“So far, we see fourteen dead and eighteen wounded to varying degrees. Five of the wounded are serious, two critical.”
Sinclair was about to respond, but Andrew interrupted. “As bad as that is, we can’t account for five staff members. We’ve already searched all the buildings for any Chinese remaining and found two of their wounded, one here in this building and a second one who crawled into a waste building before passing out.
“Once we came up short of staffers, we searched again. We haven’t been able to find them after two sweeps of the site. If it turns out those people did run off site, they should show back up soon, but we can’t assume that. We also have a report from Neil King, one of the Level 1 people. He couldn’t be sure because of the distance, but he thinks he saw at least three figures dressed differently from the attackers. It may be that the Chinese managed to grab those five staff members and took them as they withdrew.”
“Who’s missing?”
Andrew looked at his notepad. “Judy Vickman, a meteorologist; Eyvan Gorski, a Russian expert; April Weaver, radar; John Albertson, one of the maintenance people . . . ,” Andrew paused and looked up at Sinclair. “And Chunhua Ciminoni. It’s bad enough they took prisoners. But Chunhua? She knows everything we do about the Object and Simeon.”
Sinclair hadn’t noticed Zach coming up on his other side. “What’s the latest on help getting here?”
“Last I heard, another couple of hours. Maybe a little more,” said Sinclair. “F-16s out of Eielson. They’re set up with an interceptor package, but Hardesty sent them on, rather than take time to rearm for ground support. Supposedly, more F-16s should be overhead about an hour after that. They were rearmed with rockets and bombs at Eielson.
“A complete Seal team ready to drop in should be here in about two and a half hours. A Ranger company from Fort Benning was loaded and on the way but was called back once we got through to report the attack had broken off.”
“I don’t know if any of that will help the prisoners,” said Andrew. “That’s assuming they are prisoners and didn’t take off from the camp to hide, maybe up Baldy Ridge.”
“We have to assume they’re prisoners,” said Zach. “Someone has to go after the Chinese. Even when the Seals and air cover arrive, we wouldn’t know where to send them. If we catch up to the Chinese, we can confirm if there are prisoners.”
“Well, we know where they’re heading . . . at least, we think we do,” said Andrew. “They headed in the same direction they came from, so the submarine must plan on picking them up south of here. The terrain is flat most of the way . . . well, flatter, I should say. There are closer coasts east and west, but they’d have to cross mountainous terrain that would take longer. In any case, they might get picked up before the air cover gets here and almost certainly before the Seals.”
“Not necessarily,” said Zach. “We don’t know how long it took them to get here, so we can’t predict going back. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s slower going than they anticipated. Seeing satellite or aerial photos of this terrain doesn’t come close to letting you understand the footing conditions. Even if it’s flatter to the south, several rough ridges separate valleys with braided streams to cross and heavy gravel to small boulder surfaces. Starting from here, if I wanted the fastest route to the southern coast, I’d take the crest of the ridgeline a half-mile west of here until it peters out, then up and down a series of hills before coming to within three or four miles of the sea. From that point, I’d cut back east to intercept them.”
Andrew shook his head. “Doesn’t seem likely to work, to me anyway. Too many problems. For one, we are just guessing on the route. Two, the sun has already set. Twilight lasts a long time this part of the year this far north, but the less light there is, the harder it will be to travel.
“And yes, it’ll be the same for them, but they have a head start. Then what happens if we catch up with them? We don’t know their exact number, but if it was somewhere between fifteen and twenty, we’d be outgunned.”
“I’m afraid it’s not going to be we,” said Zach grimly. “We don’t have the people, Jefferson. You have to stay here to supervise because the general is immobile. Montero’s down to himself and one man unwounded. Houdini’s gone, and Willie, while I trust him with my life, couldn’t match the necessary pace. It’ll have to be me alone.”
Once again, Andrew shook his head. “One man’s against, what, fifteen to twenty?”
