Red really flushed this time. “I’m going to take care of it now.”
Dawson glanced at his watch. “No time. Take care of it on the plane, you’re wheels up in fifteen.”
Red rose, grabbing his gear. “I wish it had left fifteen minutes ago, then I wouldn’t have had to listen to this scintillating conversation.”
“You’ll miss me,” said Niner, blowing a kiss.
Red flipped the knife in his hand.
Niner covered up again.
Red gave an exaggerated sigh as Jimmy, Jagger and Wings grabbed their gear. “The life of a Delta Operator never ends.”
“And you’d have it no other way.”
“Sad, but true.” He turned to the others. “Have fun, boys, we’ll see you in Kenya.”
“Don’t get eaten.”
Red eyed Niner. “You do know they’ve got lions here, too.”
Niner looked about the room. “In here?”
Red grinned at Dawson. “I’m glad he’s on your team. I don’t think he’d survive on mine.”
Dawson slapped him on the back as he headed out the door, the rest of Red’s team following. He sat back down and pulled out his phone, firing off a text message to his girlfriend, Maggie Harris. She had been shot recently in Paris though was recovering nicely. Her biggest concern now was the fact half her head had been shaved, her gorgeous curls gone. Red’s wife Shirley had trimmed the rest short for her and was keeping it that way until the side of her head that had been operated on caught up.
He had nearly lost her that day, and he had thanked God every day since for sparing her.
His life was dangerous. All their lives were dangerous. They were Special Forces, America’s elite; some would say the best in the world. As a member of 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment–Delta, commonly known as Delta Force, he had been on ops around the world and around his country, Delta the only military unit permitted to operate on American soil at the sole discretion of the President.
It was a privilege they all understood the significance of.
Yet today they weren’t battling terrorists, they were on a babysitting mission. His team, Bravo Team, had been called in to supplement the normally already tight security that travelled with the President. With this trip taking him to Africa, it was felt a little extra “muscle” was warranted, and with the Russians making noises about the Ukraine policy shift, anything was possible.
Though he’d rather be arranging a meeting with Allah for some fundamentalists, he did have to admit travelling on Air Force One was a thrill. It wasn’t his first time, and he was sure it wouldn’t be his last in the airplane, though to call Air Force One an airplane was almost an insult. It was a flying building with offices, meeting rooms and three decks of luxury and technology, encased in a reinforced fuselage designed to withstand an EMP pulse from a nuclear detonation, and operate as its own satellite in the case of war.
The President could quite easily run the entire country from the confines of the aircraft.
It was a technological marvel, built by Boeing, customized to the hilt, and operated by the proud men and women of the United States Air Force.
Yet despite all that, he couldn’t wait for this mission to be over. There was almost no chance of action, and he was itching to kick some ass.
He eyed Niner, debating a sparring session, though even that wasn’t possible, training discouraged on these missions as a fresh black eye never made a good impression. The President and his handlers didn’t want the world to know they were along, it perhaps conveying the wrong message to their hosts.
We don’t trust you to keep him safe.
It was the truth. After all, they were in the country that had allowed a sign language interpreter who didn’t know how to sign within feet of the most powerful leaders of the world during Nelson Mandela’s memorial service.
Security clearly wasn’t their strong suit.
Three more days, then home, then off to some shithole.
He smiled slightly.
Can’t wait!
His phone vibrated.
Love you miss you too!
His smile widened.
Sheraton Pretoria Hotel, Pretoria, South Africa
One day before the Air Force One crash
Senior Airman Cameron Lennox moaned, struggling to open his eyes, the lids feeling like they had bricks hanging from them. He was in a fog, his head pounding, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
He felt hung over.
Yet that wasn’t possible.
He never drank on duty, and when Air Force One was deployed, he was always on duty.
He forced his eyes open. He was in his hotel room. Or was he? It seemed different somehow. Someone cleared their throat to his right and his head spun toward the noise.
He immediately regretted it, closing his eyes as his head throbbed in protest.
Somebody said something. It sounded Russian.
Oh shit!
He opened his eyes again. Slowly.
“Senior Airman Cameron Lennox?”
Lennox nodded, the thick accent clearly Russian or Eastern European. “Who are you?”
“Who I am is of no importance. Who you are is. You are one of the tech specialists on Air Force One.”
His chest tightened, his headache forgotten.
This can’t be good.
He said nothing.
The man smiled.
He looks sick.
“No matter, we know exactly who you are, what your assignment is, what your duties are”—the man paused, swiping his finger across the trackpad of a laptop sitting beside him on a small round table—“and we know who your family is.”
An image of his wife and daughter appeared on the laptop and he felt bile fill his mouth. He tried to stand but found his hands bound behind his back, the pain in his shoulders from the unnatural position suddenly explained.
