Mission Liberty (27 page)

“There’s a ford, about five miles from here, where the river is shallow enough to cross. Until it rained two weeks ago up
north, both branches were down to a trickle.”

“What’s on the other side?” DeLuca asked her.

“Another road,” she said. “For about five miles. This is the West Liger. The western fork. The road comes to the East Liger,
just above where the two branches meet.”

“And on the other side of that?”

“That’s the border,” she said.

“If you cross, you’ll be safe?”

“Safe’s a bit relative, isn’t it?” she said. “Saf
er,
I suppose. Bo’s posted troops at the borders to stop people from leaving the country, but God only know if they’ll still
be there. I don’t think the rebels would follow us across.”

“Take your people there,” he told her. “Don’t let the border guards stop you. If you tell them two thousand rebel troops are
chasing you, I suspect they’ll escort you across the river personally. Corporal Okempo, I’m going to give your men real guns
with real ammunition. Agent Vasquez will show your men how to use them, but it’s the world’s simplest rifle. Point and shoot,
just like Kodak. Keep the people in order and keep them moving. I’m hereby authorizing a field transfer to the United States
armed forces, all right? If somebody gives you any trouble for following my orders, I’ll fix it later, okay? I promise you.
You won’t get in trouble.”

Okempo nodded uncertainly. DeLuca wondered just how much he understood.

“I’m not sure these people can go ten miles,” Warner said. “They’re scared. They’ve been through so much already.”

DeLuca saw the Chinook approaching. He was about to order Vasquez to fire on it when his SATphone rang and Scott told him
the Chinook was friendly. He asked Scott to stay on the line.

“It looks like help may be arriving, but you still have to evacuate. You have to do what you can,” DeLuca told Evelyn, holding
his hand over the phone. “Leave everything. You have to go, now.”

Warner spoke to Cela, who began the evacuation. Some people ran, some walked, carrying what they could. Some children thought
it was a game.

“David,” Warner said, “I have fifty people in the infirmary who can’t even stand.”

“We’ll take care of them,” DeLuca said, though he wasn’t sure how.

He found Asabo.

“Paul, I want you to help Evelyn get the women and children to safety. Tell them who you are. They’ll follow you. They’ll
calm down if they know you’re leading them. Okay?”

Asabo nodded.

DeLuca watched as the helicopter attempted to set down in a nearby field, moving up and down three or four times and rotating
in place at least half a dozen times before settling in, nearly backing tail first into the earth before finally correcting
and dropping with a loud thud from a height of three or four feet, teetering momentarily on two wheels before settling in
a cloud of dust.

“That’s the worst landing I ever saw,” Vasquez said.

When Sykes emerged from the pilot’s door, DeLuca understood why. With him was the actress, her beauty as out of place here
as a rose in a toilet bowl.

“I didn’t know you knew how to fly jollies,” DeLuca said to Dan.

“Neither did I,” Sykes said. “This is Gabrielle Duquette. Gabby, this is my boss.”

“Pleased to meet you,” DeLuca said, turning to Dan. “How much fuel do you have left?”

“I’m not sure,” Sykes said. “Maybe a third of a tank. The bad guys are one or two klicks north. You need a lift?”

“Not me,” DeLuca said. “How many passengers can you carry?”

“You’re asking me?” Sykes said. “Hang on.” He spoke into Gabby Duquette’s SATphone. “Captain Evans, how many passengers can
I carry?” He turned to DeLuca. “He says thirty-six, including the crew. Fifty thousand pounds, gross weight.”

“Thirty-six grown men?” DeLuca asked. Sykes repeated the question for Captain Evans, then nodded to DeLuca.

“We have fifty immobile women and children,” DeLuca said, doing a bit of math in his head. “That ought to equal about thirty-six
grown men. Evelyn, get your sick people on the helicopter. Agent Sykes will help you.”

“I’ll help, too,” Gabrielle said.

“Thank you,” DeLuca said.

“There’s a minigun in the back we don’t need,” Sykes added. “We could lose the weight, too.”

“Hoolie,” DeLuca said, pointing at the chopper, “can you get the mini and mount it on the Rover?”

“I’ll have to punch a few holes in the roof, but yeah. Give me ten minutes.”

“Do it. You have five,” he said.

A pair of headlights approached from the south.

