Niner glanced at Atlas then leaned over for a look behind the man’s massive frame.
“Where’s BD?”
“He’s not with you?”
Niner shook his head.
Then bolted for the river.
Dawson was almost to the shore when he heard her scream. The flight attendant was floundering, being carried far too swiftly by the current, and far too quickly toward the roar that had to be a waterfall.
And certain death.
He turned, swimming hard toward her, quickly closing the gap. A glance behind him showed the fuselage, both wings ripped away, continuing toward them, the river even faster here. Rocks were beginning to pop up making the swim more dangerous than it already was, and he watched in horror as she smacked into one, momentarily silencing her.
She slid off the rock face and screamed again.
Thank God!
He kicked hard to avoid the rock then swept around it to find her caught in an eddy that spit her out the other side. He headed for a rock then pushed off it, avoiding the eddy and catching up to her. Grabbing the back of her lifejacket, she yelped then looked back, relief written over her face for a moment.
But they weren’t safe yet.
A wall of mist seemed to be rising in the not too far distance, the roar overwhelming.
“Kick!” he shouted as he began to drag her to the shore, their bodies continuing to be swept along. He saw a large rock ahead and pushed hard for it, the concave surface possibly providing them a place to rest for a moment. “Make for the rock!”
She nodded, determination suddenly on her face as they both kicked with renewed effort, the rock rapidly nearing as the water flowed relentlessly toward the falls ahead.
“Feet out front!” he shouted, repositioning himself and trying to pull her along with him.
They hit hard, his combat boots that may have looked ridiculous on the fashion runway, providing the cushion and grip for that split second, long enough for him to reach forward with his one free hand and break their momentum as he twisted, his back slamming against the smooth rock. He wrapped his arms around the flight attendant and took a breath as he realized it had worked.
They were now stranded about twenty feet from shore, and about a hundred feet short of the falls.
With half a million pounds of fuselage slowly, inexorably, sliding toward them.
“BD!”
Dawson looked to see Niner, Atlas and Spock onshore, waving at him.
“Hang on!” shouted Niner. “We’ll get you!”
Spock and Atlas were tearing at some vines, quickly fashioning a rope as Dawson held on to the flight attendant.
“What’s your name?”
He looked at her. “Huh?”
“Your name? I’d like to know the name of the man who saved my life.”
“Everyone calls me BD.”
“BD? What kind of name is that? What did your mom call you after the doctor smacked your little butt.”
Dawson chuckled. “Burt.”
“Now I see why you go by BD.”
“Ouch.”
She laughed, laying her head on his chest. “Thanks, Burt. I’m Jane.”
“Nice to meet you. Come here often?”
She laughed, Dawson happy to try to distract them both from the reality of their situation as his team worked frantically on the rope.
And the plane inched ever closer, the screeches and scrapes as it tore along the riverbed getting louder and louder.
Hurry up guys!
“BD!”
Dawson looked toward his team and saw Atlas swinging one end of the rope, a fairly heavy branch tied to it, about twenty feet upstream.
“Go ahead!” he shouted, Atlas immediately hurling it out as far as he could. The branch hit the water, sinking for a moment, then bobbing to the surface as the current quickly carried it toward them, Niner running with the other end along the shore.
“I’ve got it!” shouted Jane as she reached out, Dawson holding her by the belt.
She’s going to miss it!
He pushed off from the rock with one hand, the other extending, giving her another few feet of reach.
And she snagged it.
He yanked her back in, his back slapping against the rock as he grabbed the branch then the makeshift rope. He started to loop it around her waist when she topped him. “We both go.”
He shook his head. “Together we’re too heavy. You go first, then I’ll go. I’m perfectly safe here.”
She frowned but acquiesced, Dawson quickly tying the rope around her waist, hooking it under her armpits.
“Ready?”
She nodded.
“Remember, we don’t know how strong this is, so you need to pull toward the shore too. Minimize the time on the vine.”
She gave him a look. “Were you saving that?”
He laughed. “For years.” The smile wiped from his face. “Ready?”
She too became all business. “Yes.”
He waved to the shore. “Pull!”
The rope quickly became taught and Jane pushed off from the rock, immediately being swept downriver though swinging swiftly toward the shore. He could see her struggling to pull on the rope, but she kept dropping below the surface. Atlas and Niner were pulling hard as Spock, already positioned farther downriver, positioned himself to pull her ashore.
It didn’t take long for her to be swept to the edge, Spock grabbing her and hauling her to safety. He quickly untied her then threw the rope back in the river as Atlas and Niner reeled it in.
Atlas hurled the branch back out, barely ahead of the fuselage, but it got snagged on a rock and he had to pull it back in and try again.
Dawson prepped himself for the jump, the fuselage moving quickly now, the sounds of protesting metal as loud as the falls behind him. The rock he was taking refuge on would be his downfall if the plane were to hit, it about the only obstacle it had to catch on.
He tore his eyes away from the massive hunk of metal as the force of the current and the buoyancy of the airframe worked together to seal his fate, instead focusing on the branch once again making its way toward him.
