The Lazarus Moment (15 page)

“Agreed.
But there’s better ways.”

“Exploding
cigars?”

Clancy
chuckled. “Castro’s still here, so that doesn’t work.”

“Too
true.”

Red drew
in a deep breath, thinking of his friends. “When will we know for sure about
survivors?”

“Could
be some time. The nearest LZ is at least a six hour hike and it’s tiny,
essentially a clearing. We’re going to try and insert some troops through the
trees, but they’re still at least an hour away.”

“We’re
less than an hour out, sir. Let us jump in, we’ll find them.”

“Negative,
you’re liable to break your necks.”

“Done it
before.”

“That
was for a purpose. The last thing BD and the others would want is you guys
dying too.”

Red
frowned. The Colonel was right. It was stupid. Yet he had to do something. “The
offer is there, sir, if you need it.”

“Sit
tight for now. If the situation changes, I’ll let you know.”

“Roger
that.”

Maggie Harris Residence

Lake in the Pines Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina

The phone rang.

The
entire room froze then turned toward her, all the wives having converged on her
apartment, all terrified of what they were seeing on the news. The “wives
network” had reached out to each other as soon as the news had broken, their
loved ones deployed, most likely with BD and Niner. She hadn’t been able to
reach the Colonel, but had left several messages with her replacement.

Argh!
If only I wasn’t off on sick leave!

She was
the Colonel’s personal assistant. Though she wasn’t in the loop she’d at least
be able to get a sense as to what was going on, yet she already knew. The fact
the Colonel hadn’t returned her call meant he was busy.

Very
busy.

She read
the call display, it a blocked number.

She
answered.

“Hello?”

“Maggie,
it’s Colonel Clancy.”

“Yes,
sir. You-you know why I’m calling?”

“I’ve
got a pretty good idea.”

“What
can you tell me?”

“Nothing
at this point.”

“Please,
sir, we’re all here, we just want to know. Was Bravo Team on that plane?”

There
was a pause. “I can’t say anything, I’m sorry.” A burst of static from a heavy
breath filled her ear. “Check your cellphone.”

The call
ended and she snapped her fingers, pointing at the Blackberry charging on the
kitchen counter. It was issued to her by the Unit and was considered secure.
Jagger’s wife grabbed it and handed it over, Maggie quickly entering her
password then bringing up a waiting text message.

1 5 7
11

“What
does it say?”

“It’s
four numbers,” said Shirley, leaning over and reading the text.

“But
what do they mean?”

Maggie
felt the world start to spin, the phone dropping into her lap as her head slumped
back onto the couch.

For she
knew what the numbers meant.

They were
call signs.

Bravo
One, Five, Seven and Eleven.

BD,
Spock, Atlas and Niner.

Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

“Where’s the Colonel?”

McNeely,
severely wounded, his leg broken in several places, shook his head, his
breathing labored. “Didn’t make it. He and the flight engineer went over the
falls.”

Dawson
looked about. There were only two Secret Service agents with the group that had
gathered, and eight Air Force personnel, all enlisted. “So there’re no officers?”

McNeely
nodded toward the President. “Just the Commander-in-Chief.”

Dawson
looked at McNeely. “Then you’re in charge. What are your orders?”

McNeely
shook his head. “I’m in no shape to be in charge.” He motioned for Dawson to
move closer then lowered his voice. “Are you who I think you are?”

Dawson
smiled slightly. “Probably.”

“Good.
Then you’re in charge.”

Dawson
nodded. “Your call. Feel free to countermand my orders at any time.”

“I
will.”

“I might
have to shoot you though, if I disagree.”

McNeely
laughed then winced, his eyes squeezing tight as he grabbed at his chest. “Oh
shit, don’t make me laugh. I think I cracked a rib.”

“Sorry.”

McNeely
raised his voice slightly so the surviving personnel could hear him. “Agent
White is in charge. Follow his orders and the President’s.” McNeely winced
again then passed out, Niner ripping open the man’s shirt, revealing a nasty
bruise. He glanced at Dawson, shaking his head.

“This
man needs a doctor.”

