The Lazarus Moment (20 page)

Atlas
reached up and caught the man’s leg, halting his swing as he came to rest on
the ground. He quickly unhooked himself then grabbed his radio before
acknowledging anyone.

“I’m
down, send the first set of supplies and a harness, out.” He turned to the
crowd. “I’m Lieutenant McLain. Who’s in charge?”

Dawson
stepped forward. “I am. Agent White. Are we ever glad to see you.”

“Feeling’s
mutual, Agent. We thought you were all dead. The President?”

Dawson
pointed to the First Family, huddled together at the side of the small
clearing, Starling already rising to join them.

The Lieutenant
snapped a quick salute, Starling returning it. “Good to see you, Lieutenant.”

“You
too, Mr. President. We’re here to get you and your family out, now. I understand
your wife is injured.”

Starling
nodded. “She is, but she’s not the worst. Agent in Charge McNeely is in worse
condition than her. He goes first.”

“No,
sir, you go first, then your wife and child.”

Starling
shook his head. “Absolutely not. I leave when the last civilian leaves, not
before.” He held up a hand, cutting off McLain. “Those are my orders, Lieutenant.”

McLain
clearly looked frustrated, but bit his tongue. “Yes, Mr. President.”

Niner
grabbed the bundle of supplies as they neared the ground. He and Atlas unhooked
the line and it rapidly rose, the Air Force personnel quickly unbundling the loot
and taking stock of what had just been delivered. Niner grabbed a couple of med
kits and joined the doctor who was at McNeely’s side. The man was pale and
unconscious. Dawson looked over at the First Lady who was talking quietly to
her daughter.

He’s
right. McNeely needs to go first.

If the
object was to treat everyone as equals, then the President had made the right
call. The problem was that they weren’t all equals. The President was their
number one priority because he wasn’t just a man, he was the leader of the most
powerful nation on Earth, and his death could result in a war that could kill
thousands, even millions.

It was
the wrong call.

Yet there
was nothing they could do about it, he was in charge and they weren’t about to
manhandle the President to get him into a chopper.

If we
can get the seriously wounded people out of here, we can easily double our
speed.

And
that’s
what would ultimately save lives.

The
hoist lowered again with another load of supplies, the Air Force personnel once
again removing them. McNeely was carried over on their makeshift stretcher as
the Lieutenant hooked himself to the hoist, Niner and Atlas fitting the harness
around McNeely, then lifted him gently, hooking him to the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant
waved to the operator overhead then looked at Dawson.

“I’ll be
right back.”

The
cable tightened then they both rose from the ground, a few people clapping in
excitement as the first of their group slowly rose to safety. The feeling of
excitement and relief was palpable, even Starling watching the two men rise
through the narrow gap. Dawson felt himself breathe a sigh of relief as they
cleared the treetops.

Gunfire
suddenly erupted, the distinctive sounds of small arms fire pinging off the
reinforced skin of the helicopter sent Dawson’s heart racing as the chopper
banked sharply away, McNeely and the Lieutenant swinging wildly. A collective
gasp rose from the group, ignored by the trained personnel.

Dawson
pointed at the Air Force and Secret Service Agents. “Secure the perimeter! Let’s
go old school and keep this simple. Challenge is flash, response is thunder.”
He charged into the jungle, Niner and Atlas on his heels, racing toward the
gunfire that suddenly stopped, the chopper apparently out of range.

He
froze, raising his fist, the noise of the gunfire no longer providing them with
cover. Using hand signals, he had Atlas and Niner spread out on his flanks as
they slowly advanced, Dawson scanning the terrain ahead, carefully placing each
foot to avoid any unwelcome noises.

Something
snapped ahead of him.

Someone
not being as careful as him.

He
checked Atlas and Niner to confirm they had heard it too.

They
had.

He crept
toward the sound, using the thick trees as cover, then saw something move just
ahead. He took cover behind a tree then glanced out to see two men walking
toward him, AK-47s pointed at the sky, their heads tilted back as they tried to
spot the chopper, the thunder of its rotors now barely audible.

