The silencer had been punctured in a skid a few kilometers back, but the deafening noise was something she could live with. It would only be a temporary inconvenience. In a few minutes she would be in her hide for the day and then could repair the damaged machine at her leisure.
She sideslipped around a patch of gravel and with relief saw the light of the open space ahead. The riverbed widened at this point and the gorge fell away, but shortly afterward there was a cave system. A quick dash across the open space and then she would be under cover.
She skidded to a halt under the final protection of the overhang. The noise was still deafening.
She looked ahead. The open space appeared to be clear.
Out of routine, she looked behind.
As she looked, a helicopter flew around the last bend and hovered a few hundred meters behind her.
Oshima's mouth went dry. She made an animal sound and gunned her machine into the open space. She was a small target traveling at speed, and if she moved very fast and zigzagged she could still get away.
She was halfway across when a salvo of 2.5 rockets blew the rock away from under her.
Oshima flew through the air and crashed into the ground. Dazed but still conscious, she saw that the natural amphitheater made by one side of the gorge and the riverbed was ringed with paratroopers.
She tried to move, but her legs would not respond.
She raised her head and saw that one leg was twisted and broken. The other limb was missing below the knee.
A figure had dismounted from the helicopter and was walking toward her.
Oshima struggled to draw her pistol, but her hand arm would not respond. She raised her arm, and her hand just hung there from its broken wrist.
The figure came closer, and now she could recognize him.
Fitzduane.
She tried to move her left hand, and with relief felt some movement in the fingers.
She eased them around to the small of her back and felt for her backup pistol.
She saw Fitzduane bend down and pick up something. He made a move, and she saw the scabbard cast aside and the blade glint in the sun. Her katana, kept always strapped to her back and now torn loose in her fall.
How many people had she killed with that blade? Too many to recall. One of them had been Christian de Guevain, Fitzduane's closest friend. It would be good to add Fitzduane himself to the list. If he was going to use the sword, then he would have to come close, and she could not miss.
Oshima was still bringing up the pistol when Fitzduane raised the sword and severed her head.
29
Fitzduane jogged through ArlingtonCemetery.
Autumn was in the air. It was cooler to run. That evening he would board the aircraft that would take him back to Ireland with Kathleen.
It was a nice feeling. He would miss America, but it was time to go home.
Home. The best of words. The best of places.
At home you could build. In life, so often you had to destroy. You might not want to, but that was just the way it was. You had to fight to preserve what was worthwhile. And fighting, no matter how you did it, meant destruction. But there were times when, despite the consequences, you had to take a stand.
Freedom was not free. That pretty much said it all.
He saw Cochrane as he approached Nick Rowe's grave. They ran the last few hundred yards together in an easy silence..
Fitzduane placed several stones on Nick Rowe's headstone.
"From the Devil's Footprint?" said Cochrane.
Fitzduane nodded.
They walked together. Arlington was quiet and nearly empty and very beautiful.
"Well, you got me fitter," said Cochrane.
Fitzduane laughed. "How is the fight going to save the Task Force?"
"Lots of promises and little action," said Cochrane. "Counterterrorism isn't much of a vote-getter, and the average person thinks it's covered."
But it isn't, thought Fitzduane. And with the Cold War over America was dropping its guard. Forgery, economic terrorism, infiltration, selective assassination, the threat of weapons of mass destruction, the emergence of a whole host of new nuclear nations, fundamentalism in its various forms. Third World countries wanting a piece of the pie the easy way. There were some seriously bad people out there.
The list of real and immediate threats was a long one. But the new dangers were complex, interwoven, and frequently not readily apparent — unlike the clearcut simplicity of the Cold War. And people wanted to get on with their lives, collect the peace dividend, and hope for the best.
Only a few really understood.
Human nature.
"We're getting through to some people on the Hill," said Cochrane, "and it doesn't take too many to make a difference. Meanwhile, we'll hang in there. We'll just show up."
Fitzduane smiled. "I guess that's how this country get started."
He shook Cochrane's hand. It was a stronger grip than he remembered.
"Hell of a thing, Lee," he said. "You are fitter."
"Keep the faith," said Cochrane.
"There's not really much else to do when you come right down to it," said Fitzduane. "But right now, Lee, stop plotting. I'm going home."
They ran together to the Iwo Jima memorial and then headed their separate ways.
— THE END —
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