The Lazarus Moment

by J. Robert Kennedy

  He pushed himself up on his elbows. “Sorry, beautiful, but I’m going to have to cut this short. I forgot I’ve got a phone call to make.”

  Helena stepped back and grabbed a towel. She began to wipe the oils off his body and he lay back down, enjoying the sensations, wishing he could continue this unofficially.

  “All done.”

  He swung off the table and stood, his towel slipping off revealing himself in all his glory. He turned away though not before he saw the widened eyes and the corners of a smile. Lifting his robe off the nearby hook, he shrugged himself into it and turned to face her.

  “If you want to continue this later, I can come back. I’m very good at nuru massage.”

  Something twinged below, threatening to take a peek outside his robe.

  Are you trying to get me killed, little guy?

  He smiled. “As tempting as that sounds, I better pass.”

  She seemed genuinely disappointed. “Are you sure?”

  Kane shook his head. “Beautiful, you have no idea how unsure I am.”

  He signed the hotel receipt, adding a generous tip then reached for his wallet, giving her fifty US dollars, not confident she’d actually see any of the hotel gratuity.

  Her eyes widened and she beamed as she leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I come by later and make you forget what happened to your President.”

  Kane’s eyes narrowed and he took her by the shoulders, pushing her back slightly. “What do you mean?”

  She stared at him, puzzled. “You mean you not hear?”

  He shook his head. “Hear what?”

  “Your President. He dead. He die in plane crash today.”

  Kane felt his chest tighten and his stomach flip as his watch pulsed again.

  No wonder they’re trying to contact me.

  He expertly broke down her massage table then ushered her toward the door, her disappointment at being sent away clear.

  “I call you later?”

  He decided to throw her a bone.

  “Please, but I might not be here.”

  God knows where I’ll be.

  North of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

  Red raised a fist, bringing the team to a halt, everyone dropping and grabbing water and rations. They had been pushing hard for the better part of an hour as they tried to reach the President and the other survivors, though with the forest so dense, it was slow going.

  He took a swig of water then a pull on a protein bar, savoring the chalky flavor, he so used to them by now it no longer bothered him. He remembered the first time he tried one he had wanted to spit it out. Now they tasted like home.

  A sick and twisted home, but home nonetheless.

  They’re familiar.

  And when you were a soldier in the field, something familiar that wasn’t trying to kill you was sometimes worth its weight in gold.

  Like Coca Cola and Hershey bars in World War II.

  His breath caught, he activated his comm. “Control, Bravo Zero-Two, checking in, over.”

  “Zero-Two, this is Control Actual. What’s your status?”

  Red smiled slightly at the Colonel’s voice. As long as the Colonel was on the job, someone was looking out for their best interests, not the politicos. “We’re making best time for the crash site with no signs of pursuit. Can you confirm?”

  “Roger that, UAV shows the rebel force has not advanced since your last assault. I think we can safely say they won’t be bothering you before you reach the survivors.”

  “And the secondary force?”

  “The first of them have cleared the ridge and are now making for the President’s position.”

  “How far?”

  “Less than two miles. BD’s got them moving again, but it’s slow going with the injured.”

  “No luck getting any more out?”

  “Negative, and there won’t be any more attempts. The rebels shot down a Seahawk that was providing supplies and inserting a SEAL team. Two dead.”

  Red cursed, exchanging glances with the others. They all knew a lot of SEALs, the rivalry well known and good-natured. He didn’t bother asking who was lost, whether SEAL or crew, the loss was equally as bad. “Can you give us a bead on the survivors? How far are we?”

  “We’ve got you one mile due west of the rebel force, and two miles due north of the survivors.”

  “Roger that, and the rescue party?”

  “Still three miles south. They won’t make it there first.”

  Red’s jaw clenched. “We’ll get there, Colonel. Zero-Two, out.”

  “Or die trying,” added Jagger as he pushed himself to his feet. “I still think we should hit them and try to slow them down.”

  Red shook his head as he stowed his water. “Negative. The Colonel’s right. Not only are they probably expecting us to hit them, with two hundred guns, all we need is a few dozen of them not panicking and we’re toast.” He pulled Jimmy to his feet. “No, if we can join up with the main group, there’s BD and the guys, now some SEALs, some Secret Service and Air Force personnel, and four of us.”

  “Make that five.”

  They all spun toward the voice, cheers erupting as Spock stepped out from behind a tree, his hands raised slightly. Jimmy leapt forward, grabbing the man in a bear hug, lifting him off the ground as the others surrounded their comrade.

  “We thought you were dead!” exclaimed Jimmy, returning their friend to terra firma as he exchanged thumping hugs with the others.

  “Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated or some bullshit like that.” He grinned. “No, I went over the falls but I guess was thrown clear. Woke up downriver. I’ve been trying to find you guys ever since.”

  Jagger looked Spock up and down, apparently still not believing his eyes. “You heard the excitement?”

  Spock nodded. “Kind of hard to miss. I had a feeling it was you guys. What happened?”

