He handed the binoculars to Atlas who took a bead on the outpost, then handed them back. “Looks like there’s activity.”

Red looked again and saw several vehicles leaving in a hurry, dust kicked up by the spinning tires reflecting the headlights and taillights of the mini convoy.

Red’s comm demanded his attention.

“Bravo One, Bravo Two, read you loud and clear. Be advised, we have activity here. Three technicals heading your way, over.”

“Bravo Two, Bravo One. Proceed with hookup, I say again, proceed with hookup, over and out.”

“Bravo One, Bravo Two, Roger that, out.”

He checked his computer, zooming out and got a bead on Dawson’s position. “Okay, they need our help, and we’ve got three miles to go.” He scanned the horizon again, and spotted nothing beyond the outpost and the three vehicles now almost out of site. “Let’s go.” He rose and at a crouch, crossed the border, back into Iranian territory.
Two missions in one day on Iranian soil. That’s got to be some kind of record.

They trotted, crouching, in silence, picking their feet up so as not to kick up dust that might be noticed by a guard post doing its job, and were soon amongst the rock strewn landscape. They wove their way through and around boulder after boulder, and Red quickly realized this was going to take longer than he had hoped if it didn’t clear out soon. They crested a ridge and directly in front of them they found a lone soldier, privates in hand, a healthy prostate problems-free stream of urine flowing onto the dry landscape. The stream cut off in spurts as the man’s jaw dropped. His mouth opened as Red drew his knife, still at a trot, and, flipping the blade so the sharp end faced outward and parallel to his forearm, he drew his arm back at the elbow, then lunged forward, the blade arcing in the air, slicing cleanly across the man’s throat.

Atlas grabbed the body by the shirt before it dropped, and lowered the gurgling, but otherwise quiet, man to the ground as the rest of the team raced by. Red continued forward, finding the hapless man’s partner smoking a cigarette in front of the headlights of their still idling vehicle, making himself a perfect target, and Red, a mass of black on black, the man’s pupils constricted in the bright light, an invisible force.

Idiot. Who trained you?

The man kicked a rock, turning toward Red. He flicked his lit cigarette toward the unseen killing machine. His eyes momentarily bulged as the black of night carried the glowing ember back toward him, then coalesced into Red’s frame reflected in the ambient light. The man reached for his weapon sitting on the hood of the vehicle.

But it was too late.

Red’s knife plunged into the soft belly of the man as his free hand covered the man’s mouth, squeezing tight, cutting off any calls for help, and acting as a handhold for Red to lower the man to the ground as he jerked his knife upward, hitting the ribcage. He pulled the knife out, and controlled the man’s collapse. Kneeling beside him, he cleaned his blade on the man’s pants as the last of the life bled out of him. The body shook as Red’s hand still clenched the man’s face, the death rattle something he would never get used to.
Sorry, buddy. Wrong place, wrong time.

He removed his hand from the man’s mouth, closed his wide open eyes, then dragged the body into the darkness and out of the light exposing him to anyone else who may be in the area. He dropped to his knee and scanned their surroundings, spotting no one but his own team. He shuffled to the side of the jeep, and using his body and the jeep as cover, ripped the Velcro seal open, and looked at the map of the area. The trail they were on wound up through the hill they had to climb, but then straightened out on the other side. If they didn’t run into any one, they could reach BD in minutes.

If.

2.5 miles outside the Green Zone

Iran

“We’d be faster on foot, BD!”

Niner double-handed the wheel around another boulder then geared down. Gunfire erupted behind them, but out of range. Dawson didn’t bother looking, but Acton did. Headlights bobbed in the distance. At least half a dozen sets. And they were close, their drivers seeming to make better time.

“They must be on some sort of trail we don’t know about. There’s no way I can keep ahead of them.”

“Just keep driving. His Holiness can’t walk, so this is our only choice. Just keep going. We’ll meet up with Red and make a stand if we have to.”

“Leave me.”

Everyone, including Niner, turned to stare at the Pope.

Dawson reached over without looking and pushed Niner’s face back toward the front of the car. The vehicle jerked as he avoided a desk sized rock.

“Your Holiness, with all due respect, stow that kind of talk. Everyone is coming out of this. Alive.”

Dawson turned back to look at his map, then pointed. “Half a mile, top of that ridge.”

Niner nodded.

Something streaked over their heads and exploded against the top of one of the larger boulders, showering them with smaller debris. Both Acton and Chaney pushed the Pontiff down and covered him with their bodies. More explosions surrounded them as Niner continued to push toward the top of the hill they were now on. Dawson was typing something on his computer, apparently oblivious to the chaos around him. Another explosion and Niner jerked his wheel to the left.

“Christ that one was close!” he yelled, then looked in his rearview mirror. “Sorry, Padre, I just hate RPG’s!”

“You’re forgiven!” yelled the old man, his voice muffled from being hunched over. Acton and Chaney exchanged a quick grin.

Another explosion behind them had Niner slide to a stop. “They took a hit.”

Dawson jumped out and ran back to the second vehicle. Acton turned and watched as Dawson helped one of his men, apparently with a leg injury, toward the lone intact vehicle, the other one now resting atop a three foot rock, the driver side quarter panel scorched from a hit that had taken out the tire and much of the engine compartment. Dawson put the injured man in the passenger seat, then stood on the running board as the other three jumped on the other side, the last one smacking the side. “Go! Go! Go!”

Niner floored it, almost knocking some of their hangers-on off, then rounded a large boulder, trying to position himself with it at their back as bullets began to ricochet around them. “They’re almost on top of us.”

“Just get to that ridge.”

Acton saw Dawson turn to the three men now riding with them. “As soon as we reach the top, spread out, find cover. We make our stand there. Target their lights, tires, engine compartments. We want to be the only ones leaving this hilltop on wheels.” He leaned down so Niner could hear him. “When we reach the top, park this thing behind the biggest damned rock you can find, turn out the lights, and protect it like it’s your sister’s cherry. It’s still our ticket out of here.”

Niner nodded, shoving the vehicle into third as he found a stretch of relatively clear ground. Gunning the motor, they sped forward. Another sharp turn to the left and Niner rounded a large boulder, skidding the jeep to a halt. “We’re here!” he announced, killing the lights and turning off the engine.

“Spread out, pick your targets, conserve your ammo. Lights, tires, engines, and anybody who gets too damned close.” Dawson leaned in. “Your Holiness, you sit tight. Professor, Detective, I’d suggest you take up positions on either side of this rock, and shoot at anything that moves that doesn’t have its back to you.”

With that he disappeared. Acton turned to the Pontiff. “Will you be okay?”

“Don’t worry about me, my sons. I will simply lie here, and pray for all those who have lost their lives today because of me.”

Acton started to say something about it not being the old man’s fault, but gunfire erupted from everywhere. He jumped out with Chaney and took up position as Dawson had suggested.
Ordered?
With everything that had happened today, he almost felt like he deserved honorary instatement.
I wonder how Laura’s doing.
Acton spotted a figure sneaking up from their left flank. Acton took a bead and waited for him to move to the next rock.