It was the closet, cramped and dark, the hiding place he had run to years before.
No. I’m not a child anymore!
The truck’s engine revved. There was another explosion nearby.
Time to get out! Get out! Go!
He was upside down. Kharon managed to undo his seat belt and push to the right. His window was still open and he half fell, half crawled out.
This isn’t the way it’s supposed to go!
The fresh air relieved his claustrophobia and his head began to clear. He went back to the SUV and struggled with the front door, finally pulling it open. Rubeo dropped out of the truck. The scientist was coughing, only semiconscious. Kharon took hold of him under his arms and pulled him away from the wreck.
For a few seconds his animosity disappeared. In the confusion and chaos, Kharon sought to get them both to safety.
Guns were firing. Cars screeched. Something had gone wrong, completely wrong — the kidnapping was supposed to take place after he gave the signal at the hotel.
Why the hell had they tried to blow them up?
Rubeo crawled up the side of the road, away from the SUV. He tried to fight through the mental fog, focusing his thoughts on what he saw before him.
Dirt. Sky.
Kharon pulling him away.
Rubeo coughed. Jons was back by the vehicle, firing his weapon.
Rubeo pushed at Kharon. The young man released him and Rubeo got to his feet, pulling his gun out from under his jacket. Two men were running toward him. They had rifles.
On his side?
They were wearing brown fatigues. His men wore Western clothes.
Rubeo pointed and fired twice. Both fell.
“Neil — Neil stay with me!” Rubeo shouted. He rose to his feet. A dozen men swarmed from the other side of the road. Jons was firing ferociously.
Rubeo spun around. There was no one nearby. He could see a wall with houses behind it some forty or fifty yards away.
“We can retreat to cover!” he yelled to Jons. “Let’s go!”
A fusillade of bullets sent him diving for cover. Kharon crawled next to him.
“Stay near me,” said Rubeo. He began to run. He sensed Kharon near him, but temporarily lost track of Jons. He threw himself down as he reached the wall.
Jons ran to him. “Over the wall, over the wall!” yelled the bodyguard. As he yelled, he picked Rubeo up and boosted him over the wall. Rubeo tried to land on his feet but stumbled, his legs giving way. He fell onto his back, momentarily stunned.
Kharon scrambled over the wall next to him.
“Guns!” yelled Kharon.
Rubeo pushed over, trying to get up. He couldn’t see what Kharon was pointing at, but raised his weapon anyway. Then he turned back to see Jons jumping over the wall.
“Our other SUV is coming,” yelled the bodyguard. “Go right.”
Rubeo started in that direction, then realized that Kharon was still behind him. “Come on.”
They began running toward a dirt alleyway twenty yards away. They cut up it to the left, Jons trailing behind to watch their backs. Rubeo ran toward a cemetery filled with mausoleums and surrounded by a low wall. Winded, he collapsed against the wall.
Kharon helped him to his feet. Clambering over the wall, Rubeo steadied himself against a nearby tomb, taking stock.
I’m a scientist, not a soldier. Can I do this?
You can do anything you need to, to survive.
Jons came over after them.
“If we go up this way there’s another street,” he told them. “Our other truck will meet us there. I have the helicopter coming in case.”
“Who attacked us?” asked Rubeo.
“I don’t know.”
“Were we hit by a missile?”
“May have been a grenade. Or maybe an IED,” said Jons. “God damn place is going all to shit.”
“What about Joker?” asked Rubeo. The Filipino had been in the back with Kharon.
Jons shook his head. “Can you run?” he asked Rubeo.
“Yes.”
Jons turned to Kharon. “You?”
“Yup.”
They sprinted for a hundred yards or so, running up the hill to the knoll at the center of the cemetery. But once more Rubeo began to tire, and after another ten yards his pace was nearly a walk.
“The helo is coming,” Jons told him. “Come on. We’ll wait out by the street.”
They ran under a row of trees and stopped at the edge of a walled yard. Rubeo dropped to his knees, holding the gun. Kharon moved back next to him. He wore an angry expression.
“It’s all right,” Rubeo told him.
