The princeling looked at him in amazement.
“I’m an American soldier! I’m here to help you. Do you understand?”
The prince nodded with hesitation. “I understand,” he said in Arabic.
“Go. Get in the chopper!”
The prince nodded once again.
Bono put the boy down and he ran toward the helicopter’s steps. Azadeh was in the chopper now and she reached out for the prince. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him up the steps, the blades spinning furiously over their heads.
Bono ran to Sam and dropped beside him. The muddy field beneath him was soaked in blood. To his left, the king lay completely motionless, though he sometimes moaned in pain.
Bono looked around in a panic. They were running out of time! No fewer than forty soldiers were gathering around him. Once they saw him, they would know. He couldn’t hide his intentions any longer. He had to get Sam inside the chopper. He had to get Abdullah in, too.
But there was no time.
The plan was crumbling.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Neil Brighton stood and stared at his son. Sam reached out to touch him, but Neil pulled quickly back.
“Dad . . . ?” Sam questioned.
Neil smiled at him. “Do you want to stay?” he asked.
Sam thought awhile, then nodded. “I don’t think I’m finished yet.”
Neil smiled at him proudly. “No, I don’t think that you are.”
Sam looked at the blood and carnage all around him. Smoke and spouts of mud, even passing bullets, hung suspended in the air. Time was no more to them. Sam looked down at Bono, who was crying over him.
His dad followed his eyes. “He’s a good friend,” he said.
“He is, Dad.”
“If you have but a few good friends in this life, then you are lucky.”
Sam reached down as if to touch Bono’s head, then looked up at his dad. “All of us are lucky. We have each other. We have the gospel. I figure that’s all we could ever ask.”
The two were quiet for a moment until Neil Brighton said, “Will you tell Sara that I love her? And tell Luke and Ammon, too. They’ve got so much to look forward to. Their lives are just beginning. So many reasons to be happy. So many reasons to feel joy. And if they do it right, life gets better. Will you tell them that for me?”
Sam closed his eyes and seemed to lift his head toward the sun. “It feels so good to be here with you, Dad. There’s so much I want to ask you. So much I want to talk about. You were taken from us too early. We didn’t have enough time.”
Neil Brighton nodded slowly. “There’ll be more of that,” he said. “I promise you, son, there’s plenty of time ahead.”
Sam looked down and watched Bono place his hands upon his head.
“I’ll see you soon,” his father told him.
“I love you, Dad,” Sam replied.
* * *
Bono didn’t think about what he was doing or what he was going to say. Acting purely by the prompting of the Spirit, he placed his hands on Sam’s head. “By the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood, and in the name of Jesus Christ, I bless you that you might live.”
Sam’s body seemed to jerk and he took a sudden breath. Bono didn’t notice. Too many guards were closing on him now. No way could the U.S. soldiers hidden around the village keep them all at bay. He had only a few seconds before the entire mission was going to fail.
Pulling his hands away from his best friend’s head, Bono turned to King Abdullah. Standing, he lifted the king and threw him over his shoulders like he was nothing but a doll. Where he got such power to lift him, he didn’t know, but the king felt light as straw as he hoisted him upon his back.
There were shouts and cries all around him. The Saudi
soldiers were pointing at him now. They knew. And they would kill to stop him.
The king’s unconscious body draped across his shoulders, he bent down and put his arm under Sam. With impossible strength, he lifted him, then turned and ran toward the helicopter. Jumping to the third step, he threw the king onto the helicopter’s floor.
Watching through the windows at the front of the helicopter, the pilots couldn’t see most of the battle or keep track of the king. All they knew was that their master had given them the start-up signal, then the world had exploded in gunfire, smoke, and flames, bodies all around them, explosions along the village wall, bullets and shattered rock flying on every side. In utter terror, they had waited, the pilot’s hands on the collective, ready to take off the very instant the king was on board. Once they had their master, they wouldn’t wait another second. The king aboard, they would go, leaving the soldiers to sort the battle out.
