Inside the other helicopter, Comsky stared in amazement as the medics got to work. He'd heard about the new UH-60 aerial medevac helicopters but had never seen one. The aircraft had more equipment than many emergency rooms. Already the onboard medics had rigged suction into Riley's lungs and had an IV going, trying to replace some of the lost blood. It was going to be touch and go, but Riley's odds had improved dramatically.
The medevac helicopter landed at the helipad of the base hospital. 579 was directed to land outside a hangar on the main airstrip. Jean Long protested that 579 should land at the hospital also, since she had other wounded on board. The request was denied. The airfield tower promised there would be ambulances waiting at the hangar.
As she hovered above the tarmac and brought the aircraft down slowly, the helicopter was surrounded by air force police cars with their lights flashing. The helicopter came to rest and she shut down the throttle. The doors to the hangar swung open and a ground guide gestured for her to roll in. As soon as the aircraft cleared the doors, they were shut.
When the blades halted, Mitchell opened the cargo door and stepped out. Two men in three-piece suits were waiting for him. Mitchell sighed. The spooks were here to take over. The one in apparent charge stepped forward. "I understand you've got some more wounded on board."
"Yeah, that's right. Three."
"The ambulances are right outside. I'll have them bring in the stretchers." The man gestured to his partner. "The rest of your people need to stay on board for a few minutes."
The unidentified man looked at Mitchell. "We need to keep things under wraps. I can't tell you all that has gone on, but suffice it to say that things are pretty screwed up. It's my job to do as much damage control as possible."
Mitchell didn't care. He walked away from the man and went around to the right side of the helicopter. He gave his wife a big hug and kiss as she stepped out of her door.
Wilson watched with sadness as the men in the suits escorted Meng out of the Tunnel. He shifted his attention as the man who had led the party into the Tunnel more than an hour ago stopped in front of him. "I don't need to tell you, but everything that has happened with Dragon Sim-13 is highly classified. You will discuss this with no one."
If you didn't need to tell me, then why did you? Wilson thought sardonically. But he dared not say it. These men were scary. "Right. Not a word."
As the door shut behind Meng, Wilson thought about how little he had known about the man other than his brilliance at programming.
Before the men came to take him away, Meng had revealed to Wilson the reasons he had sent the go code words. Wilson sympathized with Meng, although it didn't appear that all that effort and blood had achieved anything.
Colonel Moore was ordered not to brief even his own commander on the events of the past twelve hours. He hated the smug spook who relayed that information. This was an event that was going to be swept under the rug.
As Moore drove home, he wondered idly whether the team had really blown the pipeline.
Team 3 was intact again. O'Shaugnesy, C.J., Olinski, and Riley were in the same ward of the hospital. The rest of the team was gathered around the beds. Even the presence of the spooks outside the ward door couldn't put a damper on the feelings inside.
Mitchell's side had been rebandaged, and he now stood at the foot of Riley's bed with the other ambulatory members of Team 3. His wife was close by his side, her hand wrapped around his. Through the windows to their left, a new sun was rising over the mountains of South Korea. They'd been standing in the same positions for forty-five minutes.
Finally, their wait was over. Dave Riley blearily opened his eyes. His entire chest and stomach hurt like hell. He saw Mitchell and his wife and the other team members and managed a bleak smile. He painfully tried to whisper something.
Mitchell came forward and put his ear next to Riley's lips.
Riley tried again. "I told you I'd see you in Korea."
POSTSCRIPT
Therefore it is said that one may know how to win,
but cannot necessarily do so."
The newspaper was filled with news of the American invasion of Panama. The old man had no time for that. His interest was drawn to a smaller article.
Meng rubbed his old scar as he read. Members of Congress were reacting with outrage to a report that the president had sent a high-level diplomatic mission to China only a few weeks after the Tiananmen Square massacre. The trip by Mr. Eagleburger and Mr. Scowcroft had violated the president's own ban on such liaisons, the paper reported. Additionally, the secretary of state had just told reporters that a trip made last week was the first high-level contact the administration had had with the government in China. The media did not like being lied to.
Meng shook his head. He knew why that first trip had occurred so soon after the massacre, but he would never be able to tell anyone. The Americans still used his knowledge, but now he was well guarded and had no access to anything of a critical nature.
His stomach twisted in disgust as he continued reading the article. The administration also had just announced negotiation of a $300 million sale of three satellites to China. The president was determined to maintain commercial relations with the People's Republic of China.
The almighty dollar ruled. Meng wondered what would happen when the dam finally broke in China. How would the present American course of action look then?
Meng knelt on his praying mat and said a prayer to the souls of the men, American and Chinese, who had died because of his manipulations. He had done what he could and failed. It made all those deaths seem much less worthy.