Chance's Rule

by Reese Gabriel

  The trouble was, his superiors were not about to sign off on it.

  What was the saying, better to ask forgiveness than permission?

  Time to fly solo, in more ways than one.

  Slipping away from the others would be a simple enough matter in the chaos. Finding a fighter jet, now that would be a little more complicated. Almost as complicated as getting Matubu to believe it was not just one single aircraft gunning for him but the entire air force.

  * * * * *

  The refugees were entering the village in a steady stream by now. Piecing together the various reports from the victims, Kinzie had learned that General Matubu was battling some kind of insurrection in the capital. Civilians, as always, were getting caught in the crossfire.

  There was fear that the violence would draw closer. M’Benga had been begging for the last half hour for her to join the healthier refugees and flee for the border to the south. That was nonsense. As long as she was needed, she would stay put. If the fighting did reach the village, she would take her chances.

  Speaking of which, she was more and more desperate to hear from her Chance. Strange to think of him as mine, she thought. He belonged to no one, answered to no one.

  No one except the voice on the other end of his phone, that is.

  Who the hell was it who had the power to call him away at will? Some kind of crime boss or smuggler king?

  If Matubu’s government fell, how would that affect his business? Likely he would find an in with the new leadership. His kind always did.

  Funny, as much as she wanted to hear his voice, she was more and more resolved not to see him. She needed to know he was okay, happy in his world. Then she would be able to go on, happy in hers.

  M’Benga shook his head and looked up from the wounded man lying on the table, his leg torn open. M’Benga was covered in blood, as was she. “We won’t be able to save them all,” he said. “And even if we had the blood supplies, we’ve only a few vials of morphine left.”

  Chance would know what to do, she thought. He would bring them more of everything. “We’ll go on,” she said stubbornly. “We have no choice.”

  “You are right,” he said grimly, the chorus of moans from the other victims rising to a crescendo behind him.

  Kinzie felt a chill down her spine. She was so tired. She wanted Chance.

  Arms to hold me tight, she thought, hands to bind me, eyes to fix me lovingly in place.

  Was that poetry? It should be. Chance was no poem, he was a riddle. And the beauty of him was that he would never be solved.

  Not by her at least.

  * * * * *

  It was his lucky day. Matubu had been either too shortsighted or too overconfident to put the airfield just outside town at the top of his list of “must keep” strategic locations. A mere handful of soldiers were protecting it. He dealt with them easily, one by one, commando style.

  From here he would have to improvise. Ideally he would find a gassed-up jet ready to go or even an attack helicopter. Barring that, he would need the help of any support personnel who might have decided to ride out the storm.

  A cursory tour revealed no one about. Finally, in one of the hangars, he struck pay dirt. Three pilots and a couple of mechanics in overalls were playing poker, a big pile of crumpled Luzumbian money in the pot.

  So they were looking for profit, were they?

  “Knock, knock,” said Chance.

  One of the pilots had a pistol, which he promptly drew from his holster and aimed at Chance. The others were gesturing at him, none too pleasantly.

  Chance set his weapon down on the ground, letting them know he meant no harm. “Anyone speak English?”

  “I do, American dog,” said the one with the gun.

  So much for a friendly start.

  Not to worry. He was carrying the universal friendship maker.

  “There’s money in here.” Chance held up his backpack. “It’s yours if you give me one of those sorry-ass MIGs over there so I can blow the hell out of General Matubu.”

  The pilot translated into Luzumbian. The others started laughing, with the exception of one of them, who had a counteroffer.

  “Lieutenant Gumula says ‘why don’t we kill you and keep the money’,” the pilot translated.

  It was a reasonable question. “Tell him if he kills me he won’t be able to get the ten million dollars my government is prepared to offer for your assistance.”

  No one was laughing anymore. Chance had no idea if he could get ten million dollars but he would cross that bridge when he got to it. On a roll now, he added, “I’ll make it twenty if a couple of you boys go airborne and back me up.”

  The pilot frowned. “You want us to bomb Matubu? That is suicide.”

  “Sounds bad, I agree, but Matubu’s been put on the endangered species list by Washington, if you catch my drift.”

  “Prove it,” the pilot challenged.

  “Sure,” Chance said dryly. “Let’s call my government so they can confirm. I’m sure the president himself will fly in and brief you.”

  “I don’t like you,” the pilot decided now.

  “Don’t have to, just as long as you like Matubu less.”

  “Matubu,” growled one of the mechanics, spitting on the ground.

  Heads nodded around the table.

  The pilot was a harder sell. “If your government is doing this, why do you need us?”

  Another great question. Time for another bluff.

  “We need some local flavor. By the way, I bet there would be some nice promotions for you once the provisional government is in power.”

  One of the mechanics said something in Luzumbian. The pilot said something affirmative in reply.

  “We will let these decide,” he said, holding up a pair of hand-carved dice.

  Chance grinned. “Fine by me. Chance is my middle name.”

  First and last name too, though he kept that to himself.

  They rolled the dice three times, different carved figures coming up each time. He had no idea if he was winning or losing. Finally the lead pilot said to him, deadpan, “You just bought yourself an air force, American dog.”