“Rescue
teams should be here soon.”

Atlas
looked around, lowering his voice. “
If
they think anybody survived. I’m
not hearing that fighter escort.”

“Probably
out of fuel,” replied Dawson. “In the pre-flight briefing McNeely said they
were coming in from the USS George H. W. Bush, would hang around a few minutes
for show, then bugout. They stuck around the full half hour we were in descent
so they were probably on fumes.”

Spock
pulled out his phone, soaked. He turned the waterproof device on. “No signal.”
He shrugged. “No surprise. Where do you figure we are?”

“Middle
of Mozambique would be my guess,” said Agent Prentice, one of the few men on
McNeely’s team to survive.

Niner
frowned, looking up at the others as he continued to tend to McNeely. “There’s
trouble in this area. Anti-government rebels or something.”

Atlas
shoved his own phone back in his pocket. “Niner’s right. We need comms right
away.”

“First
things first,” said Dawson. “We’re alive and we need to stay that way. Rescue
or recovery, they’re on their way and nothing we do will speed that up. Right
now we need to secure our position, make sure whoever needs medical attention
is getting it, then try to establish comms.” He turned to Jane Harrison. “How
many are we?”

“We did
a headcount and found forty-two on this side of the river, seven on the other
side.”

“Forty-nine.”
Dawson frowned. “How many were we?”

“Ninety-two.”

“Jesus,”
muttered Spock. He looked at Jane. “Are you sure?”

She
nodded. “Pretty sure. Maybe some survived going over the falls, but I doubt
it.”

Dawson
pursed his lips then blew out a blast of air. “Okay, if there’re survivors down
there, there’s nothing we can do about it. The rescue team will have to check
that out. For now, let’s figure out what supplies we have and find out if
anyone has a satphone. Maybe one of the reporters does.”

Jane
nodded and left, canvasing the group. Dawson turned to Atlas and Spock. “Head
down to the waterfall then sweep back up, make sure there’re no stragglers. Be
back in fifteen.”

“Roger
that.”

Atlas
and Spock left, shoving through the thick underbrush, Dawson heading over to
check on the President and give him an update. He found the man leaning over
his wife, brushing the hair out of her face.

She
looked near death.

“Mr.
President?”

President
Starling glanced over his shoulder at him then back at his wife. “I’ll be
back,” he said gently, patting her cheek. She gave him a weak smile. He looked
at their daughter. “Nancy, take care of your mother.” The young woman trembled
out a nod, tears streaking her terrified face. Starling rose, stepping away
from his family. He turned to Dawson. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“I’m
Agent White, on special assignment.”

Starling
shook his head. “No, you’re part of the Delta team I specifically requested.
What’s your real name?”

Dawson
smiled slightly. “Command Sergeant Major Burt Dawson.”

“Okay,
Sergeant Major, what’s our status?”

“Forty-nine
survivors, forty-two on this side of the river, seven on the other side. We
have two people critically injured including your wife, about two dozen walking
wounded. We’re in the middle of Mozambique with mostly civilians, almost the
entire Secret Service detail killed when the port wing tore off on impact,
ripping their section of the plane out with it. The pilot, copilot and flight
engineer are dead, as are all the Air Force officers. You have my team of four,
eight Airmen, two Secret Service agents and a bunch of reporters and staffers
at your command.”

“Who’s
in charge?”

“You
are.”

Starling
chuckled. “You know what I mean.”

“Agent
in Charge McNeely placed me in command due to his injuries.”

“He’s
alive?”

Dawson
nodded. “Wounded badly.”

“Will he
live?”

“If he
gets proper medical attention, I think so.”

Starling
turned to the group gravitating toward them. All were scared, all were frightened,
and all were looking to him for help, for hope. Dawson didn’t envy the man, especially
when that man was also a father and a husband, his own family in peril.