  “About seventy hostiles heading for the crash site,” replied Red. “We trimmed them down to ten apparently. But now we’ve got two hundred making for the site and we’ve gotta boogey.” He motioned toward him. “You good to go?”

  “Absolutely. Just need a weapon.”

  Red handed him his Glock and a few mags. “This’ll have to do for now.”

  Spock took them. “Anything else I need to know?”

  Jagger slapped Jimmy on the back. “Jimmy almost got shot in the balls.”

  Spock cocked an eyebrow. “Good thing it wasn’t you, they might have cracked those chestnuts.”

  Jagger laughed, grabbing Spock by the back of the neck. “Man, you have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

  “Thanks, I was pretty sure I was a goner too.”

  “I know. I thought for a while there I wasn’t going to get that twenty bucks back that you owed me.”

  Spock’s eyebrow popped. “For what?”

  “Cab fare from the bar last Friday. It was your turn.”

  Jimmy jabbed a finger at him. “That’s right! And you owe me forty for your share of the BBQ two weeks ago.”

  Spock looked at Red. “Permission to go back to being dead?”

  Red jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You can always take point.”

  “With pleasure. Nothin’ but a bunch of loan sharks back here.”

  Red watched as Spock took the lead, a little too cautiously.

  “Get a wiggle on, Sergeant, you’re not dead yet!” laughed Jagger.

  Spock smacked his ass, inviting a kiss, Red reaching out and grabbing him by the arm. “Dude, you fell out of the sky, have no body armor, and are carrying a handgun. I’ll take point.”

  Spock frowned. “Damn, I was hoping to get away from these bankers.”

  “No such luck, but cut the chatter. These guys are way too close.”

  Red took point, pushing through the underbrush toward Dawson and the others, listening for the hostiles on their left flank.

  We have to get there first!

  North of A
ir Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

  Afonso Domingos stared down over the waterfall at the wreckage below. He had left a small contingent to try and retrieve anything they could using the boats. Once they had the hostages they’d concentrate on stripping the aircraft bare with a larger team, but for now they had to focus on capturing the President.

  And their payday.

  The dollar signs were dancing in front of his eyes, as he had read somewhere before, the amount of money they could get almost unfathomable. In fact, he wasn’t even sure how much to ask for. Millions for sure. Tens of millions? Billions? He simply had no concept of that amount of money. He had seen one hundred dollars once, and heard of someone who had been given almost one thousand to buy some weapons, but out here, far from the capital, US dollars were rare and small.

  Yet precious.

  He had instructed one of his people to contact a trusted friend at the RENAMO headquarters with instructions to keep it quiet. If anyone would know how much to ask, he would. For now they just needed to capture the man, then worry about how much he was worth.

  No matter what the number, it would be enough to take care of them all, he of course getting the largest cut.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining what a Jaguar actually sounded like when the engine revved.

  If it revved. Are they truly as unreliable as I have read?

  Shouts ahead had him walking a little faster and he found a group of his men standing around the remains of a campfire. “They were definitely here,” said one of his men.

  He nodded. “And for some time.” A fire like this wasn’t made quickly, it took effort. As he looked around there was evidence of bamboo having been chopped down and stripped.

  They were making something.

  He stared up at the trees overhead. It was dark now, and too many things in the jungle liked to hunt at night. He had no intention of losing anyone to nature, when there were so many men to kill.

  “Torches!”

  They had come prepared and torches were quickly lighting their way.

  “We’re close! You heard that crash just a little while ago. Our men, your brothers, must have shot down one of those helicopters we’ve been hearing. That means they’re still there! When we reach them, we’ll surround them then demand they surrender. We must make sure we don’t kill the President! If he dies, then this is all for nothing. Remember, the money we will make on this will allow even your grandchildren to live like kings!”

  A roar went up among the men as their torches were raised over their heads, the group pressing forward as more continued to climb up from the falls. Footsteps pounded toward him and he turned, raising his weapon.

  “Sir, it’s me!” cried the voice of the runner he had sent earlier to find out what had happened to Nyusi and his group.

  “Hold your fire!” he ordered, the man collapsing to the ground, his chest heaving. “Water!” Water was quickly brought and the young man took several swigs then pushed himself to his knees, still gasping.

  “Sorry…sir…ran…all…the way…I found…them.” He held up a finger, trying to slow his breathing some more. “Only ten left.”

  “Ten!” Domingos’ eyes shot wide open as his jaw dropped. He had sent at least seventy men ahead. They should have been here long ago.

  Ten?

  “They encountered heavy enemy resistance,” explained the runner as he pushed himself to his feet, leaning against a tree. “Nyusi said at least fifty American soldiers. They were lucky to survive.”

  Domingos drew in a quick breath, anger taking hold over the shock. If the Americans had been able to put fifty soldiers on the ground, they would have been able to rescue their people and wouldn’t have bothered.

  He knew bullshit when he heard it, and he recognized fear when he saw it.

  And his men were scared.

  If they were about to face fifty soldiers, then they were doomed. He knew it and they knew it.

  Though there was no way there were fifty soldiers.