“It’s not quite that bad,” said Zach. “I need to locate and slow them down long enough for the Seals to drop between them and the sea. Of course . . . ,” His voice trailed off, as he let the other two men think about his words.
“That might not even be necessary,” said Sinclair. “I mean . . . if they were delayed until the air cover gets here, the submarine would be vulnerable. To take them back aboard, it has to surface. The F-16s might find it.”
“I’ve factored that in,” said Zach, “but then there’s the prisoners. Stopping them from leaving Ellesmere is one thing but getting them back alive is something else. Some of our people saw the Chinese executing their own wounded. There’s no reason to think they wouldn’t fight to the death. If it comes to that, I doubt they’d hesitate to kill the prisoners.”
Sinclair’s face showed pain, physical and psychological. “I’m skeptical there’s anything we can do for those five people. They’re as good as dead, and we should accept that. The Chinese will be moving fast as they can, but the prisoners have to be slowing them down. Of the five prisoners, I doubt Judy Vickman makes it to the coast. She must be around fifty years old, and as I recall interacting with her, she’s not in any physical shape to keep up with elite troops. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s dead as we speak.
“The same goes for the other four prisoners. Then, even if Seals block the Chinese from getting to the submarine, I agree it’s almost certain they would shoot the prisoners before they could be rescued. And even if they got taken aboard the submarine, the F-16s would have to try and sink it.”
Sinclair looked at Zach. “Even if success is unlikely with just one man, I agree you should go after them.”
“Go ahead, General,” Zach said fiercely. “Lay it out. If I’m going to do this, let’s be clear what my mission is.”
Andrew looked confused. “What do you mean? It’s to stop the Chinese from getting away with the prisoners.”
Sinclair looked away for a moment, then sighed, sagged back against the floor for a moment, and turned his head again to Andrew.
“Major . . . what Zach wants me to say out loud is that the primary objective must be to prevent Chunhua from being questioned by the Chinese intelligence people. Getting her or the other four prisoners back alive is secondary.”
Neither Zach nor Jefferson responded. Hanging over the three men was Sinclair’s order that if all else failed, Chunhua’s survival was not a priority. Andrew finally realized the exchange between Zach and Sinclair was an acknowledgment that Zach might have to kill Chunhua, either himself or by calling in airstrikes on her.
Zach spun and left the room. Eleven minutes later, he returned dressed in all black. A silenced M4 slung on his back. He wore strap-and-webbing gear with magazine pouches, a water bottle, a knife, one smoke grenade, two hand grenades, and several smaller pouches. A second knife was strapped to his right thigh. A black knitted head cap came down his forehead just above two stone cold eyes. A small pack held a radio, a second water bottle, emergency first aid, flares, and two more magazines.
“Looks like the solar interference is letting up,” said Sinclair. “We’ve also had an update on the air support. They may beat the previous estimate by a few minutes but not much more.”
“They won’t be of help until I find the Chinese,” said Zach. “I’ll be limited with radio communication if I get in close contact. Tell them to keep away until I know the ground situation. I’ll contact them only when I know something.”
Sinclair frowned. “There’s a limit to that. If they
come straight from Eielson to here, they’ll be north of you. Stop by the communications people on your way out and have them give you a frequency we’ll keep clear, starting about an hour from now. Check every twenty minutes to see if you can get in contact with the aircraft. It’s up to you and the flight leader to coordinate. I’ll tell them to use the codename Zulu One. What should yours be?”
“Ghost One,” answered Zach.
“As usual,” said a deep voice. Willie had followed Zach to see Sinclair. “I still think I should come, too. I know I can’t keep up with you, but I might get there in time to help.”
“The timing is going to be too tight,” said Zach. “Either I find them and slow them down, or I won’t.
Sinclair looked piercingly at Zach. “Can you get them back?”
“Yes,” came the cold answer. “That has to be believed if it has a chance.”
“And you don’t think Willie or anyone else should come with you?”
“Their coming won’t help.”
“I understand,” said Sinclair. “Good luck.”
