Oh my God!
Kat jumped out of the wreckage and carefully followed the footprints to the south, to the edge of the clearing, and then to the east, toward Da Nang. She was about to turn back when a disturbed area of soil and brush caught her eye, an area filled with footprints heading in the opposite direction, to the west, into the heart of the jungle and mountains. She knelt to examine the footprints carefully.
At least four males, but only two females. One’s missing. The one with the smallest heel.
Once more she returned to the plastic sheet. Beneath the twisted metal she had recalled seeing a flash of yellow. It took several minutes of digging, but the search finally yielded a woman’s yellow pump, ripped and blood-soaked—a shoe that matched perfectly one set of footprints by the wreckage, footprints missing from the group that had headed west from the edge of the clearing.
Kat left the shoe in the wreckage as she fought a primal urge to run to her helicopter and get out of there. The woman with the yellow shoes had been alive and walking just after the crash. Later, she had fallen from a great height into the wreckage. Had a helicopter rescue attempt gone bad?
Or was she dropped intentionally?
The survivors running into the jungle undoubtedly knew, and they wouldn’t be running, she concluded, unless they had seen something that panicked them. The bad guys got here first! Whoever was in that Global Express was here.
Kat motioned to the interpreter and headed for the helicopter. “I need you to fly slow and low directly to the east,” she told the pilot, “following the same path anyone would follow if they tried to walk out of here.”
She saw the question in his eyes. “Don’t ask. Just please, let’s go.”
“I will need to refuel in Da Nang,” the pilot said, “but okay for a while.”
Pete Phu jumped aboard as the rotor blades began to turn. Kat settled in the cloth seat nearest the open door, snugly buckling her seat belt, well aware that she was breathing hard.
It was MacCabe. Wherever he is, this whole disaster was to get him.
It was an illogical conclusion on one level, but on another, it was something she should have seen in Hong Kong, and the thought made her sick.
IN THE JUNGLE,
NORTHWEST OF DA NANG, VIETNAM
The five remaining survivors of Meridian Flight 5 sat huddled together in shock on a mossy log in a pouring rainstorm, slightly more than a hundred yards from the spot where Britta had died.
The cloudburst had begun several minutes before, but they sat wordlessly until Dallas Nielson finally looked skyward, blinking back the water flowing into her eyes. “Thank God for small favors. At least the flies are gone.”
Robert MacCabe shook his head and sighed as he straightened up and took inventory. Dallas was coping, as was he, but he could tell that Dan was convulsed with agony and blaming himself for not warning about the dangers of booby traps.
Young Steve Delaney sat staring at the ground, his shoulders shaking slightly as he tried to come to grips with the nightmare he’d seen.
And then there was Graham Tash, whose expressionless face and wordless demeanor reflected the unfathomable shock of watching his wife murdered. MacCabe wasn’t sure if Britta’s death had truly penetrated Graham’s consciousness.
I’ve got to get us moving! Robert concluded as he got to his feet. “I think it’s time,” he said, inclining his head toward the west.
One by one they rose from the log and followed.
The jungle vegetation was unbelievably slippery beneath their street shoes, and all of them fought a constant struggle to stay upright as they tried to ignore the misery of being soaked to the skin.
The expensive beige silk and brocade outfit Dallas had worn from her Hong Kong hotel now lay plastered to her body. Her hair was soaked, giving her the appearance of a moving apparition emerging from a swamp. She kept losing her wet shoes in the underbrush and thought longingly of the comfort of her dry, soft satin slippers at home.
“Robert?” Dallas called. “What’s the plan?”
He stopped and turned. “Get to that road, I guess, and then trigger Steve’s radio to call for help.”