I
hope McNeely got out clean.

Dawson
checked right and Niner had closed the gap, close enough for him to take the
second man. Dawson picked up a rock and threw it over the hostiles, it clicking
against a tree behind them.

They
both spun.

Sealing
their doom.

Dawson
rushed forward, Niner to his right. He grabbed his man from behind, covering
his mouth and yanking his head back, burying his knife in the man’s neck. He
twisted the blade, shredding the aorta, blood pulsing down the man’s chest as
Dawson pulled him into some nearby brush. Niner gave a thumbs up, his own man
taken care of and hidden away.

Somebody
called out, as if looking for someone.

Must
be one of these two.

Another
voice joined him.

Two men
pushed through the brush and into sight. Dawson hurled his knife, burying it in
the man’s chest as Atlas appeared from nowhere behind the second man, shoving
his knife into the man’s kidney repeatedly while covering the man’s mouth with
a huge paw.

Dawson
rushed forward, grabbing his man before he hit the ground, and pushed the knife
in deeper as he drew his Glock, pressing it against the man’s head.

“How
many?”

The man stared
at him, terror and confusion revealed in his wild-eyed expression.

Niner
took a knee beside them, his weapon aimed at the woods as he and Atlas covered
him. “Portuguese, BD.”

“That’s
you, Atlas.”

Atlas
hissed the question in Portuguese, the man sputtering out an answer.

“He said
seven.”

Dawson
looked at the blood oozing from the man’s wound. He’d be dead shortly, he
bleeding out rapidly. The man was clearly suffering and there was no hope of
saving him, not in the middle of the jungle. It was times like these the Geneva
Convention got in the way, a mercy killing called for.

The man
grasped for something around his neck and Dawson spotted the chain. He pulled
it loose, a crucifix revealed. He placed it in the man’s hand, a prayer in
Portuguese muttered repeatedly as he gasped his last breaths, his body
shuddering, then still.

Dawson
said a silent prayer, closing the man’s eyes.

Three
men suddenly charged from the woods, their guns firing, sending Dawson rolling
to one side, drawing his weapon. As he took a bead, he heard Atlas and Niner
open fire.

I
guess he told the truth.

North of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

Red listened to the update coming through the comms. A rescue
chopper had taken fire and was forced to abort the rescue attempt. They had
successfully retrieved one of the severely wounded and lowered some supplies,
but nothing more.

At
least one’s out.

“Must be
the group the Colonel mentioned that took the boat.”

Red
nodded, agreeing with Jagger’s assessment. There was nothing they could do
about them, it would be up to Dawson and the others to eliminate them. At the moment,
they had much bigger problems.

Sixty
some odd men coming directly for them, their bravado restored by time and
moonshine.

It was
time to thin the herd again.

“Okay,
same as last time. Three rounds each, watch your arcs, fall back. On my mark,
three… two… one… execute.”

Four
shots rang out almost simultaneously, followed by four more, then another four.

And the
herd was just a little bit smaller for it.

South of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

Senior Airman Jane Harrison held the terrified and far too young Nancy
Starling in her free arm, her other outstretched, a Glock aimed at the trees.
Gunfire echoed through the jungle, the armed personnel forming a line between
the hostile action and the civilians, their weapons trained on the darkness.

The
gunfire stopped.

She
hadn’t heard gunfire like that outside training, and it wasn’t the same. In
training you knew it was just that—training. Nothing more. You weren’t going to
die. None of your friends were going to die.

This was
completely different.

When the
first shots had rung out Nancy had screamed, and she wasn’t alone. Jane had
rushed to her side, wrapping an arm around her and putting a hand over the
young woman’s mouth, silencing her screams, the last thing they needed was for
whoever was out there to know exactly where they were.

And she
swore she peed a little.

It was
humiliating.

But she
was too terrified to give it much thought as her outstretched arm trembled, her
weapon bobbing up and down, side to side, as she prayed she wouldn’t have to
use it.