Looking back through the cockpit door, the pilot saw a soldier throw the king on the chopper floor, his body slumped, his face a bloody mess. “GO!” the soldier screamed from the cabin steps.
The pilot felt his heart race, seeing the blood across his master’s face. He almost groaned in panic. The king has been killed or wounded. There will be no forgiveness for any of us! All of us will be killed.
Turning in his seat, he hit an electric switch to close the cockpit door behind him, then pulled up on the collective. The heavy chopper started lifting, the massive rotors dropping from the sudden strain. The side door was still open, the stairs hanging in the air.
Balancing on the narrow steps, Sam still under his arm, Bono almost fell back as the massive chopper sprinted into the air. His friend felt dead and heavy, his weight pulling Bono off balance. Grabbing the handrail, Bono caught himself and, with a powerful heave, threw Sam’s body through the open door and fell back. Azadeh reached out and grabbed him, pulling Sam inside.
Sam seemed to mumble as she moved him, his eyelids fluttering in pain. “Bono,” he called out to the open doorway.
Azadeh turned and reached for Bono, stretching for his hand.
Bono reached out for the handrail. Only two more steps to go. A hail of bullets passed by him, slamming into the helicopter’s side and piercing through. Looking down, he saw a Saudi soldier firing at them from the village mosque. Reaching for the handgun holstered underneath his left arm, he pulled out the pearl-handled pistol and fired three times, sending the Saudi soldier falling over the minaret’s splintered window and onto the muddy street. Two soldiers stood right below the chopper, both of them firing straight up. Bono aimed and pulled the trigger, hitting one and sending the other scurrying behind the nearest wall. He fired again. The weapon clicked. All six shells were gone. Dropping the handgun, he turned back to the chopper door.
The helicopter was high in the air now and the pilot nosed it over, quickly gaining speed. Bono felt the powerful wind begin to build around him, and the angle of the helicopter almost threw him back again. He wasn’t inside the chopper yet. He had one more step to go. He reached out for the doorway. Azadeh stretched for his hand.
The bullet was shot from below and behind him, entering at his shoulder blade and exiting between his two top ribs. Exploding from the front of his body, the bullet continued forward and hit his right hand, the flattened piece of metal as big as a quarter now. The explosion blew his hand apart, sending pieces of bone and flesh flying through the air.
Bono felt his world explode in pain around him.
He couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t think.
He couldn’t hold on anymore.
The chopper accelerated, the wind growing more powerful. He reached out for the handrail, but his shattered hand didn’t move. He looked at the piece of bloody meat that used to be his right hand and realized that he was going to fall.
Azadeh screamed and reached out for him. “Take my hand!” she cried. She leaned out of the doorway. He started slumping, his arm hanging uselessly at his side.
Azadeh screamed again and frantically grabbed at him.
Squinting in pain, Bono reached out through the dimming light. Sweating and bloody, his hand slipped down her wrist and through her fingers.
> He was plunging into the darkness.
The blackness was full and warm around him.
Slipping from the helicopter’s steps, he fell.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Azadeh stared in terror, watching Bono’s body fall. He hit the ground like a broken doll, one leg kinked beneath his body, his arms sprawled out at his side. Seeing his body hit, she cried in horror.
Sam was conscious now and he pulled himself to the open door, leaving a trail of blood behind him, a thick line of red across the carpeted floor. Looking down, he started crying, his face white, his eyes so bleary he could hardly see.
Bono was instantly surrounded by the Saudi forces. Some of them beat upon him while others fixed their attention on the fleeing chopper, sending a hail of gunfire into the sky.
The helicopter shuddered and started jinking left and right as Sam felt the violent force of bullets smashing into the heavy armor underneath the metal floor. Looking out, he saw that Bono didn’t move. He was certain he was dead.