On hearing that, Willie started to speak, but Zach’s hand on his arm arrested the protest. Willie simply nodded.
Without another word, Zach turned and loped into the twilight.
Andrew watched Zach’s back for the first fifty yards, then he turned to Sinclair. “I don’t care what he said. I think Willie, Montero and his man, and I should follow.”
Willie looked back expressionless, but Sinclair shook his head. “I agree with Zach’s reasoning. If we were wrong about the Chinese truly being gone or there are any of them lurking around, then the remaining site staff would be unprotected. If you followed Zach, by the time you got ready I have a hunch you’d never catch up. Even with radio contact and if you got there in time to be useful, how would you coordinate if radio interference spiked again?”
Andrew turned to Willie. “You know him, Willie. You’ve served with him. Can he do this? Delay them long enough for the Seals to get here? Somehow keep the prisoners from being killed?
Willie nodded without expression.
“Still . . . alone?”
“He is Death,” was all Willie said before walking away.
Andrew was silent while he considered Willie’s words. He also remembered how Zach had seemed to switch to another gear when they raced back to the site. He looked at Sinclair.
“Do you think he can do this?”
“No, I don’t, but what choice do we have? I’ve seen his record and talked to a couple of his previous commanders. Willie wasn’t exaggerating. Zach doesn’t like it, but when he’s not around, many of the people who have served with him do literally refer to him as ‘Death.’”
Jill waited until she was satisfied the crisis was truly over. By then, Bobby was awake and playing. She dressed him, left their room after peering down the hallway, and cautiously made her way to the main building, all the while holding him tight.
She was shocked to see the gaping hole that satchel charges had torn through the western wall. She felt the weight of Zach’s pistol in her jacket pocket. In the aftermath of their frenetic joining, she’d forgotten to give it back and he’d forgotten to ask—if he had intended to ask. Now, the weight felt reassuring.
She stopped, wavering on whether to continue. Then Sally Ingersoll turned the corner of the main building.
“Oh, Jill, I was coming to check on you and Bobby. Zach said you were okay, but I was starting to worry.”
The cook looked haunted, shadows in and under her eyes, smudge marks on one side of her face, and a deep scratch across the other cheek.
“I stayed in my room, even though Zach said the fighting was over. I just wanted to be sure. How bad was it? Was anyone hurt?”
Only after Jill spoke did she notice tear tracks on Sally’s face.
“No . . . I guess you wouldn’t be aware. You and Bobby were lucky. The rest of us were inside the main building.” She gestured at the breaching hole. “Well . . . most of us were. Lindskold and Julio Juarez were killed when the Chinese first broke in.”
Shocked, Jill put the hand not carrying Bobby to her throat.
“The others who were killed were either out here fighting the Chinese or inside when they broke through this wall. God! It was a nightmare. Shooting. Explosions. People yelling and screaming. Then smoke everywhere and fires.”
Sally sagged against the building wall. “I thought we all were gonna die. Then suddenly it got quiet. I didn’t see all that much of what went on. Many of us were crowded together in the galley. Before the shooting started, Whitey came through, ordering us to build barricades out of anything available. I think they wanted those of us who were unarmed to be as safe as we could be and out of the way for those fighting off the Chinese.”
Jill was afraid to ask but had to. “Who else was killed?”
Sally shook her head. “I don’t know everyone. There’s a list. I heard Doctor Huxler say it was fourteen names. Harry Houdin. Sandra Chu said he died defending her and several others. She’s pretty broken up. Jennifer O’Malley. Maybe you don’t know her that well . . . I guess I should say didn’t know her. She was maintenance. Mary Lou. You know . . . Mary Lou Stebbins. The dentist. I don’t know how she died. She was crouched right next to me, then suddenly she wasn’t there. How come she died and I didn’t?” Ingersoll stopped talking, a new tear trickling down her cheek.
Jill put a hand on Sally’s shoulder and squeezed. Words of comfort escaped her. The desire to retreat back to their room was gone. Who else had been killed? Kathy? Bre? Chunhua? The few months she had been there, she felt as if she had made some of the closest friends in her life. She didn’t understand it, though she knew the isolation and forced community must be part of it, but that didn’t matter. She had to know.
