Silence, then she said, “I’m a reporter.” For the first time, he heard a note of uncertainty in her voice.
“You chose sides when you called in this report, Miss Drake,” he said coldly, tired of her equivocations over the years. “Now make up your mind — are you going to let Murphy die to preserve your precious neutrality? Or are you going to finish what you started?”
“Fuck you. Fuck you all.”
Busby waited for the click to indicate that she’d hung up. The line remained open. Finally, he said, “I’ll be right back.”
For a moment, Pamela was tempted to pitch the telephone down the hill. Only two things prevented her. First, the possibility that the noise might alert the two above her. And second, the very faint possibility that Lab Rat might be able to do something. At least he had taken her call — she hadn’t been sure he’d do that.
The pilot of the SAR helo listened to the transmission from USS Jefferson and then turned to his copilot. “Did we even bring it?”
“Yep. Seemed like a good idea, being over land and all.”
“And I suppose Chief Rodgers knows how to work that thing.”
The copilot smiled. “Oh, he knows. He’s always wanted to be a combat gunner instead of an air-sea rescue guy.”
Pamela heard a buzz behind her, and swiped at it with her hand. The damn mosquitoes — that’s all she needed on top of everything else. She turned around, intending to catch it and crush it. So maybe she couldn’t get her hands on the Macedonians, at least she could kill their insects.
There was nothing there. Puzzled, she checked around her, then realized what she was hearing. A smile broke out on her face. It was still a long way off, and her hearing was still dulled from the bombing, but she could recognize it now. The helicopter.
Murphy was quicker to recognize the sound than Pamela had been, trained as he was as an aviator to recognize the sound of help on the way. But he kept his eyes fixed on the Macedonian face, willing his own expression not to give anything away. He studied the man’s features for a moment, wondering why he had let him live this long.
The realization, when it came, struck him like a thunderbolt. Something about the man’s features, something a beard had covered earlier. Realization dawned. “I know you,” Murphy said wonderingly. “I’ve seen you before.”
The man shifted the gun slightly, dropping from Murphy’s face to his midsection. “I was waiting to see if you would realize that,” he said calmly. “When you didn’t recognize me immediately, I knew we were still safe.”
“Oh, I certainly do,” Murphy said, now completely convinced. “You’re not a Macedonian at all. I’ve seen you, but not at the POW camp. You’re on General Arkady’s staff.”
Fifteen feet below, Pamela heard Murphy’s voice, the anger hard and cold. The words were almost indistinguishable — almost. She lifted the phone to her mouth. “Are you still there?” she whispered.”
“Commander Busby is arranging for some assistance, ma’am,” a new voice said. “I am Petty Officer Barker.
“Find Busby right now,” Pamela said. “Tell him the terrorist that shot those Tomcats was Greek, not Macedonian. You got that?”
“But the Greeks are—” he began.
“Don’t waste my time,” she snapped. “Just go tell him. And do it now.”
The pilot pointed to the hill looming before them. “Hell of a spot, but that’s got to be it.” Beside him, the copilot studied the chart. “Yeah, that’s it. They’re on the east side.”
“Fine. We’ll come up behind them from the west. It doesn’t look like they’ll be able to get a line of sight on us until we’re right in front of them.”
Line of sight — that was the issue. Stingers wouldn’t go chasing them around the terrain.
The pilot put the bird into a gentle bank around the hill, staying low and keeping the massive rock formation between the helo and the people he was looking for. When they were fifty feet from the formation, hovering unsteadily, he glanced back at the crewman. “You ready?”
Pamela stared at the helicopter hovering so close, joy leaping in her heart. Never had she been so delighted to see an aircraft with the American flag painted on its fuselage. She pointed up, then made a broad sweeping motion, indicating that they should go around the rock. By now, there was no chance that the two men at the summit did not know the helicopter was here. But she hadn’t heard any shots yet, so Murphy might still be alive. The helicopter pivoted smoothly in midair, wobbled for a moment, then moved slowly around hill. As it turned, Pamela saw the open hatch on the right side of the helicopter. Safety-strapped to one side of the hatch, a young man in a flight suit was holding a weapon. He raised his hand in greeting, then dropped it down to the stock and pulled the weapon tight against his shoulder.
A machine gun. Pamela felt the sick dread invade her chest. Just how were they going to distinguish between Murphy and the Greek with a weapon like that?
Maybe they didn’t intend to. And if anyone could understand, it would be a Marine. Sometimes the life of one had to be sacrificed for the lives of many.
She had always known the military had to make those sorts of choices, had agreed in a way. But that had been when it was an abstraction, just a principle.
Not when it was someone she knew. She wasn’t even sure she liked Murphy all that much, but she did know him. And that made all the difference in the world.
The noise decreased slightly as the helicopter disappeared from view around the ancient hill. Well, maybe she couldn’t go straight up, but she certainly could go sideways. As it was, if Murphy were going to die, she bore partial responsibility for making the call to Lab Rat. The least she could do would be to be there to witness it and take pictures.
As the helicopter swung into view, the Greek soldier lunged for Murphy. He grabbed him, tried to hook his arm around Murphy’s neck while still holding on to his weapon. “This is why I kept alive,” he said. “They can’t hit me without hitting you. And I do not think they are willing to take that chance.”
As the Greek moved around his left side and his arm settled around the Marine’s neck, Murphy saw his chance. He stepped back with his left leg, way back around behind the Greek. He bent over slightly, transferred his weight to his back knee, and straightened up abruptly. At the same time, he slammed his left elbow into the Greek’s gut, then followed up with a hammer smash to the groin.
The elbow found its target. The Greek grunted loudly and folded over. The groin shot missed, and Murphy felt his hand hammer into the man’s upper thigh. While not incapacitating, the blow was enough to further distract the Greek. Murphy followed up by pivoting to his left, grabbing the man’s long hair with both hands, and smashing his face down into Murphy’s knee. He felt the nose give way, then teeth scrabbled to take a bite out of his leg.
The weapon — where is the weapon? Murphy nailed the Greek with two more solid shots to the gut, then a hook into the jaw. The man stumbled back, not yet unconscious, but clearly not able to follow all that had happened in a few short moments. He held the weapon loosely in his right hand, the barrel pointing well away from Murphy.