For what seemed like hours they moved steadily downslope as the storm passed and the sun came out, filtering through an overhead jungle canopy that was sometimes sparse, sometimes heavy. Steam rose from their bodies as their clothes slowly dried, and as the patina of moisture evaporated from the ferns and plants of the jungle floor, their footing improved. Noises flowing through the underbrush from unseen creatures were a constant companion, as was the sound of hands slapping at the returning clouds of flies and mosquitoes—a steady, annoying counterpoint to the footfalls of five terrified people pushing through the underbrush.
chapter 25
DA NANG AIRPORT, VIETNAM
NOVEMBER 13—DAY TWO
4:45 P.M. LOCAL/0945 ZULU
The helicopter carrying Kat Bronsky flew over the western border of the former American air base at Da Nang and slowed for a landing. With both of the sliding side doors open, Kat and her interpreter had spent the twenty-minute flight in a fruitless search for the survivors, but the failure merely reinforced her suspicion that they were probably headed west, and running for their lives. The pilot touched down in front of a shabby servicing facility on a decaying concrete ramp that held several small aircraft, a scattering of military helicopters, and one luxury business jet, the latter looking decidedly out of place.
Curious, Kat thought, looking at the jet and not recognizing its form at first. I wouldn’t have expected to find a corporate jet.… She leaned slightly out the door for a better view, blinking against the windblast, and read the jet’s registration number: N22Z.
Oh my God!
It was the Bombardier Global Express from Hong Kong.
I was right. They were here. No, she corrected herself, they are here! Now what? she asked herself as the rotor slowed. The pilot was looking back at her, but Kat was suddenly too off balance to give a normal response. She struggled not to show her confusion and smiled at him, flashing a sophomoric thumbs-up sign.
“What you want to do?” the Vietnamese major asked.
“Ah … after you refuel, could you just wait here for me?” Kat asked. “We’ll need to go back up and keep searching until dark.”
The major nodded, but Kat’s attention had already shifted back to the $40 million world-girdling Global Express, which sat by itself on the ramp with its doors closed. There was a figure walking around the nose of the jet, a lone Vietnamese soldier standing guard duty with an AK-47.
Kat stepped carefully from the Huey and walked around the rear of the helicopter, taking care to keep out of sight while she pulled out her satellite phone. It would be almost midnight in Washington. She’d memorized Jake Rhoades’s home number and punched it in, listening to it ring after only a few seconds, expecting Jake or his wife to sound cross at getting such a late call.
Jake himself answered, and she could hear him yawn on the other end as they exchanged quick hellos.
“What do you have, Kat?”
“A very scary discovery here in Da Nang!” she said, keeping her voice low. “I’m looking at that Bombardier Global Express, November-Two-Two-Zulu.”
She could hear Jake sit up in bed and whistle. “Whoa!”
“Jake, the crash scene about nine miles from here is predictably horrible. Over two hundred people were obliterated—shredded—in the breakup as the seven-forty-seven slammed into the ridge.”
“No survivors, then?”
She cautioned herself to breathe and slow down. Her voice was sounding shaky and unprofessional. “Ah, that’s the point. I’m told no one has been found alive, but I’ve found very convincing evidence at the scene, around the remains of the cockpit and upper first-class cabin, that at least five or six people survived, possibly including the copilot and the person I alluded to earlier … a reporter who approached me in Hong Kong with information about SeaAir.”
�
�Then where are they, Kat?”
“I think they’re on the run in the jungle, trying to stay away from something murderous they witnessed at the crash site.” Kat gave him the details, including the clues that led her to the conclusion that a female survivor had been murdered.
“You see any other rational explanation, Jake, from what I just told you? The blood, the shoe, the footprints, the earring?”
There was a long hesitation and then a sigh. “No,” Jake said, “I’m guided to the same conclusion.”
“Now that I find this jet here, it makes twisted sense.”
“Kat, is anyone hanging around that jet?”
“There’s a soldier guarding it. I haven’t approached it.”
“We need that serial number. I’m told it will be on a metal plate under the tail. If you could safely get that, and maybe get a look inside …”
“Understood. I’ll try to see if they’re any special weapons installed, too, like that target designator you said the Air Force was talking about.”
