The Lazarus Moment (27 page)

Starling
killed my family. He’s the one who had to die.

And now
he was alive, and probably perfectly fine, perhaps already rescued and sipping
lattes with his family, laughing at what had just happened.

Would
they even know that it wasn’t an accident?

The
thought gnawed at him for a moment then he smiled. They had to know it was done
deliberately, otherwise they never would have tried to capture him at the
motel. They definitely knew, which gave him some comfort. But by the grace of
some miracle, Starling survived an assassination attempt so bold, it would have
to send chills down the spine of even a coldhearted bastard like him.

He’ll
be looking over his shoulder forever.

And if
Khomenko weren’t dying, there’d be a legitimate reason for the man to look.

Yet it
wasn’t to be. He could feel the life draining out of him. He had seen it enough
on the oncology ward over the past six months, he recognized the death in his
eyes, the sallow cheeks, the pale skin that barely clung to his body.

His body
was shutting down now that the reason to live was gone. He had held on longer
than he should have, all for this one shot to settle the score, to balance the
scales of karmic justice.

And he
had failed.

There were
no more attempts in him, no more will even to try.

He just
wanted to get home.

He
wanted to die in his beloved homeland.

To rest
in eternity, next to his wife and daughter.

A tear
rolled down his cheek and he wiped it away, closing his eyes then resting his
head against the seatback, the image of his wife and daughter the morning he
last saw them alive, vivid.

I
miss you both so much.

South of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

Felix reached up and someone grabbed his hand, hauling him up and
onto the riverbank. He took a few seconds to catch his breath, the trip across
none too easy, he having slipped twice, despite his training.

Atlas
is never going to let me live that down.

He swore
he had heard the big man laugh on his second fall.

He
pushed himself to his feet, unhooking the cable as the civilians stranded on
this side surrounded him in the dark, there barely any moonlight making it
through the trees overhead, the canopy from either side almost touching at this
narrowed point.

How
the hell that pilot spotted this, I’ll never know.

“Who’s
in charge?” he asked as he looked for the sturdiest tree he could find.

“I am.
Senior Airman Cornel,” said a voice in the dark.

Felix
reached out and shook the man’s hand as he stepped forward. “Call me Felix.
We’re going to be sending everyone over to this side.” He swung the cable
around a large tree trunk and pulled, handing it to the man. “Wrap that around
for me, would you?”

Cornel carried
the cable around the tree and Felix took the end, repeating the process several
times before hooking the end back onto the cable, everything taught. He removed
his flashlight and flashed it three times, it decided that the rebels were too
close to be shouting across the river.

Three
flashes acknowledged.

He
turned to the group. “Okay, the line is a little higher on the other side, so
we’re going to slide the wounded over first. Our job is to unhook them as
quickly as possible so that they can pull back the harness and get the next
person across. We’ll move the wounded about a hundred yards back from the river
so they’ve got lots of cover in case the shit hits the fan.”

“Do you
think it will?” asked a woman behind Cornel.

“It
will, it’s just a matter of when.” Steve felt the cable bounce and he turned
back toward the river. “Okay, here comes the first person. This is one of my
team, just to test it out.”

He
watched as Reg Parker slid across easily, one of the reporters a former
mechanic who managed to fashion a trolley out of the parts from the hoist,
allowing Reg to slide smoothly across, gravity doing its job.

The only
problem was there was no brake.

Reg had
quite a bit of momentum built when Felix heard him curse.

“It’s
gonna hurt!”

Felix
reached out an arm and caught him, killing much of the forward momentum as Reg
kicked his legs out, hitting the tree, his knees absorbing the impact. Felix
helped him unhook then remove the harness fashioned out of belts and clothes.
He tied it to the trolley then signaled for it to be pulled back using the vine
tied to it. It immediately disappeared into the night as Reg gathered himself.

“So?”

Reg
shook his head. “The First Lady is next. They’re sending her over on the
stretcher, she’s in too rough a shape to hook into that harness. She’s going to
have a lot of momentum built when she gets here.”

Felix
frowned. “We don’t have much choice. We’ll just have to try and catch the
stretcher on either side and hope we kill her momentum.”

Three
flashes from the other side.

“Here she
comes.”

They
could see a black mass moving toward them though it didn’t seem to be racing
faster and faster as they expected. The stretcher was making good speed, but
was somehow controlled. Felix exchanged a quick glance with Reg, not sure what
the hell was going on.

“Did you
do it wrong?”

Reg
shrugged. “I dunno.”

The
stretcher reached them and they easily stopped it, Felix noticing the taught
line attached to the trolley. He helped Reg unhook the stretcher from the trolley
then signaled for its return as two volunteers carried the First Lady, moaning,
into the darkness.

Felix looked
at Reg. “I guess I never thought of that.”

Red
shook his head. “All I want to know is did
they
figure that out before
or
after
they sent me hurling across.”

“Who’s
manning the other end?”

“Niner.”

Felix
grinned. “Oh, he knew.”

North of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

Red peered through his night vision goggles, the first of the rebel
force appearing through the trees. They had managed to hoof it ahead of the
group and were now spread out over one hundred yards on the enemy’s right
flank. It was too dangerous to hit them like they had before, it just gave them
something to shoot at.

So now
they’d become insects.

Annoying
mosquitos.

He
squawked his comm three times, starting the three count. He picked his target,
counting down in his head.

And
squeezed the trigger.

A single
shot from five positions, five targets down, then nothing.