The chopper banked onto its right side to almost 90 degrees, sending Sam sliding away from the open door, and then rolled level. By the time he had scrambled back to the doorway, the village was fading in the distance behind him.
Azadeh knelt at the open doorway, completely overwhelmed, her body heavy with exhaustion, her heart feeling like it was going to break in two. She hardly breathed. She couldn’t think. The air was cold and bitter as it roared through the open door.
Looking down, she flinched and pulled back. One of Bono’s fingers had been blown off and was lying on the bloody floor. Without thinking, she picked it up and placed it tenderly in the pocket of her dress.
Her thoughts went to Bono’s wife and daughter and she started crying uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking, her chin quivering in pain.
She felt a weak hand on her shoulder and quickly turned around. Sam was kneeling there beside her, his face so pale he looked like he was dead. “Shut the door,” he shouted to her.
She only stared at him.
“Shut the door,” he repeated.
She looked down and saw the green CLOSE switch on the cabin wall beside her shoulder. She pushed it with her palm.
The door beside them closed on its hydraulic pistons and the unbearable noise from the rotors, jet engines, and powerful wind fell away. Sam still had Abdullah’s 9mm in his hand but he held it loosely, as if holding it took all the strength he had.
“Listen to me,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ll stay conscious. I don’t know how long I have . . .”
Azadeh stared at him, trying very hard to concentrate.
“We’ve got to secure the king,” he told her, handing her a set of plastic handcuffs. She looked down to take them, noting his bloody, shaking hands. “Help me tie his hands and
feet . . .”
Sam crawled painfully across the floor, dragging his useless leg behind him. Azadeh moved around him and knelt down before the king. Working together, they cuffed his hands behind him, then his feet, then bound his hands to one of the seat braces on the floor.
It took only a couple of seconds. Sam was almost out of strength. He glanced at the young prince, who was hiding in the corner. “Come,” he beckoned to him. The prince hesitated, then crawled toward him. “Bandages,” Sam said in Arabic, his voice weaker.
The prince stared at him.
“There’s got to be a medical kit somewhere. Do you understand?”
The young prince nodded.
“Okay,” Sam patted him on the shoulder to reassure him. The prince stood and ran to the rear of the cabin and started searching through the cabinets in the narrow galley. Sam watched him. He was a good kid. So much stronger than his years. And he showed so little fear. That was the way it was now. Stolen childhoods everywhere.
Turning back to Azadeh, he said, “You have to—”
“I know what we have to do,” she cut him off.
Sam slumped across the floor and closed his eyes. “It really hurts,” he said.
She leaned over and pressed her soft lips against his cheek. “How many times have you saved me, Sam Brighton?”
He opened his eyes to look at her.
“How many times have you saved me?”
“A couple of times, I guess.”
“This is my opportunity to save you now.”
He closed his eyes and smiled.
* * *
Dallas Houston watched Bono’s fall from the fleeing helicopter, then the beating from the guards. He bowed his head in horror, then looked up at the sun. “Okay,” he told himself. “Keep it cool, Houston, keep it cool. These men are your responsibility now. Do what you have to do.”
He swallowed, hard and painful, then turned back to the village and ordered his men to act. “Two, you out of the village yet?”
“Rog,” Shooter Two replied. “I’m heading up the trail beside the waterfall.”
Houston stared down at the trail. The Cherokee was moving quickly through the underbrush, almost impossible to see.
“Okay, guys, get to the rally point. See you sometime after dark. We’ll call for evac from Rally Bravo. Call if you can’t make it there.”
* * *
Azadeh stood quickly and took the silver 9mm Glock out of Sam’s hand. The helicopter had been airborne for only minutes but it was high and fast now, climbing over the rocky cliffs.
Moving forward, she studied the bulkhead beside the cockpit door, hit the emergency release switch, and threw the door open. Bursting into the cockpit, she pointed the gun at the pilot. Her hands were firm and steady, her face determined.