“Jesus,” DeLuca said, “what next?” He scanned the terrain again, keeping his eye on the car that would soon arrive, then got
his son on the SATphone. The approach from the north was guarded by a pair of hills with a gap of perhaps five hundred yards
between them. If the rebels seized the high ground, anyone remaining in the camp would be easy to hit with mortar, RPG, or
rifle fire. He needed to keep the enemy inside the chokepoint. “Scott, I need fire on the mountains. How many Preds do we
have?”

“Two on scene and two will be there in about ten minutes,” Scott said. “The Hellfires can be there sooner than that—they’re
in range.”

“Do you see the two hills north of my position?” DeLuca asked.

“Roger that,” Scott said.

“You got the bad guys on infrared?”

“Got ’em.”

“When they cross the line at the chokepoint, light the hills,” DeLuca said. “First one, then the other. I want them to think
it isn’t safe up there.”

“Roger that,” Scott said.

In the distance, DeLuca thought he heard the sound of loud music, boom boxes, chanting. Apparently the rebels were in something
of a party mood, and not interested in gaining the advantage of surprise, but then, it was a war where terrorizing the opponent
seemed more important than killing him.

Sykes interrupted him.

“We got a problem,” he said.

“You have your people loaded?”

“Just about,” Sykes said. “You want me to fly across the river and out of country, right? To where the others are walking?”

“Yeah,” DeLuca said. “Keep everyone together.”

“Evans thinks I’m going to need an LZ. Something lit so I can see it. It’ll be dark in fifteen minutes. I had enough trouble
landing that thing in daylight. We have zero NVGs.”

“Scott,” DeLuca said. “Check your topos. We need an open space where the river road south turns east and crosses out of Liger,
ten to fifteen klicks from here. What have you got?”

“Hold on,” Scott said. “On your CIM. Got it?”

“Roger—what’s the terrain like? Wooded?”

“Semiwooded. It looks like some sort of refugee camp on the other side.”

“Room for an LZ for the jolly?”

“There’s room.”

“What can you do to light it? We have zero NVG capabilities. Sykes is flying the jolly—he needs a safe place to land. We have
fifty people on board.”

“I can’t get command and control in that fast,” Scott said. “The closest FOP is still too far south.”

“How much fuel do your Predators have on them?”

“Two hundred gallons av gas at full,” Scott said.

“They fly about the same speed as a chopper, right?”

“About,” Scott said.

“Here’s what I want you and Captain Evans to do—when Dan is up, send a Pred and lead him to a safe LZ. When you get there,
crash the Pred to give him a target. Tell LeDoux he can put the cost on my tab.”

“Not a problem,” Scott said. “At least not right now.”

“I got you an LZ,” DeLuca told Sykes. “Go now—Evans will explain.”

“See you on the
Johnson,
” Sykes said.

“You got it,” DeLuca said.

Gabrielle Duquette approached them.

“Let’s go,” Sykes told her. “Get on the jolly—it’s going to get hot here in a minute.”

“I gave up my seat,” Duquette said. “I can walk.”

“Gabby…”

“I can walk,” she said firmly. “I’m able-bodied. They need it more than I do.”

“Gabby…”

“Take the money,” she said, the Zero case still on board. “Use the rest when you’re safe. These people are going to need a
lot of things. You should go.”

Sykes put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m still going to get you home safe,” he said.

He turned and ran to the helicopter.

Only a few refugees remained in camp. Evelyn Warner was hurrying them down the river road, women shuffling in the dust with
their babies strapped to their backs, what few belongings they could bring with them piled on their heads.

“Ackroyd,” DeLuca said, pulling the man aside. “Time for the civilians to leave. I need to know who you are. Who you work
for. My name is David DeLuca and I’m with U.S. Army counterintelligence. Who sent you here?”

“No one sent me here,” Ackroyd said. “I came because I heard they needed people.”

“Who are you working for?” DeLuca insisted. “Don’t say a magazine because we checked. Did David Letterman go to your high
school?”

“Why are you asking me about my high school?”

The man appeared to be confused. DeLuca simply didn’t have time to take apart Ackroyd’s story. If he was CIA and needed to
maintain his cover, DeLuca would learn the reasons later. He could be DIA, NSA, DHS, Special Forces, any number of things,
or he could be a foreign national who spoke perfect English with an American accent. Or none of the above. DeLuca needed him
to leave, to eliminate the variable. He looked Ackroyd in the eye and made a decision.

