At the Slightest Sound

by M. L. Buchman

  As they walked toward where the others were waiting for them at the front entrance, she still couldn’t look at him. Holding onto his arm felt too good and she didn’t know how to react.

  Instead, she inspected the palace as well lit by floodlights as the city wasn’t. Radial paths reached across the daylight-bright green lawn all centered on the main entrance. A few low bushes drooped toward a browning lawn. A lone, unimpressive fountain splashing sullenly under the bright lights. The few trees didn’t quite mask the utility buildings to the west nor the large service building to the northwest, backed against the Congo river. To the east was a very limited amount of parking and then the dark expanse of the river’s bend with scattered lights of boats sliding along the current.

  Due north, shining in a blinding white light, towered the massive edifice from which they were somehow supposed to extract the ambassador to the United States without getting him or themselves killed.

  “This is going to be so much fun.”

  “Yep!” Jesse agreed happily, apparently ignoring her tone. “Lookin’ forward it.”

  “You’re a strange man, cowboy.”

  “Never been one to argue with a woman,” was all he said as they reached the others and entered the building.

  Jesse had felt some sort of switch get thrown while talking to Hannah. It wasn’t just that her least touch could remind a man how it felt to stand out under the Texas stars. It was more like finding an auxiliary hydraulic system kicking in after the primary had been shot out—suddenly everything was handling smooth again.

  Hannah being afraid just didn’t sound right for a Delta operator, but he hadn’t been able to doubt the worry in her eyes. If she needed time, he’d give that to her—he knew how he felt. Yes, he didn’t know diddly or squat about her past, but he knew what he needed to know—she was the woman for him.

  Fine.

  She needed help figuring that out for herself?

  Again fine.

  He was the man to do it. Daddy had always said that the first time he met Momma, he just knew she was the only one for him.

  And Jesse now knew that was true. It had worked for Daddy and by God, it was going to work for him. No US Ambassador was going to get the better of him again. He had taken Jesse for a short ride off the trail there, but he’d found his way back. Just had to help Hannah guide herself to the same path was all.

  The front doors looked as if they belonged to a shopping mall. For all the columns and pomp, the designer clearly had no imagination. And…yep. As he suspected, the first room was a vast space meant to intimidate through sheer size, but not by elegant design. Massive press conferences could be held beneath the three-story-up dome. But it had none of the charm that he’d seen in pictures of the White House. The walls had the flatness of concrete. The space was too big, despite the few bits of art and statuary put in, to feel anything other than empty.

  The three heavily armed escorts were still chatting happily with Michelle as they led them up a staircase and out onto a second-story balcony that ran along the outside of the entire face of the building.

  Through the massive colonnade on their left, the city pulsed in the night. A section of it was pitch dark; the kind of darkness that only comes from a power-grid failure. Even as he watched, it flickered on, stuttered, then crashed back into blackness, taking the section of the city next to it down into blackness as well. The sweep of lawn in front of the palace was still blindingly lit. He’d wager that the president’s home was never without power—ever. He also noted they were too high to jump safely. Access to stairs would be a high priority for the mission.

  On their right a series of rooms opened off the walkway. A few were offices, but most were dark and appeared to be rooms more appropriate for a museum. How much of the country’s riches were stashed away in these rooms accessible only to the president’s inner circle? Most would be his bet.

  He focused on Hannah’s hold on the crook of his arm. It was hard not to as she was gripping him with a Delta operator’s fearsome strength. What did The Unit do to their personnel that made them so strong?

  “Maybe if you—”

  Hannah cut him off with an even tighter squeeze and a curt shake of her head.

  Perfect.

  Their three escort guards stopped at a door where two more guards were posted.

  Five and counting.

  Chapter 17

  Hannah forced herself to relax. She could see Ricardo doing the same. Hopefully the DRC’s soldiers weren’t trained well enough to see it. It was one of the secrets of Special Operations. Jesse would know it, of course. Only from a place of ease was the maximum flexibility of action possible. All senses on alert. Body relaxed and flexible.

  None of that was going to help with Ambassador Gordon Delaney.

  With an apologetic squeeze of Jesse’s arm, she let go of him and shifted so that she was at the ready for anything.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jesse flexing his arm as if trying to get circulation back. She flexed her fingers and realized they were sorer than after firing a couple hundred rounds. No time to apologize now.

  The guards knocked, opened the door, and let them in.

  They shut the door behind them. She heard the lock snick into place.

  The room was a spacious all-in-one, lit by a few scattered lamps. A gray leather couch with a leopard skin throw—that was probably real leopard—commanded a small seating area. The spotted throw was only the first element of a common theme. An elephant’s head complete with tusks dominated one wall. She looked back at the couch and realized it was made of elephant-skin leather. Other trophies large and small were mixed in with native woodcarvings of strange heads and stranger animals.

  A dining table had been co-opted into a desk, evidenced by the ambassador’s briefcase and a few pads of paper. A large bed faced a window at the far side of the room. Beyond it lay the bright lights of Brazzaville over in the Republic of the Congo across the broad reach of the Congo River.