  It wasn’t exactly the most inspiring offer of support Chance had ever heard but it would have to do under the circumstances.

  A half hour later they were airborne. He had had just enough time to get in contact with his team on the ground, letting them know what was about to go down.

  In the process, he learned the tide was turning, at least a little. By a stroke of good luck they had managed to get hold of the main radio station and were now broadcasting announcements from the provisional government, calling on all citizens to rise against Matubu.

  So far it was little more than words but these things had a way of growing legs if you finessed them right. A little show of force over the presidential palace on the part of his new air force wouldn’t hurt either.

  The Soviet fighter plane he was flying was a mess, more fit for the scrap heap than the wild blue yonder. He made it work though. There was no way he would give the locals any opportunities to ridicule American flying skills.

  It had been awhile since he had been up in the air with a payload strapped underneath him. A man cleared his head in a hurry at a time like this.

  Priorities fell into place fast, usually in the form of fleeting images.

  In his case Kinzie came first, second…and last.

  His heart ached. It was as if he needed the whole sky to unpack his feelings, so tightly bound up for so long. Damn it, she was more than just a lover or a friend. Why hadn’t he seen that sooner? He had fought with her, he had lived with her—for short explosive periods, at least—and he missed her whenever they were apart.

  And he worried about her. Oh how he worried.

  In fact, as soon as he finished things up here he was going to find the cavalry and snatch her up. No ifs, ands or buts.

  God help anyone who stood in his way.

  His breathing slow
ed now, reflexes kicking up to double time. The first target was in sight, a Russian-made battle tank outside the gates of the sprawling, white brick palace. Steady. Another breath, a slight motion on the stick, the push of a button, confirmation on the radio and it was gone in a puff of smoke.

  A second tank was gone a minute later.

  Like shooting fish in a barrel.

  “Tango One, do you copy?”

  “Go ahead, Tango Two,” he replied to the pilot with the pistol, now his wingman.

  “We have word from the ground. Matubu has fled. Repeat, Matubu has fled the capital, over.”

  Chance’s heart skipped a beat. He acknowledged and then asked the poignant question as to his direction of escape.

  “He’s gone south. We think he will try to cross the border at Mataburu.”

  Damn it all to hell. That would put Kinzie right straight in his path.

  “Copy that, Tango Two,” he said, adding in the same breath, “Tango One leaving formation, over and out.”

  By his calculations he would have just enough fuel to intercept Matubu before he reached Kinzie. Not to mention more than enough weaponry to blow him straight to hell where he belonged.

  * * * * *

  “Kinzie, we must go,” M’Benga implored. “The soldiers are within a dozen kilometers. They say Matubu is with them and they are destroying everything in their path.”

  “I’m not going, M’Benga, and that is that.” They were out of morphine and the clinic was overflowing with bodies. She had long passed the point of exhaustion. “Look around you. We are already swimming in death. Why run from it?”

  From Kinzie’s point of view she had been running her whole life, trying to wish death away, trying to heal it. It was time to face it head on.

  “You would think differently if Chance were here.”

  “If Chance were here he wouldn’t let me think a damn thing. He would rush in and carry me off on a white stallion. Where he would find one in this country, I don’t know, but he would,” she fumed.

  The remark struck them both as funny and they promptly began to laugh. It was like a shot of adrenaline, exactly what Kinzie needed to keep going.

  Assuming the elders let her.

  They were standing in the doorway now, nearly a dozen strong.

  “What the hell is this?” she demanded.

  M’Benga’s expression shifted back to grim. “I am sorry, Doctor, but this is your escort out of the village. It appears you are going to leave, whether you want to or not.”

  “The hell you say. Don’t you even think of coming near me.” She picked up a scalpel just as the explosions began.

  “Now will you believe it is too dangerous to stay?” M’Benga cried as they ducked for cover.

  “Yes,” she said, though she didn’t feel in danger. In fact she had the oddest sense that Chance was very nearby.

  * * * * *

  Chance was flying on fumes. The goddamn jeeps were scattering like cockroaches off the road and he was going to have trouble getting them all. No telling which one Matubu was in. A few of the diehards were firing machine guns at him. Might as well be pea shooters. Five of the half-ton trucks were already in flames and the sixth was in the process of flipping over into the ditch.

  No way would he leave even one of those bastards alive to go after Kinzie. Matubu’s soldiers were famous for rape. Not on his watch, no fucking way.

  The jeeps disintegrated one after the other.

  Too late, he saw the second column coming up from the rear.

  Son of a fucking bitch.

  There was a limo flying the state flag, flanked by a cordon of armored cars. It had to be Matubu. Did he hope to escape after all this?

  Keep dreaming.

  The MIG’s fuel was gone. Chance could still eject but he had to make sure he stayed in the cockpit long enough to direct the plane, nice and steady.

  Right down the bastard’s throat.

  His odds of survival were small but it wasn’t about him now.

  Hitting the eject button, he tried to reach her one last time, in his mind.