What happened to me?
The last thing he remembered was sitting down to eat the room service he had ordered. Cheeseburger and fries with extra ketchup on the side. And a Coke.
They must have spiked my drink!
He glanced around the room and suddenly realized it wasn’t his. None of his stuff was anywhere to be seen.
Which would explain why his roommate wasn’t there.
Jerry should be looking for me. They’ll tear the place apart. Just hold out for a little longer.
“I’ll kill you if you touch them.”
The man smiled. “I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.” He repositioned the mouse pointer and clicked, the image now a video showing his wife and daughter sitting on a bed in a room he didn’t recognize.
And they looked terrified.
“What have you done?” His voice was barely a whisper as his eyes widened.
“We have your wife and daughter. They are safe for as long as you do as you are told. Should you not do what you are told, should you tell anyone what is happening, they will die, slowly, painfully, your daughter first so your wife can watch her suffer.”
Lennox leaned over and vomited for the first time in years, the harsh acid burning his throat and mouth as he leaned to the side, trying not to get any on himself. Bile dripped from his mouth as he fought for control.
He spit.
Get a grip! They’re not dead yet!
Or are they?
“How do I know they’re alive?”
“You don’t trust me?”
Lennox gave the man a look.
He smiled.
“I wouldn’t either.” The man launched Skype, the video, looping, replaced with a shot of the same room, his daughter now asleep on his wife’s lap, she sitting up in the bed, her back against the wall, her cheeks stained with dried tears, her eyes barely open.
She looks exhausted.
“Can she hear me?”
His wife’s eyes shot open.
“Cam, is that you?”
A lump formed in his throat as his eyes filled with tears
. “Yes, hon, it’s me. Are you okay?”
“No! We’ve been kidnaped!”
“I know, hon, I know. Did they hurt you?”
She shook her head, it clear she couldn’t see him, only hear him, her eyes searching the room, settling on what he assumed was a camera. “No, no we’re okay.”
The man clicked a button, killing the conversation.
“Satisfied?”
Lennox shook his head. “Of course not.”
“Well, it will have to do. They are alive and unharmed, for now. If you do what we ask, then they will be set free. If you do not…well, you know what will happen to them.”
Lennox closed his eyes, praying for guidance.
He received none.
“What do you want?”
The man produced what appeared to be a standard USB memory stick and held it up. “Tomorrow, when you board Air Force One, you will insert this memory stick into a computer attached to the avionics network, bypass any security protocols, then remove it.”
“What is it, a virus?”
“That is of no concern to you.”
“To hell it isn’t. That network is isolated from the main data networks used by the passengers, but it’s tied into all the flight controls and communications equipment.” Lennox’s eyes shot wide as he realized what it must be. “You’re planting a virus to monitor the President’s communications!”
The man smiled slightly, shrugging. “See, no harm.”
“But it’ll be discovered.” Lennox bit his tongue, cursing himself for revealing the fact the virus wouldn’t last long.”
Let them think they’re accomplishing something, so long as Cecilia and Janice are okay.
“Let us worry about that,” said the man, tapping the laptop. “You worry about your family.”
Lennox nodded. What was the harm? He would plant the virus, they might get some classified intel, they might not. It would still be encrypted, so they might actually get nothing, and the first time the system scanned itself, the virus would be caught and either eliminated or quarantined so there would be no further breach.
“And if I do this—”
“When.
“Fine, when I do this, you will release my family?”
“You have my word.”
“And how will I know?”
“They will have instructions to call you.”
“But they have no way of reaching me unless it’s an emergency!”
“You don’t think their kidnapping and release would qualify?”
Of course, you idiot!
The man was right. The Air Force would immediately get in touch with him. And once he knew they were safe, he’d simply tell them what he did and the system would be cleaned.
No harm done.
His family safe.
And hopefully this bastard, and whomever he was working for, could be tracked down and brought to justice.
“Do we have an agreement?”
Lennox nodded. “Yes.”
“Good.” The man leaned forward. “And Airman?”
“Yes?”
“If you fail, we will know. And your family will die.”
FSB Headquarters, The Lubyanka Building, Moscow, Russia
Day of the Air Force One crash
Arseny Dudnik reread the news report, his eyes wide in shock. It was a report from South Africa, filed overnight, about a cultural festival featuring traditional music and dancing.
Attended by the First Family.
For the love of all that is holy!
The report from FSB had indicated the President would be travelling alone, not with his wife and daughter. If he had known, he never would have agreed to supply Khomenko with the virus.
Never.
It was one thing to kill a president.
It was another thing to kill his family.
America might not clamor for war if their leader was assassinated. Presidents had died before, and life went on.
But kill his wife and teenage daughter?
They’d demand answers.