  She almost felt a smile remembering her swim with Jesse in the crocodile-infested Naya River. That now seemed so trivial, even safe by comparison. She tried not to estimate the likelihood of their bodies floating down the Congo River before the night was over.

  This is just recon, she reminded herself. Nothing more. From this, they’d build a plan of attack. At the moment they were just fans from home.

  From home.

  A home she’d done everything in her power to erase from her memory.

  And succeeded until—

  “Hanners?” Gordon walked toward them out of the shadows at the far side of the room. “Sweet Jesus, never thought I’d be so glad to see your face.” Without hesitation, he stepped up and wrapped his arms around her like they were long lost friends rather than mortal enemies related by…whatever they were related by. His father Larry and her Ma had never divorced their former runaway spouses, just living in sin—in so many ways.

  “Hey, Gordon,” somehow she kept her voice even.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I’ve been kidnapped into this luxury jail by the president for implying that the US would sanction his country severely if he didn’t break with his predecessor’s policies. Now answer my question.”

  She didn’t feel the creepy crawlies she’d expected. Gordon had been home so little through high school. Between academics, soccer, and his friends, there were times she didn’t see him except at school for weeks.

  “Did your ma send you? You seen her lately?”

  “Are you kidding me? So she can let your father rape me some more?”

  “He what!” His voice was echoed by Jesse in his black cowboy hat who suddenly stepped forward until they were both crowding Hannah. She tried to step back from Gordon’s confusion and Jesse’s black rage, but just trod hard on someone’s toes.

  “I’m so sorry, girlfriend,” Michelle whispered in her ear as she rested a hand on Hannah�
��s shoulder from behind.

  “Look,” Anton stepped forward. “We don’t have time for happy family reunions. We’re on the clock here.”

  “What are you talking about?” Even Gordon, who had always towered over her, appeared small when he faced Anton. Then he turned to her, “What’s he talking about?”

  “Ricardo says we’re running out of time really fast,” Michelle whispered again. “Some officer just came up in a hurry. I’ve really got to teach Ricardo French. He can hear them but can’t understand a word.”

  Hannah scanned the room and saw that Ricardo was still close by the front door. Telepathy. Right. He was silently updating Michelle. That was going to take some getting used to.

  Unable to think of what else to do, she grabbed Jesse’s arm. That instant of contact surged through her. Not loudly, but enough to be heard, she imagined knocking on the inside of the doors to either side of the ambassador’s room.

  “They’re moving off. Did you do something?”

  Hannah nodded just enough that only Michelle standing so close would notice. Then she held up pinched fingers to show that what she’d done wasn’t going to last long.

  “Gordon? What are the ways out of here?”

  “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

  He’d always been stone stubborn. Maybe that’s what you had to be to pull of being an ambassador. “We’re a special squad sent in to extract you.”

  “You’re military? Is that what happened to you?”

  “Gordon. Focus. Now.”

  “But—”

  Hannah wasn’t ready for what happened next.

  Six-three of blond cowboy took six-one of brunette ambassador by his lapels, lifted him in the air and shook him hard. “If you don’t start paying attention to what Hannah says when she says it, you and I are going to have a problem, pardner. And that problem is gonna start with me tossing you to the dogs as a bone while our team gets our asses back out of here. Are we clear now?”

  “Now, Hannah,” Michelle’s whisper was hurried.

  Hannah stood for a moment longer, mesmerized by this new side of Jesse. In the last few hours she’d sent him whole handfuls of mixed messages. Yet this was the first time she’d ever seen him truly angry.

  Not at the guerrillas who had been trying to kill them.

  Not at her commander for refusing to let her sleep until she’d answered his questions.

  Not about Mexican drug lords or being dragged into dangerous situations with too little preparation.

  No.

  Jesse was enraged because someone wasn’t paying attention to her.

  At that, another piece of the insanity going on inside her cracked.

  There was a reason that she was typically an action team of one—because no one listened to a five-six blonde woman, no matter what her credentials.

  But Jesse did.

  “Now,” Jesse still hadn’t let Gordon’s toes back onto the thick carpet. “Options other than the front door?”

  “None. Back windows are all sealed.”

  Jesse dropped him down and he almost collapsed to the ground. He grabbed her arm and raced to the window. It was a tall second story down to the ground. The grounds were a wide, open area leading down to a high iron fence along the river. Small triangular pools surrounded a trapezoidal pool, murky with algal growth and providing nothing in the way of decent cover even if they could get there.

  Ugly as sin besides.

  Jesse was standing at about the same height above the grounds that he normally flew his Little Bird helicopter. The yard was well enough lit that Jesse easily picked out the four guards out in the yard by their characteristic foreshortened shape when viewed from this height. Plus the five out front. Plus the gate guards and…

  The four down below look bored out of their skulls which gave him an idea.

  “Gunfire,” he grabbed Hannah’s hand. “Nothing big. Just enough at the corner of the building to sound like it’s coming from out front. Lead them all away.”

  “All who?”

  She must be really thrown at the moment to not see the guards. He placed a hand on either side of her face. “I’m not going to pick you up and shake you, but you need to reel it in right now.”