  Kinzie, honey, you have to make it, you have to live…

  * * * * *

  Kinzie tried to figure out what was happening. The news was confusing, helicopters dropping in from the sky, freshly arrived US Marines with orders to evacuate all nationals. Just up the road from the clinic a convoy of Matubu’s troops had been killed along with the general himself. A single fighter jet had taken them on, destroying the bulk of them before crashing into Matubu’s limousine.

  Miraculously, the pilot had ejected and was still alive, though his life hung by a thread. Kinzie volunteered to go to the scene, providing aid until the medical evacuation chopper arrived.

  Her initial sense that Chance was close by had only increased with the passing minutes. It was coupled now with an ever-rising fear for his life.

  That he was the pilot of the crashed airplane was something she would never have guessed in a million years.

  When they brought her to where he lay, she nearly collapsed into the arms of her military escort.

  “Doctor, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Indeed she had.

  Her heart seized up, seeing him like that—his body twisted and broken, his face covered in blood.

  I’m a professional, she told herself fiercely. I will do my job. I will.

  But she was also a woman in love and maybe that was what the moment called for more than medical science.

  “Chance, can you hear me?” She fell to her knees beside him, taking his hand. Moving any part of an injured body was the wrong thing to do, it would only add to the trauma, but reason wasn’t governing her. Not now, not with him.

  “I’m sorry about how I left things between us. I don’t have any right to make you something you aren’t. I’m a grown-up, I should know better. It’s just so hard, because I want more, damn it, I do and I don’t know how to meet you halfway. I’m afraid, I guess. It’s just safer to push you away. Could I have done more to love you? Could I have given you the strength to help you pull through this now? I don’t know. I really care about you, I love you and I want to commit to you, it’s just that you make it so hard. You’re so damn stubborn. Worse than me, if that’s possible. What do you need, Chance? Tell me what you need.”

  The medics were hovering over him, checking his vitals. One of them shook his head.

  “Doctor.” A hand was on her shoulder, gripping. “It’s too late.”

  “No,” she said fiercely. “There’s more we can do, there has to be.”

  “Get her out of here,” one of the medics said.

  Two of the soldiers pulled her back. She heard the choked screams from the back of her throat. She would have cried but there were no tears left. Africa will do that to a person.

  Everything was a blur after that. They drove her back to the village. Mournful cries echoed from hut to hut as word spread of Chance’s death. Already the dance was beginning, the chanting for their beloved fallen M’kalu, slow and rhythmic—death as a part of life, an endless cycle of renewal.

  It did not feel that way for Kinzie.

  As far as she was concerned, there was no rebirth at hand, only survival. Yes, she would go on but it would have to be without her crushed and broken heart.

  M’Benga found her packing her clothes a short while later. She was going through the motions—mechanical, numb.

  They might as well have been a stranger’s things, a stranger’s life.

  “You are wanted at the ceremony,” he said gently.

  “I can’t,” she said, more exhausted than she had ever been in her life. “Please tell them I am sorry.”

  “But you must,” he said. “Tolumbo has commanded it.”

  Tolumbo was the village medicine man, not a person to be trifled with. Still, Kinzie had her limits. “Go in my place,” she said. “I give you my blessing and my prayers to take with you.”

  “No.” M�
�Benga’s eyes took on a glow she had never seen before. “You must come yourself.”

  “Why?” she asked, terrified of giving in to the wave of emotions about to engulf her.

  M’Benga seemed as overcome as she. “Because,” he said, his voice clear as rain but deep as the mists. “M’kalu has not crossed the great river. He is stuck…and you must bring him back.”

  Chapter Four

  “Dr. Sanders, there is a man here to see you.”

  Kinzie didn’t bother to look up from her desk in the dilapidated clinic office. It was about a million degrees outside, the air conditioner was on the fritz again and she had a whole stack of reports yet to write for the latest batch of patients she had seen today. So many sicknesses, so many prescriptions issued.

  As if they would be able to afford to fill them. There had to be a way to get more of those samples from the drug companies. Not much interest in cultivating a doctor like her though, whose patients had no insurance.

  “Tell him to take a number like everyone else, Gloria.”

  “Um, this one seems special,” Gloria drawled in her lilting Southern accent.

  “Everyone’s special,” Kinzie retorted, wiping the sweat from her brow.

  Gloria wouldn’t let it go. “He said you would react this way. He wanted me to tell you to go ahead and take a chance on him.”

  Kinzie’s pen froze midstroke at the word “chance”.

  “He’s handsome as sin,” Gloria added, her voice taking on a little sing-song tone. “And he brought these.”

  The pleasingly plump brunette nurse pulled out a dozen bright red roses from behind her back. Kinzie’s heart slammed in her chest. It was not possible. “I don’t know anyone who would bring me flowers. I want you to call the police.”

  “I would rather you didn’t do that.” He was standing behind Gloria, dwarfing her. It was as if he had come out of nowhere.

  Kinzie took a breath and gasped.

  Chance?

  But…he was dead. She had seen it with her own eyes. Kinzie tried to stand and that’s when everything went black. Her body surrendered to too much heat and too little sleep.

  Somewhere at the end of a long tunnel she heard a voice as a pair of very strong, very familiar arms gathered her up before she could collapse to the floor.