The
screams had stopped and she removed her hand, shushing the teenager. “It’s
going to be okay, it’s going to be okay.”

She kept
repeating it, not sure if was for the young girl’s benefit or her own. Either
way she couldn’t stop herself, the phrase simply repeating itself like a record
skipping.

She
glanced over at President Starling, ducking beside his wife, his body placed
between her and the gunfire, a look of concern on his face, but no fear. It
made her wonder if he truly wasn’t scared, or if he was so adept at hiding his
outward emotions as a politician, that it was all a cover, the man pissing his
pants behind that practiced façade.

“Someone’s
coming!” hissed one of the Secret Service agents.

“Flash!”
shouted a voice from the woods.

She breathed
a sigh of relief.

“Thunder!”
responded an agent, everyone easing up slightly as the three men emerged from
the woods, blood splashed on their suits, all of them carrying machetes they
hadn’t had before, it clear from their demeanor that these weren’t ordinary
men, and she knew enough from her time on Air Force One that they were probably
Special Forces of some type, most likely Delta.

It made
her feel a little bit safer.

Nancy
burst from her arms, rushing toward the Asian man and hugging him hard, the
startled soldier looking at who was clearly his commander, then putting an arm
on her back, patting her.

Jane
smiled slightly.

I
think there’s a little teenage crush happening there.

The man
she had overheard the President call Dawson stepped forward, the group eager
for news. “We neutralized a group of seven rebels. After interrogating one,
we’re confident that was the entire group, however there could be other groups.”
He glanced up then back at the cluster of Air Force personnel. “McNeely and the
Lieutenant?”

“Safe,”
said one of the Airmen, stepping forward, holding up a radio. “In the supplies
they managed to drop, they included this. I guess you should hang on to it.
We’re Dayshift, they’re Nightwatch.”

Dawson
took the radio, holding it up to his mouth. “Nightwatch, this is Dayshift Zero-One,
come in, over.”

“Dayshift
Zero-One, this is Nightwatch, we read you, what’s your status, over?”

“Nightwatch,
we’ve eliminated seven hostiles however cannot guarantee the safety of this LZ.
We’re going to continue south and hopefully find another opening, if not,
rendezvous with the rescue team. What’s their ETA, over?”

“Rescue
team is still three hours from your location, over.”

“Roger
that, Nightwatch. We’ll reestablish comms in thirty mikes, Dayshift Zero-One,
out.”

Dawson
clipped the radio to his belt, heading toward her as she stood, painfully aware
she had a wet spot where she shouldn’t. “Okay everyone, let’s get ready to move
out in five minutes!” He held out his hand to the crowd. “Water?”

Somebody
handed him a bottle. He stood in front of her and took a long swig, holding it
with only two fingers. He lowered the bottle then upended it with a flick of
his finger, the contents spilling down the front of her shirt and pants.

“Shit!
Sorry about that, it slipped.”

She was
at first a little pissed that she was now covered in water until she looked
down and realized her accident was no longer so obvious. She glanced up at him
as he leaned in, lowering his voice.

“Some of
the best soldiers I know had the same problem the first time they were under
fire.”

“Th-thanks,”
she managed, making a show of wiping the water down her shirt then off her
pants.

Who
is this guy?

She
suddenly found herself very attracted to him.

“What’s
our supplies situation?”

“A few
cases of bottled water, power bars, med kits and flashlights like you were
hoping for.”

“Good,
somebody was thinking when they prioritized those deliveries.” He glanced over
at Nancy Starling. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s a
wreck. No kid should have to go through this.”

Dawson
nodded. “Unfortunately this is the daily life for far too many in this part of
the world.”

“I can’t
imagine what it must be like.”

Dawson
looked back at her. “I thank God every day I was born where I was. The
hellholes I’ve seen are no place for human beings to live.”

“We’re
blessed.”

He
grinned, waving his arm at their situation. “We definitely are.”