“Maybe you should go lie down, Sally,” said Jill. “We’ll go inside and see if I can help.”
“It’s no place for Bobby right now,” Sally said, standing back away from the wall and her voice taking on firmness. “I probably should be back in there too, helping, but I need a little time away. If you want to go in, why don’t you give me Bobby? I’ll take him back to your rooms.”
Jill hesitated to let go of her son. But Sally was right. There must be things inside that Bobby didn’t need to see.
“All right. If you could watch him for a little while, I’ll see what I can do inside for at least a few minutes. If it’s going to be much longer, I’ll come back.”
Jill turned Bobby around, so their faces were only a few inches apart. “Bobby . . . Mommy has to go do a little work. Sally will look after you while I’m gone. You be a good boy, and maybe Sally will read you a story.”
“Cookies?” asked Bobby, looking at Sally. Both Sally and Kathy often had cookies hidden away that they would slip to Bobby, with or without Jill’s permission.
“Not today, Bobby,” said Sally, “but maybe we can find you one later. Right now, let’s let Mommy do her work, and you and I will go read stories or play.”
“Okay,” said Bobby, holding out both arms for Sally to take him.
Jill opted to go to the front door, rather than through the breach in the west wall—she was afraid of what she might find inside. Yet things weren’t much better in the front. Although the air was clear, the odor of smoke was strong, and she could hear voices—many voices coming from the dining room and the galley.
She walked quickly past a lounge with half a dozen people sitting in chairs, lying on the two sofas, and lying on the ground. She saw evidence of injuries, and her quick glance revealed three people with bloody bandages. Several people scurried past her, doing what she didn’t know. She had a flash of guilt that she was looking for people she cared about the most and passing over the others. She blanched when she passed the library lounge, whose floor was covered with draped bodies, and she had to suppress vomiting when the open door of a storage closet revealed stacked Chinese bodies.
“Jill!” came a familiar voice amid the throng in th
e dining hall. Kathy rose from kneeling beside a prone person she was talking to. She came running over to give Jill a hug.
“Zach said you were safe. I saw him talking to General Sinclair and grabbed him as he hurried out. It was awful! Houdini’s dead, along with Richard, Mary Lou, and too many others. Charles Adams and Rachel Munoz died together when he tried to throw a Chinese grenade away. It exploded only a few feet from them.”
Jill put a hand to her throat in shock, hearing about the two Level 3 staff members. She hadn’t liked Adams, but Rachel was okay.
“There were moments when most of us thought we were all going to die,” said Kathy. “Hank Rogers was one of the people guarding those of us who weren’t armed. He got shot. Emily says he’s going to be okay but might need some surgery once they get the wounded out to real hospitals. Anyway . . . a couple of the attackers appeared out of nowhere. Houdini shot them both, but he was hit, too. I didn’t know what was going on, but I picked up Hank’s pistol. When another of those men appeared, I fired I don’t know how many times. I think I hit him, but suddenly he was gone. It seemed to be the end of the attack because there were only a few more shots and not close to where we were.”
Kathy stopped speaking as if she realized she was rambling.
Jill gave her friend another hug. “Thank God, you’re okay. How about Bre?”
Kathy looked around. “I don’t see her right now, but she’s fine. I don’t know what she was doing during the attack, but I could hear her yelling like a banshee.”
“Is there something I can do?” asked Jill.
“I’m sure there’s something. Maybe just see if any of the wounded need anything. You know . . . water, a blanket, a hand to hold. Emily and Jane have probably done all they can for the seriously wounded. There’s been plenty of help for the minor stuff because everyone here was obliged to take those emergency first aid lessons.”
“You go ahead with what you were doing,” said Jill. “I’ll try and find something to do to help. Uh . . . did you happen to see Zach?”
Harbinger (The Janus Harbinger Book 1) Page 57