Starling
put an arm around Dawson’s shoulders. “People, I’m going to let you in on a
little secret.” Everyone drew a little closer. “We’re alive, and we’re going to
stay that way. We lost a lot of friends today, but we should have lost
everybody. Colonel Lacroix performed a miracle, Jesus clearly at the wheel
today. He landed us on a river, in the middle of a jungle, and saved more than half
of us from certain death. You know what that tells me?” He paused, looking at
those gathered with a gentle smile. “Somebody is looking out for us. God will
get us through this.”

He
chuckled. “I’m reminded of an old joke I heard. A man’s boat sinks and he’s
floating in the middle of the ocean, praying to God to help him. A man in a
rowboat comes by and offers him help. Our man refuses, saying God will save
him. Then a sailboat arrives, and again he refuses. God will save me, he says.
Finally, a huge ocean liner shows up, and
again
he refuses help. God
will save me. The boat leaves and the man eventually drowns. He goes to Heaven
and he asks God why he didn’t save him? God says, I sent you a rowboat, a
sailboat and an ocean liner, what more did you want me to do?”

Nervous
laughter rippled among those gathered, Dawson recalling the joke, told better years
ago.

“So
what’s my point? God helps those who help themselves. We’re not going to just
sit here and pray for Him to save us, we’re going to use the God given tools we
have at our disposal to save ourselves. Help is on the way, of that you can be
assured.” He leaned forward, placing the back of his hand up to the side of his
mouth, cracking a smile. “I’m kind of a big deal, in case you didn’t know.”

Genuine
laughter this time, Dawson gaining a newfound respect for the man.

“So,
Agent White here is in charge until we are rescued. I happen to know his
background and I can
assure
you we are in
extremely
capable hands.”
He glanced over at his family. “Now, today, I’m just a man, just a husband,
just a father.” He turned to Dawson. “Use me as you would anyone else.”

Dawson
nodded, shaking the man’s extended hand. “Mr. President, I appreciate that. The
best thing you can do for us is to take care of your family.” Starling smiled,
the appreciation clear by the glint in his eyes. Dawson turned to Jane. “Any
satphones?”

“No,
none that are working at least.”

“I was
afraid of that.” He turned to the group. “Okay, first things first. Survival
training. Raise your hand if you’ve ever made a fire.” A dozen hands went up
including all the Airmen. He pointed at one of them. “You’re in charge of
getting a fire going. Pick four people to help you. If anyone has matches or a
lighter on them, hand them over to our fire chief. I want a good fire going to
keep us warm but try to keep the smoke to a minimum.”

He pointed
at another one of the Airmen as the fire chief selected his team and got to
work, lighters being handed over. “We need food. Pick ten people. Get a pile
going with all the food anyone has on them. Power bars, gum, candy, anything,
then scour the area, see if there’s anything we can eat, fruit, berries,
mushrooms, anything.
Don’t
eat anything without letting one of my team
see it first, it might be poisonous.” He selected another Airman. “You’re in
charge of water. That river is fresh water, so we’re good, but I don’t want
people going too close. Find anything that will hold water. There might be
debris from the crash. Take six people and take care of it. I want everyone
hydrated, especially the wounded.”

“Anyone
with medical experience?” asked Niner.

“I was a
nurse,” said one of the reporters, holding up her hand. “It’s been years, but I
can help.”

Another
reporter stepped forward. “I took three years of med school then flunked out.
Couldn’t stand the sight of blood.”

“I’m
ex-army, I’ve been trained in basic first aid.”

“So was
I.”

Niner
grinned. “You’re all my medical team. Start collecting anything that can be
used for bandages, and make sure we get the first of that water and food.”

“Okay,
the rest of you I want trying to clear this area. We need to make room for the
wounded so they can rest.” He smacked his hands together. “Let’s get to it!” Dawson
stood back as the teams split off, almost everyone who was able to walk with
something to do. A branch snapped in the jungle behind him and he spun to see
Atlas and Spock walking into the area with two civilians. “Found them
downstream.”

Dawson
smiled at the two men, both shivering, both appearing relieved at having been
found. “You two okay?”

“He’s
got a sprained ankle,” said one of the new arrivals.

Dawson
pointed Niner out to them. “Bring him over there, he’s our doctor for now.”

The
injured one cleared his throat. “I’m the President’s physician.”