The 13: Fall (41 page)

D
o you have
any
idea the amount of strings I had to yank to pull this off?” the man said to Boz as he came aboard the small jet.

“Nice to see you, too, Mac,” Boz smacked his friend on the back as they hugged. “I really appreciate this.”

“No problem, mate,” the old Brit said. “I owe you.”

“If you saved my butt twenty times between now and tomorrow, you’d still be saying that!” Boz laughed. “Let it go, already!”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Mac shook his head.

It had been almost twenty years since they’d met. Mac was a former Royal Air Force pilot turned world-class spy for Her Majesty the Queen. MI-5, to be precise. At age forty-five and nearing retirement, his cover had been blown—and some very unpleasant people arranged for Mac’s family, a wife and a seventeen-year-old son, to be kidnapped and held for ransom. All of which was in retaliation for Mac’s involvement in bringing down a wealthy oil sheik with a propensity to deal in illegal arms and heroin. Because of the sensitivity of the mission, the location in Pakistan where the family was being held, and the low probability of success, Don Snyder, then CIA director and a great friend of the family, called in a twenty-seven-year-old Army Ranger whose team was already in the country. With very little time for planning and no true exit strategy, Boz and his men snuck into the village under the cover of night and took out the entire compound where the family was being held. They managed to retrieve the family and not set off a single alarm anywhere within the city. Sixteen hours after the fist ransom demand had been made, Mac was reunited with his family. And to this day, he’d never forgotten it.

“Tell you what,” Boz said as the plane took off. “You get me to London in half the time it’s supposed to take, I’ll consider us even. For real.”

The smile faded from Mac’s face. “That’s a real spot your boys are in over there. Isn’t it? I’m sorry to see it.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“And those fools back home aren’t willing to lift a finger to help you. That right?”

“That about sums it up,” Boz said. “I was hoping I could change some minds.”

“You know you can’t change stupid!”

Boz laughed at his friend’s candor. “I know. But I’ve got to try.”

“Let me ask you something,” Mac said. “Are you going on behalf of your country as a diplomat? Or are you trying to actually get something accomplished?”

Boz smiled. He knew what his old friend was asking. Was he actually going to try to change the minds of the English prime minister and his parliament? Or was he going to do something that could get himself, and whoever followed him, thrown into prison?

“I’m trying to get something accomplished,” he said seriously.

“Have you spoken to him yet?” Mac asked.

“Not yet. I thought it’d be better just to show up and ask.”

“You’re crazy, mate! You know that? Crazy!”

Mac reached behind Boz’s seat and pulled out a small satchel. He unzipped it and pulled out a sat-phone and handed it to Boz. “Call him,” he said. “He’ll want to know you’re coming.”

Boz handed the phone back to him. “I don’t want to give him time to think about it. I’d rather just show up and ask.”

This time it was Mac who laughed. “If I know my son, I’ve got fifty quid says he’s already planning on doing it anyway!”

   CHAPTER 66   

T
he trip north had been mostly uneventful. Keene and the convoy stayed on the interstate as much as they could, only taking side roads when they came through Hattiesburg, Meridian, and Tuscaloosa. Keene had sent a scout one mile ahead for the duration of the trip. Now as they approached Birmingham, they could already see the plumes of black smoke rising from the hilltops. Keene had put the brakes on everyone and set them in formation. He jumped out of the truck and called for a navigation specialist. A few minutes later, they had assessed the map and decided on how to proceed. About a mile and a half north, there was a secondary road that would take them out and around the city.

Jennings had informed them that most of the Chinese infantry hadn’t made it this far inland yet. Most of the concentration was in the northern and western cities, even though the Chao Qi fighters had already done their damage throughout the country.

Still, Keene didn’t want to take the chance. Even a small unit of five hundred infantry could pose a threat. It would cost them close to an hour of drive time, but they wouldn’t have to engage the enemy if there were Chinese there. Slowly, they approached the city and got off at the exit. Twenty miles north of the city, they connected back to the I-65 and proceeded on toward Nashville.

The last three hours of the trip were long and slow. Nashville was the biggest city they were to encounter. As they got near, they slowed even more to allow the scout vehicle to advance farther ahead. Keene had no intention of driving into an already established enemy hold. Even though the 101st was in Nashville’s backyard, the city was a major thoroughfare for interstate traveling, having three major interstates running through its core. He doubted the Chinese would be brave enough to try and set up a foothold there with Fort Campbell so close by, but he still wanted to be cautious.