It was going to go by him.
Now or never!
He pushed off from the rock, diving toward the branch, both arms outstretched. His hand hit the wood but he couldn’t grip it and for a moment he floundered as he kicked with both legs hard, holding his breath as both arms reached out for the vines.
Something touched his wrist and he immediately spun his hand, wrapping the rope around his fingers then reaching up with his free hand for a more secure hold. He could feel the tugs on the other end as his men tried to save him but there was little he could do to help besides kick, the fibers tearing into his hands as he tried to maintain a grip.
Suddenly something grabbed his lifejacket and he gasped as his face cleared the water, gulping in lungsful of air as he flopped onto the shore, Spock hauling him farther inland.
Atlas and Niner rushed up to them when a godawful sound overwhelmed Mother Nature. Dawson pushed himself up on his elbows to see the fuselage catch on the very rock he had been leaning on only moments before, the unforgiving stone tearing through the weakened metal as the entire mass twisted toward them.
“Get back!” shouted Niner, he and Spock hauling Dawson to his feet then scrambling deeper into the jungle, the tail section slamming into the shore, bringing a halt to its forward momentum.
Niner looked at the others then shouted at the plane.
“Isn’t trying to kill us once today enough!”
Entering Mozambican Airspace
“What’s the word, sir?”
“Still no communications. SAR teams from the USS George H. W. Bush are inbound but we still have no reason to believe there are any survivors. The Russians went on full alert so the Vice President was sworn in as a precaution.”
Red shook his head, cursing to himself. They had been wheels up in Nairobi before Air Force One had actually hit the
ground, a dead stick landing with a 15:1 ratio from that altitude taking almost half an hour. According to the pilot, they’d be over the crash site in about an hour but there was nowhere for them to land. At the moment they might have to land at a small airstrip in the area then hoof it in which might take a couple of days.
Not acceptable.
Which meant, of course, he had an alternative.
“Do we really think the Russians are behind it?”
“Nothing would surprise me with that asshole, but no, I can’t see it. If they are, it’s a rogue element. We’re not going to war over this as long as cooler heads prevail.”
“If they are behind it, we can’t let them get away with it.”
“Agreed. But there’s better ways.”
“Exploding cigars?”
Clancy chuckled. “Castro’s still here, so that doesn’t work.”
“Too true.”
Red drew in a deep breath, thinking of his friends. “When will we know for sure about survivors?”
“Could be some time. The nearest LZ is at least a six hour hike and it’s tiny, essentially a clearing. We’re going to try and insert some troops through the trees, but they’re still at least an hour away.”
“We’re less than an hour out, sir. Let us jump in, we’ll find them.”
“Negative, you’re liable to break your necks.”
“Done it before.”
“That was for a purpose. The last thing BD and the others would want is you guys dying too.”
Red frowned. The Colonel was right. It was stupid. Yet he had to do something. “The offer is there, sir, if you need it.”
“Sit tight for now. If the situation changes, I’ll let you know.”
“Roger that.”
Maggie Harris Residence
Lake in the Pines Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina
The phone rang.
The entire room froze then turned toward her, all the wives having converged on her apartment, all terrified of what they were seeing on the news. The “wives network” had reached out to each other as soon as the news had broken, their loved ones deployed, most likely with BD and Niner. She hadn’t been able to reach the Colonel, but had left several messages with her replacement.
Argh! If only I wasn’t off on sick leave!
She was the Colonel’s personal assistant. Though she wasn’t in the loop she’d at least be able to get a sense as to what was going on, yet she already knew. The fact the Colonel hadn’t returned her call meant he was busy.
Very busy.
She read the call display, it a blocked number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
“Maggie, it’s Colonel Clancy.”
“Yes, sir. You-you know why I’m calling?”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
“What can you tell me?”
“Nothing at this point.”
“Please, sir, we’re all here, we just want to know. Was Bravo Team on that plane?”
There was a pause. “I can’t say anything, I’m sorry.” A burst of static from a heavy breath filled her ear. “Check your cellphone.”
The call ended and she snapped her fingers, pointing at the Blackberry charging on the kitchen counter. It was issued to her by the Unit and was considered secure. Jagger’s wife grabbed it and handed it over, Maggie quickly entering her password then bringing up a waiting text message.
1 5 7 11
“What does it say?”
“It’s four numbers,” said Shirley, leaning over and reading the text.
“But what do they mean?”
Maggie felt the world start to spin, the phone dropping into her lap as her head slumped back onto the couch.
For she knew what the numbers meant.
They were call signs.
Bravo One, Five, Seven and Eleven.
BD, Spock, Atlas and Niner.
Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique
“Where’s the Colonel?”
McNeely, severely wounded, his leg broken in several places, shook his head, his breathing labored. “Didn’t make it. He and the flight engineer went over the falls.”
Dawson looked about. There were only two Secret Service agents with the group that had gathered, and eight Air Force personnel, all enlisted. “So there’re no officers?”
McNeely nodded toward the President. “Just the Commander-in-Chief.”