“Truck is coming up,” said Jons. “Let’s move to it. Helo can shadow us.”
They rose together and began running toward the road. As they did, there was more gunfire. Rubeo ducked back and turned. A gunman wielding a pistol jumped over a low wall in the alley behind them. Rubeo zeroed his pistol and fired.
The man fell. Kharon took off, running to him despite Rubeo’s shout. The young man scooped up the gun and returned. Rubeo pushed his legs in the direction of the helicopter’s heavy beat. After he’d gone about twenty yards, he looked behind him, but couldn’t see Jons.
Kharon caught up. He pointed his gun at Rubeo.
“Careful where you’re pointing that,” Rubeo told him. He took a step back against the wall. There was a flash above — Rubeo glanced toward the sky in time to see a red fireball flash and turn into a black fist above him. Then metal began raining down.
The helicopter had just been shot down.
“You’re mine,” Kharon said, jumping on him.
Stunned, Rubeo raised his gun. Kharon hit him in the temple, then stepped on his wrist. Rubeo squirmed to get away, but Kharon hit him again. This time Rubeo’s eyes closed for a moment.
When they opened, two men were next to him, AK–47s in their hands.
2
Being a senator had a number of advantages, and one of them was immediate access to any military officer who had even the faintest dream of making general — by law and long tradition, promotion to the star rank required approval by the Senate.
Colonels tended to be very aware of this. So when Ginella’s aide in the outer office told Zen that he didn’t think the colonel was available, Zen told him to pick up the phone and try anyway.
The colonel appeared so quickly Zen wondered if she had even bothered to hang up.
“Senator, I’m pleased that you’re interested in our squadron,” she told him. “Won’t you come in?”
“Glad to.”
Zen couldn’t remember meeting Ginella when he was in the service, but he nodded agreeably as she mentioned several generals he knew, deciding he had nothing to lose by letting her drop names.
“Would you like to see the aircraft?” she said finally, running out of names.
“I’d like to, but unfortunately I’m pressed for time tonight,” said Zen. “I have to catch a flight in ten minutes.”
“I see.”
“I’m interested in the incident yesterday, when your squadron was covering the retrieval of the allied commando unit.”
“Yes, the SAS troops. We were up for quite a while,” said Ginella.
“And then you lost one of your planes.”
Ginella’s face clouded. “I did.”
“Why was Captain Mako flying in your squadron?”
“Captain Mako? He was a substitute pilot,” she said defensively. “He… came to the squadron at my request.”
“That’s a little unusual, isn’t it?”
“Not if you’re undermanned. I think he was an excellent pilot. He had experience in the A–10E before any of my pilots, or myself. And I think he’s clearly a good combat pilot.”
“So do I,” said Zen. “So what happened on the mission?”
“Are you here in an official capacity, Senator? Your tone seems a little formal.”
“I’m interested in knowing what happened,” said Zen. “I’m interested in making sure that Captain Mako gets a fair shake.”
“He’s not in any trouble that I know of,” said Ginella.
“Good.”
“I assume you’re referring to the fact that he passed over the area the missile was fired from just prior to the shoot-down,” said Ginella.
“I understand he did.”
“He missed the missile launcher. Whether he would have seen it in time or not, I don’t know.”
“You’re sure he missed it?”
“I have to tell you, Senator, it’s difficult to believe the missile wasn’t launched from that point. So by definition, if he didn’t see it—”
“What do the reconnaissance videos show?”
“Unfortunately, the closest UAV was not in a position to capture that portion of the battlefield. The others show just the general area. And the images from his plane are inclusive as well.”
“I think any account of the incident should indicate that,” said Zen. “But it should also indicate what he said.”
“I’m sure it will.”
“None of your other pilots saw the missile.”
“We weren’t close enough.”
Zen nodded. “As for personal feelings, I hope none will enter into any of your reports, or actions. One way or another.”
Ginella stared at him but said nothing.
“Great,” said Zen finally. “I’m glad that will be the case.”
He started to wheel away.
“Personal feelings have no place in battle,” said Ginella.
“Agreed, Colonel,” said Zen, not bothering to look back. “Though in my experience, they often seem to intrude.”