“Would you be willing to carry one of these?” DeLuca held up an AK-47. Stephen Ackroyd nodded. DeLuca gave him the weapon.
“Take Ms. Duquette with you and join the others.”

“What about me?” Gabrielle Duquette said. “I’ve had gun training. They give it to you when you have to handle them in films.”

“You want one, too?” DeLuca asked. She nodded. They needed every able-bodied person they could get. “All right,” he said,
handing her a Kalashnikov.

MacKenzie caught up with Stephen before he joined the exodus and told him to be careful.

“Some day when this is all over, maybe we’ll look back on it and laugh,” she said. He just looked at her. He didn’t get what
she was trying to say.

“Just a joke, Stephen,” she said.

“Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, smiling. “Everything’s peachy. I guess it never occurred to me that some day this would be over.”

“I meant the war,” she said, kissing him. “Not us.”

“Whatever,” he said, walking off.

It was an odd response, she thought. She didn’t have time to worry about it.

The headlights approaching from the south loomed into view, a black Mercedes, driven by a man with white hair. Hoolie reported
that he’d finished mounting the minigun on the roof of the Land Rover. DeLuca recognized Dennis Zoulalian as he got out of
the car, accompanied by the older man, who introduced himself.

“Do you know this man?” Claude Chaline asked him. “Who are you?”

“Agent David DeLuca, United States Army counterintelligence,” DeLuca said. “I know him.”

“This man has had a brain injury,” Chaline said. “I need to get him to safety. He had no identification on him.”

Zoulalian looked at DeLuca, and then at Vasquez, as if he recognized them both.

“Whussup, Zoo?” Vasquez said. “You look like you swallowed a turd.”

DeLuca looked at Chaline, then at Dennis. He put his hands on Dennis’s shoulders and looked him in the eye.

“Your name is Dennis Zoulalian,” DeLuca said. “You’re a sergeant first class and a special agent in the United States Army,
counterintelligence. You work for me. You were working undercover.”

“Is that a cool job?” Dennis asked.

“Not today it’s not,” DeLuca said, turning to Chaline. “You say he’s injured?”

“Right now, I think it’s just his long-term memory,” Chaline said. “His short-term is fine.”

“He can walk?”

Chaline nodded.

“It’s good to see you, but you couldn’t have come at a worse time. Here,” DeLuca said, handing Dennis a rifle. “It’ll come
back to you. It’s like riding a bike. Dr. Chaline, your people went that-away. Stephen, Gabrielle, take Dr. Chaline with you.
Evelyn, you, too.”

“I’ll come with you,” Warner said.

“We’re not going anywhere,” DeLuca said. “We’ll try to hold them here for as long as we can and then lead them west. There’s
an oil facility about ten kilometers from here…”

The rock and roll music in the distance was louder now, some sprightly world-beat tune that jittered in the darkness.

“David,” she began.

“Go, now!” he said. “That’s an order, Evelyn.”

“Remember the Alamo?” Hoolie asked Zoulalian.

“The car rental company?” Dennis replied.

Then the hillside west of the chokepoint was lit by a large explosion.

“Go!” DeLuca shouted to Warner and the others. “Run!”

A moment later, the hill to the east of the chokepoint was rocked by a second explosion. DeLuca heard small-arms fire in the
distance as a flare lit the night sky, half a kilometer from them.

The rotors of the helicopter turned faster and faster, churning up the dust in a furious roar, but the overloaded aircraft
wasn’t moving. DeLuca considered boarding and pulling passengers off until it was light enough to ascend, a task somebody
had to do, better to lose five than lose fifty… then the massive helicopter rose from the ground, turning slowly and
soaring over their heads, close enough that they had to duck. The helicopter climbed into the sky, gaining speed as it turned
south.

The rebels were closer now, firing.

DeLuca fired back. He signaled to Hoolie, who turned the minigun toward the gap and opened up, the deafening roar of the .60-caliber
weapon still one of the most awesome things DeLuca had ever witnessed, five thousand rounds a minute, every tenth round a
tracer, creating a blaze of fire that chopped down trees and shot through cement walls and demolished everything in its path.
MacKenzie and Zoulalian opened up as well, spread out along a line in a formation DeLuca hoped would make Samuel Adu’s troops
believe there were more of them than there actually were.