Dawson looked at McNeely. “Then you’re in charge. What are your orders?”
McNeely shook his head. “I’m in no shape to be in charge.” He motioned for Dawson to move closer then lowered his voice. “Are you who I think you are?”
Dawson smiled slightly. “Probably.”
“Good. Then you’re in charge.”
Dawson nodded. “Your call. Feel free to countermand my orders at any time.”
“I will.”
“I might have to shoot you though, if I disagree.”
McNeely laughed then winced, his eyes squeezing tight as he grabbed at his chest. “Oh shit, don’t make me laugh. I think I cracked a rib.”
“Sorry.”
McNeely raised his voice slightly so the surviving personnel could hear him. “Agent White is in charge. Follow his orders and the President’s.” McNeely winced again then passed out, Niner ripping open the man’s shirt, revealing a nasty bruise. He glanced at Dawson, shaking his head.
“This man needs a doctor.”
“Rescue teams should be here soon.”
Atlas looked around, lowering his voice. “If they think anybody survived. I’m not hearing that fighter escort.”
“Probably out of fuel,” replied Dawson. “In the pre-flight briefing McNeely said they were coming in from the USS George H. W. Bush, would hang around a few minutes for show, then bugout. They stuck around the full half hour we were in descent so they were probably on fumes.”
Spock pulled out his phone, soaked. He turned the waterproof device on. “No signal.” He shrugged. “No surprise. Where do you figure we are?”
“Middle of Mozambique would be my guess,” said Agent Prentice, one of the few men on McNeely’s team to survive.
Niner frowned, looking up at the others as he continued to tend to McNeely. “There’s trouble in this area. Anti-government rebels or something.”
Atlas shoved his own phone back in his pocket. “Niner’s right. We need comms right away.”
“First things first,” said Dawson. “We’re alive and we need to stay that way. Rescue or recovery, they’re on their way and nothing we do will speed that up. Right now we need to secure our position, make sure whoever needs medical attention is getting it, then try to establish comms.” He turned to Jane Harrison. “How many are we?”
“We did a headcount and found forty-two on this side of the river, seven on the other side.”
“Forty-nine.” Dawson frowned. “How many were we?”
“Ninety-two.”
“Jesus,” muttered Spock. He looked at Jane. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Pretty sure. Maybe some survived going over the falls, but I doubt it.”
Dawson pursed his lips then blew out a blast of air. “Okay, if there’re survivors down there, there’s nothing we can do about it. The rescue team will have to check that out. For now, let’s figure out what supplies we have and find out if anyone has a satphone. Maybe one of the reporters does.”
Jane nodded and left, canvasing the group. Dawson turned to Atlas and Spock. “Head down to the waterfall then sweep back up, make sure there’re no stragglers. Be back in fifteen.”
“Roger that.”
Atlas and Spock left, shoving through the thick underbrush, Dawson heading over to check on the President and give him an update. He found the man leaning over his wife, brushing the hair out of her face.
She looked near death.
“Mr. President?”
President Starling glanced over his shoulder at him then back at his wife. “I’ll be
back,” he said gently, patting her cheek. She gave him a weak smile. He looked at their daughter. “Nancy, take care of your mother.” The young woman trembled out a nod, tears streaking her terrified face. Starling rose, stepping away from his family. He turned to Dawson. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
“I’m Agent White, on special assignment.”
Starling shook his head. “No, you’re part of the Delta team I specifically requested. What’s your real name?”
Dawson smiled slightly. “Command Sergeant Major Burt Dawson.”
“Okay, Sergeant Major, what’s our status?”
“Forty-nine survivors, forty-two on this side of the river, seven on the other side. We have two people critically injured including your wife, about two dozen walking wounded. We’re in the middle of Mozambique with mostly civilians, almost the entire Secret Service detail killed when the port wing tore off on impact, ripping their section of the plane out with it. The pilot, copilot and flight engineer are dead, as are all the Air Force officers. You have my team of four, eight Airmen, two Secret Service agents and a bunch of reporters and staffers at your command.”
“Who’s in charge?”
“You are.”
Starling chuckled. “You know what I mean.”
“Agent in Charge McNeely placed me in command due to his injuries.”
“He’s alive?”
Dawson nodded. “Wounded badly.”
“Will he live?”
“If he gets proper medical attention, I think so.”
Starling turned to the group gravitating toward them. All were scared, all were frightened, and all were looking to him for help, for hope. Dawson didn’t envy the man, especially when that man was also a father and a husband, his own family in peril.
Starling put an arm around Dawson’s shoulders. “People, I’m going to let you in on a little secret.” Everyone drew a little closer. “We’re alive, and we’re going to stay that way. We lost a lot of friends today, but we should have lost everybody. Colonel Lacroix performed a miracle, Jesus clearly at the wheel today. He landed us on a river, in the middle of a jungle, and saved more than half of us from certain death. You know what that tells me?” He paused, looking at those gathered with a gentle smile. “Somebody is looking out for us. God will get us through this.”
The Lazarus Moment Page 11
