A bizarre feeling of gratefulness swept through Graham, as if he owed the men who had almost pushed her to her death great thanks for saving her life.
Dallas had been holding Graham down, knowing instinctively that if he ran into the clearing it would mean death for them all. But with an anguished cry, Graham slipped from her grasp and scrambled to his feet, his mind intent on getting beneath the helicopter in a doomed effort to catch Susan if she fell.
Dallas lunged out and tackled him, pulling him to the ground again as Susan flailed the air 200 feet overhead. Susan’s entire weight was supported now by nothing more than the hand of her kidnapper, and he was having trouble pulling her up. Dallas could feel her own legs moving for Susan, as if she could propel her up and get her leg over the skid.
Slowly Susan succeeded, wrapping her leg around the skid and rotating on top of it, letting the man pull her up so she could stand on the skid beside him. She tried to swing her left leg into the door, but her right foot slipped at the same moment and she fell backward in what appeared to be slow motion. Dallas could see Susan yank at the man’s arm and pull him down as well. She saw him lose his balance, unable to shake loose from her desperate grip. Two hundred feet up the man grabbed helplessly for something to hold on to, but Susan’s body was already accelerating away from the helicopter, her iron grip taking her assailant with her as they fell headfirst. Their bodies accelerated toward the wreckage below, legs and hands kicking uselessly.
From Graham Tash’s point of view, the fall lasted forever. He lay transfixed in agony, watching his wife as her dress streamed indecently over her head like a blindfold until she thudded into the mass of jagged metal below.
The sound of the two bodies striking the razor-sharp wreckage at nearly 200 miles per hour permanently imprinted itself on the minds of the observers. It was followed by an unearthly howl that emanated from the depths of Graham Tash’s soul. Both fists were against his mouth, his body shaking, as Dallas held onto him.
“Get down! Get down, Doc!” Dallas snapped. “Or they’ll be back to get all of us! She’s gone!” She enfolded Tash, pulling him down and falling on him.
The helicopter descended. Dallas could feel the rest of her group hunkering down in terrified silence, and she could feel Tash’s grief turning to homicidal rage.
Robert MacCabe had watched the unfolding drama in utter disbelief, too caught up in the absolute horror of what he saw to analyze why. The obscene sound of bodies colliding with the wreckage had all but frozen him in place, his eyes recording what his mind could not accept as real.
The Huey reached the surface of the clearing and touched down. The door facing the hidden group opened, and two men in business suits leapt out, both of them moving toward the spot where the two bodies lay. Halfway across the twenty-yard distance, the first man stopped and looked up, scanning the sky in Robert’s direction, his gaze brushing past their hiding area. His face, for one moment, was clearly visible. Robert could feel his stomach contract into an icy knot. He recognized the face. It was one of his Hong Kong assailants.
Suddenly it all made twisted sense: It was all about him! The attack on the 747, the crash, the loss of over 200 lives, the arrival of the helicopter, and the murder of Susan Tash, all designed to prevent him from divulging information he didn’t possess.
He wasn’t prepared for the tidal wave of guilt that suddenly rolled over him, muting even his fear of the murderous bunch, who were apparently trying to decide what to do with the two bodies in the wreckage.
Robert watched in a fog as Susan Tash’s body was wrapped in some sort of plastic sheeting and carried to the helicopter. He could hear Dallas struggling to keep Graham Tash quiet and on the ground as he tried to break free, presumably for a suicidal run to retrieve his wife’s remains.
The three men came back for their comrade, hoisting his wrapped body to the Huey in the same manner and tossing it in on the blood-slicked metal floor before climbing in themselves. The helicopter lifted off and flew in a slow circle as it climbed, then turned southwest, moving out rapidly over the jungle along the ridgeline, away from Da Nang.
For several minutes there was no sound at the edge of the crash site except the agonized, muffled sobs of Graham Tash. Dallas released him at last and he got to his feet in a stupor, stumbling forward to the spot where his wife’s ruined body had lain.
Dallas got up as well, but could not force herself to move. She heard several of the others coming up behind her, but her eyes remained on Graham and the surreal things she had just witnessed. Her whole body was shaking, her mind reeling. They were survivors of a plane crash, and the men in the helicopter were their rescuers… weren’t they?
Dallas heard someone move beside her. She forced herself to glance over and recognized a badly shaken Robert MacCabe. She looked back toward the wreckage, her voice coming as little more than a strained croak.
“Why in God’s name…?”
Robert said nothing at first, but Dallas could hear him breathing hard.
Dan Wade was on his feet, leaning on Steve Delaney as they came up behind Dallas. Britta had described to Dan part of what was happening before the words caught in her throat. She finished as the helicopter disappeared
“Who,” Dallas said behind a cascade of tears, “who were those animals?”
Robert MacCabe answered quietly, his eyes still on the remains of the 747’s cockpit. “The ones who killed the captain and blinded Dan.”
“What?” Dan gasped. “What do you mean?”
Robert didn’t answer, but Dan grabbed for the approximate location of his voice, finding his shoulders and turning him around. “I said, WHAT DO YOU MEAN? WHO ARE THEY?”
“I don’t know,” Robert replied, his eyes staring blankly at Dan with a gaze the copilot couldn’t see.
“Come on, man, ANSWER ME! What were they after?”
His face bloodless, his eyes pools of agony, Robert MacCabe sighed and looked down, barely mouthing a reply.
“Me.”
CHAPTER 21
“Where are you, Kat?” Jake Rhoades asked over the satellite phone.
“Standing near the Air Vietnam counter at the airport. I’ve already bought my ticket to Ho Chi Minh City — Saigon, by any other name,” Kat reported. “I’m leaving in about an hour, if it’s on time. I’ve still got to book a flight on to Da Nang.”
“Okay,” Jake replied. “You’re formally assigned to this case as on-scene commander. That title won’t last more than a day, but it will get us started. But you said you’re leaving in an hour?”
“Yes. Maybe. They won’t confirm they’re on time.”
“Kat, I’m not sure an hour gives us enough time for the diplomatic clearances. We’ve requested help from the State Department on getting you into ’Nam, but so far the Southeast Asia desk hasn’t come through.”
Kat hesitated for a second, letting the name of the State Department merge with the image of Jordan James, her father’s lifelong friend and the newly appointed acting Secretary of State.
“I think I know who to call. Don’t ask me who. I’ll call you right back.”
Arlin Schoen turned his eyes from the passing beauty of the Vietnamese coastal mountains below and looked at one of his men in the back of the Huey. He was leaning over the bloody remains of Rick Barnes and holding something up.