There
were some shouts, some returned fire, then nothing, there nothing to fire at.
The rebels had taken to ground immediately, all either prone or hiding behind
trees.

And not
moving.

Precious
minutes bought.

He
watched through his night vision, nobody advancing on their position, exactly
as he had predicted. These men were after a prize and knew this was a delaying
tactic. They weren’t about to split their force to find this small element
trying to keep them from their reward. He knew from experience that too often
life was considered cheap in this part of the world. Their commander would most
likely be well back so as not to be at risk, sending his men forward,
unconcerned how many died, as long as
he
reached his target.

Dawson
and the others were getting the civilians across, their last communication from
the Colonel indicating the First Lady and her daughter were safe though for
some reason there was no update on the President’s condition. He had to assume
the man was across and with every minute they bought the survivors, another one
would make it to safety.

However
temporary that might be.

The
rebels would pursue them across the river, of that he had zero doubt. They had
to know by now that there were survivors, there no reason for his team to be
harassing them if there wasn’t.

US
policy was that they didn’t negotiate with terrorists but that was bullshit.
Ransoms were paid all the time, just through back channels and third parties so
the government could claim they hadn’t broken their own rule.

What’s
a President worth?

He watched
as the rebels slowly rose to their feet.

Obviously
enough for these guys to be willing to die.

He
squawked three times and counted down, firing a single shot then falling back,
more fire poured on them this time. He heard somebody grunt to his right and saw
Jimmy stumbling. He made a beeline for him and grabbed him, swinging Jimmy’s
arm over his shoulders and helping him forward in silence. Spock found them on
the left and grabbed Jimmy’s free arm as they continued as fast as they could,
Jagger and Wings joining them to provide cover fire should it become necessary.

But the
return fire had already stopped.

They
came to a rest behind a tree, Jimmy already regaining his feet by the time they
stopped.

“You
okay?” asked Red.

“Yeah,
caught one in the vest, just knocked the wind out of me.”

Red
checked the body armor and spotted the hole, the crumpled bullet embedded in
the Kevlar. He pulled it out and handed it to Jimmy. “Doesn’t have your number
on it.”

“Good
thing.” Jimmy held up a hand and Wings hauled him to his feet. He moved around
a bit, testing his joints. “I’m good. Let’s book.”

“You
sure?”

“Yup. No
time to waste over bruises.”

Red
nodded, scanning the jungle behind them for movement, seeing none.

“I don’t
think they’ll stand for that again. If I were their commander, I’d send half my
company after us. He’s still got over a hundred and fifty men, even split
there’s more than enough to capture any survivors.”

“We know
that, but does he?” asked Wings.

“Good
point. He probably doesn’t. We’ve bought BD another fifteen minutes, and if
these guys move a little slower, maybe another fifteen, but that’s about it.
Let’s get our asses to BD’s position and try to help evac those civilians
across the river. Five more guns will make more of a difference there than here.”

He glanced
at Jimmy, still rotating his shoulder to loosen things up.

We
got damned lucky.

South of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

Dawson watched as Niner fed the rope out, another civilian sliding
across the river. The cable had held so far, not that that was a surprise, it
designed to lift heavy cargo. The jury-rigged trolley was working fabulously
and it was saving them so much time he was beginning to become optimistic that
they might actually succeed.

Which
was usually when things fell apart.

He
glanced over at the President, the man sending the next passenger over to
Niner. Starling had refused to go across, insisting that every civilian go
across first. It was admirable but stupid. They were all risking their lives to
save him, and if the rebels arrived first and he was killed or captured, it
would have all been for nothing.

Spock
would have died for nothing.

He
pushed the thought of his fallen comrade out of his mind. Red’s team was out
there somewhere, trying to slow things down, the Colonel relaying updates. He’d
kill to be with them right now, thinning out the bastards, but it wasn’t an
option no matter how close they probably were.

He had
to get these civilians across so he could get the damned President across.

Another
slid down the cable. If they weren’t in a race for their lives, it actually
looked kind of fun.

Maybe
Maggie and I’ll go zip lining when I get back.

He
frowned. Maggie was in no condition for zip lining. In fact, she was in no
condition for much. She was in such good spirits it was hard to remember
sometimes that she was still recovering from her gunshot wound to the head, she
always so happy to see him, the wives and girlfriends of the Unit helping her
out in a near constant vigil. She had been discharged from the hospital some
time ago, she needing plenty of bed rest in as stress free an environment as
possible, but she was still weak.

The
doctor had actually said it was good that her boyfriend was in logistics since
he probably wouldn’t be deployed.

He and
Maggie had exchanged a knowing glance on that one.

He knew
his job was causing her stress, and he hated that it did, but there was no
choice. She didn’t blame him, and he hoped after all this time she was used to
it, and if she were healthy, it wouldn’t be a concern.

And now,
at least for a brief time, she had thought he was dead.

That
poor woman!

He
watched another slide across, only one more civilian left before he was
throwing the President across if he had to.

Remind
me to recommend that mechanic for a medal.

President
Starling walked up beside him, hands on his hips, staring across the river,
everyone’s eyes adjusted to the point where they could see the other side. The
SEALs were sending the civilians deeper into the jungle, away from the
riverbank, in anticipation of what was to come.

This
entire effort was just another delaying tactic.

It was
ballsy, though so far it seemed like it was going to work.

“Good
work, Sergeant Major.”

“It was
a team effort, sir.”

“You and
your men might have just saved all our lives.”

Dawson
walked toward Niner as the last of the civilians crossed. “Your turn, Mr.
President.”