“I don’t want to push you into doing anything dangerous, Kat, but the Bureau is getting kind of desperate for some answers back here. I have to tell you, the media is all but labeling the Meridian crash a terrorist act because of the copilot’s transmission about something exploding in front of him, and Langley’s attempts to call this a midair had pretty much evaporated before your call. Obviously there was no collision. The possibility that this is number two in a series of terror attacks, beginning with SeaAir, is already being openly discussed from Larry King Live to NPR.”
Kat chewed on her lip a second. “I hate to say it, but that pretty accurately sums up my fears!”
He snorted. “I know it. Mine, too. But Langley’s trying to blow it off.”
Kat had been moving steadily around the back of the helicopter’s tail boom as they talked, watching the lone soldier pace slowly around the Global Express, but something Robert MacCabe had said in Hong Kong snapped back into her mind and she dropped her eyes to concentrate.
“Jake, on the subject of Langley, is there a chance they might be soft-pedaling this because they really are afraid it’s a group they don’t have a handle on—maybe one sophisticated enough to steal one of our missile-based weapon systems?”
“I don’t know, Kat. I try to leave the politics to others.”
“Did Langley flat-out say that NRO never saw this business jet from space?”
There was a hesitation before Jake replied. “No, they didn’t.”
“Okay, because I’ll bet NRO could see this bird from orbit, and Langley decided not to share the information. Can you find out?”
Jake’s voice changed slightly, his tone shifting. “Kat, you’re pushing into a delicate area here. Why?”
“Something that reporter said to me. The one I’d dearly love to find alive.”
“Something about Langley’s fears and reaction?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’ve virtually nailed my own suspicions. I’ll call NRO. I’ll bet you’re right, although I don’t know what it proves. And for us, it changes nothing.”
Kat looked back at the soldier, who was now sitting on the ramp and obviously bored to tears. “I’d better go,” she said.
“Be careful! But call immediately if you get anything, whatever the hour.”
She punched the phone off and returned to the interior of the helicopter to find the interpreter, who had been relaxing on the back bench.
“Pete? See that jet over there? I need you to help convince that soldier that I have official authorization to look at that aircraft.”
Pete Phu’s eyes grew large. She held up a hand and smiled. “Just tell him I love that type of plane, Pete, and I just need an excuse to look at it.”
After a moment he nodded his head. “I think … I can do that.”
The soldier was appropriately suspicious for only a few seconds as Pete explained in Vietnamese the official role of the American woman he was escorting.
“Big, important official from the United States. Hanoi has provided this helicopter, and me, and is asking everyone to cooperate.”
The soldier nodded as he stepped aside.
The main entry door was locked, as she expected, and with no ground power hooked up for air-conditioning, it was undoubtedly too hot inside for anyone to be hiding in the cabin. The crew and occupants didn’t seem to be anywhere around.
Kat walked casually beneath the tail, cataloging the fact that there were no external rails from which a missile could be fired. Must have been fired from a boat below, or another airplane, she thought. She found the production plate and memorized the serial number as she smiled and pretended to be enjoying the experience of seeing such an aircraft up close.
The aircraft appeared to be standard in every way—except for the registration numbers on the sides of the fuselage. Up close, it was obvious that a portion of the original number had been painted over, and new numbers added. The job was sloppy, and she could almost make out the original N-number beneath.
The baggage compartment was locked as well, and she drew a startled look from the soldier when she tried the latch. She smiled back and waved at him as she nodded to Pete and headed back to the Huey, which now had a fuel truck in front of it. It would take a few minutes to fill the tanks, and she had a decision to make.
Kat glanced back at the Global Express, torn between returning to look for MacCabe and any other survivors, or staying to find a way into the Global Express. She paused to lean against the tail boom in thought, weighing the options. Whoever had flown the jet into Da Nang had undoubtedly followed Meridian and knew exactly where the 747 had crashed. There was probably a pile of evidence aboard, and maybe even the target designator. The key to a dangerous mystery might be no more than a hundred feet away.