Then blood.
We can’t risk it being traced back here!
He immediately dialed Khomenko’s cellphone, it answered on the second ring.
“It’s me, can you talk?”
“Yes.”
“You have to abort.”
“Why?”
“His wife and daughter are travelling with him.”
“So?”
“So? If you kill his family, they won’t stop until they find out who did it, then they’ll demand justice!”
“They didn’t care that my family died, so why should I care?”
Dudnik exhaled loudly in exasperation. “Listen, Igor, we can’t do this. Moscow will find out, they’ll kill us all, and they’ll stop any payments to your friend’s family.”
“That isn’t my concern. You committed to a course of action, my friend, and we must see it through.”
“No matter the cost?”
“No matter the cost.”
Dudnik gripped the edge of his desk, leaning over it, his phone pressed hard against his ear. “Listen, Igor, I’m ordering you to abort.”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry, Arseny, I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s already too late. The plan is in motion. There is no stopping it.”
Dudnik ended the call, quickly dialing the only person he could think of. Someone who was just as likely to kill him as help him.
His ex-wife.
“Hello, Katya, it’s me, Arseny.”
“What do you want?”
Uh oh, not a good day apparently.
“I have a problem. Rather, we have a problem.”
“How do we have a problem? We haven’t spoken in eight months.”
“Not we as in us. We as in Russia.”
“I’m listening.”
The Union Buildings, Pretoria, South Africa
Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson watched President Jacob Starling shake President Surty’s hand as they both faced the camera, the official photographer snapping several shots as traditional gifts were exchanged. The conference yesterday had wrapped up with an impressive cultural display that extended well into the evening, Dawson and his team not partaking, instead providing supplemental security until they were back at the hotel, the Secret Service taking over completely.
It had been straight into the rack after Red’s team left for Kenya to scout out the next location. So far the mission had been routine, no problems, a few environmentalist protesters there for the summit, but other than that, uneventful. He had been to a lot of these conferences over the years and always wondered why so much money was wasted on them. Almost always the negotiations had been completed behind closed doors by other people, the heads of state merely showing up to either sign the deal, or make the public think they were very close, significant progress made, a deal imminent.
Even when they knew well ahead of time that it was complete BS.
Like yesterday.
Nothing was really accomplished, just a bunch of photo ops with the leaders reiterating the positions they already had going into the conference.
Yet it was of no importance to him. His job was to keep the man alive, not productive.
“I thank you once again for agreeing to take my cousin with you. Thulas is a good, strong man. Since he has fought and beaten cancer, he wants to spread his message of hope across Africa. Perhaps one day we will have the experimental treatment centers like your country enjoys.”
“It’s a laudable goal, Mr. President, and the American people are happy to help. I look forward to meeting Mr. Zokwana in person.”
Dawson had already tuned out the conversation, activating his comm. It wouldn’t be the first time a president had invited someone along last minute, though it was rare for it to happen on foreign soil. “Control, Bravo Zero-One. Have we vetted a Mr. Zokwana, over?”
“Neg
ative, Zero-One. Why?”
“I just overheard the President mentioning that we’d be taking him with us to Kenya, over.”
“Do we have any details?”
“Negative, but we better start running a background check, out.”
Dawson exchanged glances with Niner and Atlas, both rolling their eyes slightly. No matter how much security you put around someone, it was all for not if they ignored it.
And how to you say no to the President?
Nkandla, South Africa
It had been a good three weeks. A great three weeks. Thulas Zokwana had missed his family terribly the six months he had been in Moscow, but as he had heard someone once say, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and it was true. He loved his wife and children more so today than he ever had. Perhaps it was the knowledge he was dying that had intensified his feelings, though whatever it was, he relished every moment with them.
Yet it all was about to end.
And he didn’t want it to.
Of course he didn’t want it to. He loved them, they were his everything. Despite being dirt poor, they were happy together. Life was a constant struggle to survive, though it was the same way for everyone around them. His exposure to Moscow had been an eye opener into how good things could be, living in a clean room with a comfortable bed and access to clean water and regular hot meals.
It had almost spoiled him.
Though no bed was uncomfortable with his sweet, sweet Zoe lying in it.
His desire for her had overcome his weakness and they had made love that first night back. It had been wonderful, exciting, almost like the first time as they rediscovered each other’s bodies. He had to apologize for not having his stamina anymore, though she didn’t care, she just wanted to be held by him, to feel close to him.
When she had first stepped through the doorway to see him arriving in a cab, she had cried, tears of happiness though he was sure tears of worry as well. He looked terrible, and each day a little worse. He had convinced her that it was just a side effect of the medicines and over time he’d get better, and he hoped she believed him, though he wasn’t sure.
The Lazarus Moment Page 4