Before they had even gotten to the I-840 bypass that would take them out and around the entire city and connect them over to I-24, the scout had returned with bad news. The city had already been devastated, and the road was out about a quarter mile south of the I-840 exchange. Once again, Keene decided to stop everyone.

“Hold ‘em up,” he said, keying the mic on the walkie-talkie. “Someone bring me a radio.”

Immediately, the long train of military vehicles came to a stop in the middle of the interstate. Keene stepped out and took the tactical radio.

“Hundred and first, this is General Jon Keene accompanied by the 81st training wing from Biloxi. You read me? Over.”

A few seconds passed with no response. He repeated the process again and waited. The phone burped and cracked and then a static-laced voice cracked from the other end.

“This is the one-oh-one. Over.”

Keene pressed the receiver button again. “We are sixty miles southeast of your position. You got eyes on the city?”

The line clicked a couple times, and then the voice came back. “Roger that, 81st. Got you on radar. The city has been hit pretty bad. Everything north of your position is impassable.”

“How’d you get left alone?” Keene asked.

“We didn’t. We’ve just got some pretty nice toys here, sir. By the time Pensacola and Fort Benning got hit, we’d had enough warning that we were able to defend ourselves. They hit the city first. Came in from the south. We took down three of the Chao Qis that advanced on the base, but the damage was already pretty much done to the city. They tried to air-drop some infantry and vehicles in at the airport, but we shot that down, too.”

“Hoo-rah!” Keene said.

“Yes, sir!” came the reply.

“So how am I going to get me and all these boys up there?”

“Thompson Station Road, sir. It’s about half a click from where you are. It’ll bring you back around to the I-840 bypass. You’re clear all the way in from there.”

“Roger that. We’ll be there shortly.”

“Sir?” The voice crackled.

“Yeah?”

“We’re under direct order from the Sec-Nav to bring you in once we heard from you. We have two Blackhawks scrambling right now. They’ll be at your position in fifteen minutes.”

“Unless those birds can carry all of us—the last time I checked, they couldn’t—I’ll see you in an hour. Out.”

Keene turned off the radio and circled a finger in a big winding motion above his head. “Let’s move out, people!”

He jumped back in the truck.

   CHAPTER 67   

T
aylor sat in her rented Mercedes in front of the International Bank of Commerce on Al Rigga Street in Dubai’s financial district. It was odd, she thought, that in the United States, Mercedes was a symbol of status and wealth, while in other nations it was nothing more than the typical rental. They were as common as a Toyota back home.

It was shortly after opening hours, and the traffic going in and out was steady. She had spent the entire rest of the flight hacking her way through a money trail that was sophisticated, well thought out, and extremely well hidden. Just not well enough. If she was right, and she believed she was, this was where Marianne would turn up.

Three hundred and fifty million dollars. That was the amount she was able to trace. Of course, with banking fees—wire transfers and commission on monetary exchange—the final sum was somewhere around three hundred and twenty-six million. Still, a generous amount by any standard. But nowhere near worth the damage the woman had caused.

She kept thinking about how this fit in with what the Prophet had said. While she wanted, just as much as anyone back home, to find this woman and make her pay for what she’d done, she couldn’t help but wonder if somehow it could’ve all been stopped. The Prophet had warned them to have President Grant go and tell the American people to repent and turn back to God. And President Grant was going to do that. So why, then, was all this still happening? She stopped for a moment and silently thanked God that she didn’t have any family back home. She was an only child, and her parents had passed away a couple years ago. But her heart was still broken for her fellow citizens. And because she had been running nonstop for the last two days, she realized she hadn’t even allowed the weight of what had happened back home sink in. She glanced up from her laptop and took in the area again. Still no sign of Marianne.

The last thing she wanted was to take her focus off the bank. But she became overwhelmed with emotion as she sat there, considering the enormity of what had happened. She needed some strength. She needed some reassurance. She reached into her bag and pulled out her Bible. She thumbed through a few passages she had marked. They always seemed to lift her up and restore her hope.

She thumbed through the passages for about fifteen minutes, taking a moment every few seconds to glance back at the front of the building. She was about to put the Bible away but stopped. She had only been familiar with a couple verses of the chapter, but she felt like God’s Spirit was pressing her to go there and listen to what was written. She flipped through the pages and looked for the passage. Isaiah 55. She had only started reading, but by the time she had gotten to verse four, her heart began to fill with joy.