The pilot turned to look at her, his eyes wide in shock. He made a move toward her, but he was strapped in by the seatbelt system and couldn’t get out of his seat. As he lurched toward her, Azadeh shot a single shell through the cockpit wall and he instantly fell back, his hands raised in surrender, a sudden hiss from the outside air blowing through the one-inch hole. Panicked and unsure, in a final show of force, he screamed and lurched for the gun. She stepped easily out of range, then aimed the gun directly at his head. The copilot on the other side started to weep, certain his life was over. Taking half a step toward them, Azadeh reached out and ripped both of their radio headsets off, throwing them onto the cabin floor.
“Do you want to live?” she asked them.
They both stared back at her.
“Do you want to live?” she repeated, her voice hard. She was young and beautiful but the look on her face didn’t lie. She wasn’t afraid. She’d been through so much in her life already, faced so many evil men, so many evil places, so many hopeless times: the assassination of her father, watching him burn to death outside her small home in the Agha Jari Deh Valley; being expelled by her own people; life in the Khorramshahr refugee camp, with its hunger, boredom, disease, and thuggish guards; the slave trader who was going to sell her as if she were nothing but a barnyard animal; the possibility of rape and starvation on the streets of East Chicago after the EMP attack.
No, she had lived through much worse than this before.
Azadeh stared directly at the pilot. She would kill him if she had to; there was no doubt in her mind. And the helicopter pilot knew it from the unflinching look in her eye.
“Do you want to live!” she repeated for the final time.
Her voice was so cold and hard, the pilot almost shivered. His head was swimming. The entire morning had been overwhelming—explosions and bullets all around them, their master going down, smoke and fire and exploding pieces of rock wall, the master pushed into the helicopter, thinking their king was safe, their own forces firing on them, a stranger now holding a gun to his head. Nothing made sense any longer and he simply couldn’t think.
Why in the name of Allah had the king insisted on leaving the safety of his kingdom to come out here? All of his security forces had argued against it. The entire world had gone crazy. He felt his head begin to spin.
He shot a terrified look toward the copilot, then turne
d back to Azadeh and slowly nodded.
“If you do exactly what I tell you, you’ll live to see your children,” she said. “If you don’t, I’ll kill King Abdullah.” She moved the gun toward the king, who was tied up, still unconscious, his face bleeding from his broken nose and shattered eye socket. “I’ll kill your king, then I’ll kill you. Or worse, I’ll let you live. They’ll hunt you down and hurt you in ways few men could understand. But do what I tell you and everything will be all right. You’ll be safe. You’ll have asylum.” Azadeh was fabricating promises now, but she didn’t care. There was only one thing that mattered, and that was getting the pilots to do exactly what she said. “Do what I tell you and the king will live. Divert one inch and I will kill him. We both know what will happen to you then.”
The pilot looked at her helplessly, his lips trembling with fear.
She threw a wadded piece of paper onto his lap. “These are the coordinates you’re going to fly to.” She kept the gun at his head. “You’re going to land there. Others will be waiting. Do you understand?”
He picked up the paper and nodded at her.
She kept the gun aimed at his head.
* * *
Behind Azadeh, the young prince helped Sam toward a leather couch on the opposite side of the cabin, out of sight of the two pilots. After helping him lie down, he cut away the bloody material from around the soldier’s leg, wrapped a thick bandage around the wound, and secured it with white tape. Tenderly lifting his arm, he applied another sheet of disinfected bandage. Sam pressed the wadded cloth to stop the bleeding, then leaned back.
Unsure of what else to do, the prince cradled the soldier’s head in his lap and helped him drink some water. Sam drank and coughed, then slowly closed his eyes. The helicopter accelerated, flying west. Time passed and the young prince fell into a stupor, completely overcome. Leaning his head against the bulkhead, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Slipping away, he dreamed of his mother singing to him while holding him in her arms.
The Great and Terrible Page 166