But there were also survivors moving through a hostile jungle, possibly being stalked by whoever had occupied the business jet.
Kat thought about the alternatives that would have faced the Global Express crew around dawn. If they were truly the assassins of Meridian 5, they would be desperate to finish the job by going directly to the site, which they couldn’t do by road.
Kat stood upright suddenly, watching the Vietnamese fueler. She moved to the cabin and caught Pete’s attention again, motioning him close.
“Pete, I need you to do something else for me.”
He nodded hesitantly.
“Would you go ask the guy fueling us when the people from the jet we just looked at will be returning in their helicopter? If he acts like he knows what you’re talking about, ask him if it was a Huey like this.”
Pete Phu climbed out and engaged the fueler in conversation, the colorful tones of the Vietnamese language wafting in the door, accompanied by spurts of laughter. In a few minutes he was back, leaning toward Kat.
“He says he doesn’t know, because they took the helicopter just about sunrise. And he said yes, it’s just like this one.”
Kat thanked him and pulled out the satellite phone again to pass the information to Jake.
IN THE JUNGLE,
NORTHWEST OF DA NANG, VIETNAM
Arlin Schoen stood momentarily exposed in the broad expanse of the jungle clearing and tried to spot the helicopter they had just finished camouflaging.
Good job! he told himself. By turning the machine nose-on to the heart of the clearing, they only needed a little greenery to make it blend with the background.
He checked his watch and looked up, calculating how fast the quarry would have been walking. The river had them neatly boxed on one side, and with the highway on the other side of the river making itself known with every truck and car that rumbled past, the survivors would probably move along the south bank to look for a place to cross.
And the bridge a thousand yards downstream from where he would be waiting could be seen a half mile up the small gorge, which meant, he concluded, that as soon as they spotted the bridge, excitement would outweigh caution, leading them right
into his trap.
Perfect.
He turned back to the hidden helicopter, covering the distance in a quick jog, in a hurry to prepare the weapons.
Less than a mile to the east, Robert MacCabe motioned for the others to stop as he stepped toward the riverbank to peer down the river.
Dallas Nielson had been guiding Dan Wade with her arm around his shoulder, while Steve Delaney helped Graham Tash. They came to a halt and waited, emotionally and physically exhausted.
“Ah … Dan, Graham here.”
They all turned at the sound of his voice. “Do you … ah … need another shot?”
Dallas looked at the doctor in surprise. Good, she thought. He’s beginning to reach outside himself.
Dan shook his head slowly. “I may just be too numb, Doctor, but I’m not hurting much right now. Not my eyes, at least.”
“Okay, ah …” Graham sighed. “Let me get Susan and …” Graham’s eyes fluttered open at the recognition of what he’d just said, and the loss of his wife crashed in on him again. He staggered back slightly and sank in uncoordinated confusion to the ground, his head down and shaking back and forth. “I’m … sorry. I’m …”
Dallas knelt beside him quickly and put an arm around his shoulder. “It won’t be easy, Doc. But you’ve got to hang with us.”
Robert reappeared, his hair standing on end from brushing under a branch. “I think I see a bridge way down there,” he said. “That’ll be our ticket out of here. There’s been enough traffic on that road.”
Dallas started chuckling, and the spontaneity of it startled Steve into the beginning of a smile.
“What?” Robert asked, looking suspicious.
“You look like you just plugged your finger into a light socket,” she said, grinning broadly as he reached up and smoothed his hair.
“Good grief, Dallas,” he replied.
“Well, you did look funny.”
“For crying out loud,” he said. “I hardly see what’s funny—”
“I guess,” she said, her smile receding, “I guess I’d rather laugh than cry, and that’s the first thing even remotely funny I’ve seen today.”
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