  “Nyusi can’t count more than he’s got fingers, and he’s missing two of those,” he said with a smile, nervous laughter from his men echoing through the trees. “If the Americans had been able to put fifty men on the ground, they would have pulled the President out and they’d be swarming all over that aircraft down there,” he said, pointing toward the falls roaring behind him. He wagged a finger. “No, I think Nyusi’s men got lost or tired, and headed back to the village to get drunk while we did all the work!” A few curses could be heard. “I say we go get the President, and when we get the money, Nyusi and his men can kiss our rich asses!”

  Cheers overwhelmed the falls, guns and torches raised in the air as the bravado of greed was restored.

  “Now let’s move!” he shouted, waving them forward. He grabbed the runner by the shoulder, drawing him closer. “Did you tell them to advance?”

  His head bobbed rapidly. “I did.”

  “And will they?”

  Fear spread across the young man’s face. “I-I think so.”

  Domingos frowned.

  “They better, or they’re all as dead as their friends.”

  South of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

  Dawson waited in the rear of the group with Niner and Atlas. The gunfire had been fierce but brief, it all over in minutes. Skerritt had sent a message to them that they were okay, though they couldn’t be certain no one else lay in wait. Something snapped in the darkness.

  “Flash!”

  “Thunder!” Dawson smiled, his head turning toward the response as he snapped on his flashlight. The others did the same as Skerritt and his men stepped out from the darkness looking like they were in one piece, sporting some new weaponry.

  Skerritt held up an AK-47. “Thought we could use these since they didn’t need them anymore.”

  Dawson grinned as he took the weapon and the mags. “How many?”

  “Six, lightly armed. They won’t be bothering us anymore.”

  Niner pointed at Skerritt’s leg. “What happened there?”

  Dawson saw a dozen shards of something sticking out of Skerritt’s thigh, blood soaking his pants.

  “A tree decided to remind me I’m not king of the jungle.”

  Niner dropped and examined the leg. He looked up. “Don’t think this is a first date or anything.”

  “Never dream of it, though I’ve heard some wild stories about you Delta boys puttin’ out on the first go round.”

  Niner yanked a splinter free.

  “Oww!”

  “Never insult your medic.”

  Skerritt grinned at Dawson. “Sorry.” Another splinter hauled out, Skerritt grimacing this time. “So what’s the plan?”

  Dawson turned, pointing upriver. “Atlas just came back from scouting ahead and he had a crazy idea that I think is worth considering.”

  Atlas leaned in. “What he means is if it goes wrong, I’m the one that gets blamed. It was actually his idea.”

  Skerritt looked at him. “Of course, Command Sergeant Majors are never wrong.”

  Atlas slapped Niner on the shoulder. “Look out, shit rolls downhill.”

  Niner glanced up at him. “Just because I’m on my knees doesn’t mean you can shit on me.”

  “Your plan?” asked Skerritt, shaking his head.

  “The river is a lot calmer here than it is down by the falls, but more importantly, it’s narrower and lower on the other side.”

  Skerritt’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?”

  Dawson held out his hands, palm upward. “We’ve got two hundred hostiles heading our way with no hope of our rescue team reaching us in time, and even if they did, we’re still outnumbered five to one.”

  “That wouldn’t really bother me if it weren’t for the President and the civilians.”

  “Agreed. We’ve got steel-reinforced cable from the chopper—”

  “We do?”

  Atlas nodded. “Yeah,
the entire hoist assembly was blown clear in the explosion.” He pointed to a bundle of rolled up cable nearby. “I went back and grabbed it while you guys were out playing tag.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “It happens.”

  Niner slapped Skerritt on the leg, causing him to wince. “All done, sweetheart.” Niner rose, ducking Skerritt’s swing. “Is that anyway to thank the man who saved your life?”

  Skerritt gave Niner a look. “Hugs and kisses later, baby, just to say thank you.”

  Niner winked. “Looking forward to it.”

  Skerritt tested out the leg, then walked over to the cable. “So how do we get it across?”

  “I’ll go,” said Atlas. “Tie it off on the other side, then we’ll rig a harness and everyone slides over, one at a time.”

  Skerritt nodded. “Sounds like it will take time.”

  “Yup,” agreed Dawson. “Some of the civilians are making the harnesses now and some rope out of vines. We were just waiting for the all clear from you.”

  “All clear,” said Skerritt. “But there’s one flaw in your plan.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You need a SEAL to take that thing across the river.”

  “You think you can swim better than me?” boomed Atlas.

  Skerritt eyed him. “I know I can swim better than you.”

  Dawson shrugged. “If a SEAL has to cross, then fine.” He pointed at the leg. “But it can’t be you. You’re liable to attract some unwanted company with that thing bleeding all over the place.”

  Skerritt glanced down at his thigh then frowned. “You’re right. Felix, you up for getting a little wet.”

  “Born for it.”

  “Then let’s get to it, times a wastin’.”

  North of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

  Red froze, holding up a fist, bringing the others to a halt, he hearing chatter to their left, it distinct from the sounds of the jungle, sounds he had almost tuned out after hours surrounded by it.