  Hannah nodded, but her eyes didn’t focus any better than a hoot owl’s caught out at high noon.

  He pulled her hard against his chest.

  “Ricardo says they’re coming back.”

  Jesse wasn’t sure what Michelle was talking about, but didn’t figure it meant anything good.

  “Okay, honey,” he told the top of Hannah’s head and hoped that the rest of her was listening. “We’re gonna do this together.”

  Then, instead of imagining that he was just some sort of power amplifier for her sound capabilities, he did his best to pretend there were a couple sharp bursts of gunfire at the corner of the building. He felt it flow between them in some strange way that was both inside them—yet not.

  Michelle twisted to look out the window as the guards reacted.

  Three ducked and then raced for the corner of the building. The fourth dropped his rifle and bolted away in the opposite direction.

  Jesse imagined more gunfire around the next corner. Then a little at the front gate and a final burst that would sound as if it came from the five guards waiting outside their own second balcony front door.

  The last was probably a mistake. The gate guards apparently decided that his small party had overwhelmed their guards, stolen their weapons, and were now staging the first phase of a major rescue effort. With no plan and little care, the gate guards fired at the guards still clustered on the front balcony outside the room.

  Ricardo yelped and dove for the floor as a stream of bullets blew in the front windows.

  “He isn’t hurt,” Michelle reported as the bullets, fired from below, slammed into the ceiling raining dust and plaster chips down on everyone. “He just squeals like a little girl when people shoot at him.”

  If he sent back any wry laughter, she didn’t repeat it.

  Their own guards began firing back.

  Anton stood like a statue for a long moment, until Michelle managed to tug him down to kneeling. “Three-way battle. Front gate, balcony, and the three guys hunkered at the corner.” His eyes glazed over for a moment more. “More guards coming out the front doors of the palace. There’s some firing along the perimeter fences as well. Guess we aren’t going back out the way we came in. What’s the plan, Jesse?”

  “Jesse? Me? You think I have a plan?”

  “You or me, boss. Ricardo’s still over there.”

  Jesse glanced around just in time to see Ricardo land a flying tackle on the ambassador just as someone got a better angle and more bullets flew into the room, striking lower on the walls.

  “Hit the window,” Jesse told Anton.

  “With my fist? No thanks, man.”

  “Try a chair, big guy,” Michelle dragged one over.

  Anton heaved the chair at the window facing the river and it bounced off. “Dude put bulletproof glass on this side, but not on the side facing the gate? Not real smart.”

  Hannah had recovered enough to reach out and lay a hand on the glass. He heard the same sliding set of sounds Hannah had used to find the vibration to break down the mortar of the Mexican drug-lord’s hacienda.

  “Nothing,” he didn’t need to see her shake her head to know it hadn’t worked.

  “Duck!” Michelle shouted out and they both hit the ground.

  Anton called out, “Sorry, buddy!” just as he heaved something massive at the window.

  It blew outward. The pane didn’t break, it just bowed enough to pull it out of all of its molding all the way around.

  Jesse peeked over the edge and looked down below, then he started to laugh. “Y’all be careful when you jump.”

  Anton had heaved the massive mounted elephant’s through the window. It had landed on it neck so that it faced upward and its tusks were pointed straight up into the air
.

  Michelle yanked the sheets off the big bed and tied their corners together. She handed one end to Ricardo, who barely had time to grab hold before she was out the window and sliding downward, trusting him completely. Ricardo was the last down—he’d tied off the bedsheet to something inside, but it got him close enough to the ground that he could jump safely without impaling himself.

  “I guess we’re rescuing you now,” Hannah shoved Gordon toward the window hard enough that he almost went out over the sill.

  Jesse still didn’t get what was going on with him, but Jesse wasn’t letting her go anywhere without him at her side until they straightened that out. If the ambassador had anything to do with someone molesting Hannah, he would kill the man himself and screw the rescue.

  “Anton. What’s in that building?” Hannah pointed at a large building on the edge of the property. He hadn’t noticed it before. Couldn’t imagine why Hannah cared…

  Until he saw the doors.

  Hangar doors.

  No runway. Maybe the president’s personal escape helicopter was parked in there.

  “Oh, baby,” Anton’s low statement of delight was all that he needed to hear.

  Jesse flew the Chinese Change Z-11 helicopter smoothly southeast, which fortunately had six seats.

  Hannah watched out the side window as he followed the Congo River—but from the Republic of the Congo’s side. No one appeared to have noticed their departure.

  Gordon had explained what they might face during their escape. “The DRC doesn’t have an Air Force as such that they can scramble. A few old Russian helicopters, only the Mil Mi-24 gunships would be a real threat, but they’re all engaged in the east. Six old jets that I don’t think are functional anymore. A Boeing 737 fitted out for VIP transport of the president. That’s it. He must have traded with the Chinese for this little number at some point. I expect that he kept it close at hand in case he had to escape a coup.”

  “Not a single shot fired on DRC soil by US forces,” Ricardo high-fived her at that.