He could just call the ambassador, have him make the transfer again.
He tried reversing the digits first. A man answered immediately.
"President Voda, I'm very glad you're able to call," said the man in a bright, southwestern-tinted American accent. "You are working with some of the best people in the business. We'll have you out of there before you can sing your national anthem."
Voda didn't know what to say, nor did he have a chance as the man continued breathlessly.
"My name is Mack Smith and I'm going to making the communications connections for you. We're going to need you to stay on the line once it goes through. I know you're worried about your battery, but we're in the home stretch now. You're going to be talking directly to the fellow who's going to pick you up. His name is Zen Stockard. He's got a bit of an ego to him, but don't be put off by that. He is one kick-ass pilot."
"You are sending a helicopter?"
"Not exactly. I'll let Zen give you the dope. Now. You ready?"
Voda was confused by Mack's slang as well as his accent. "OK," he replied. "Here we go."
There was a slight delay, then a new voice came on the line.
"President Voda, this is Colonel Tecumseh Bastian. Do you recognize my name, sir?"
"Yes, Colonel. You are very famous. You head the Dreamland squadron."
"Yes, sir. I'm in a plane a few miles from the hill where you are. In just a few minutes one of my men is going to pick you up."
"By helicopter?"
"No, sir. We're afraid it would be shot down. What's going to happen is this: One of my men will rendezvous with you on the ground. He'll be wearing a special device that you can think of as a jet pack. He'll fly you and your family one by one to safety."
A jet pack?
"If it will work—" started Voda. He didn't get a chance to finish the thought.
"It will work, sir. But we need your help. We'd like you to go to a point where it will be easy to find you. There's a bald spot near the crest of the hill, on the far side of the hill, that is, from your house."
"I can't go there. The soldiers are there."
"All right. We have alternatives."
He heard Dog take a hard breath.
"A little farther down the hill there's a creek," said Dog. "It's either completely dry or just about; it's hard to tell from the satellite photo I've seen. But it's wide, and it takes a sharp turn down the hill and there's an open space in the woods. Can you go there?"
"I–I don't know where it is."
"If you were at the bald spot, it's exactly 232 meters below it, and fifteen meters to the north, which would be on your right if you were looking downhill. Does that help?"
"Yes," said Voda. He could find it simply by going down the hill. The creak bed should be obvious; when they hit it, he would turn right.
"I need you to stay on the line," added Dog. "I know you're worried about being found or running out your battery. But it will help us immensely. We may need you to guide us. I don't want to have to call you back."
Mircea and Julian were huddled against him. He could feel them shaking. If this didn't work, they would freeze to death.
"All right, I'll try," said Voda, struggling to his feet. "We're on our way."
Even though he knew it was coming, the jolt from the seat as it shot upward took Zen's breath away. The shock was so hard that for a second he thought he'd hit the side of the hatch going out. Zen hurtled up into a black void, the sky rushing into his head like the water from a bathtub surging into a drain. The seat fell away, the restraints cut by knives as he shot up, but he didn't notice; to him, the only thing he could feel was the roar in his body, as if he had become a rocket.
A grayish grid ghosted on the visor of helmet. The MESSKIT's activation light began to blink.
All right, Zen thought, let's get this done.
He spread his arms, trying to frog his body. The screen altimeter lit; he was at 32,053 feet, a little higher than he'd expected.
Up until now, Zen had always tried to make his practice jumps last — he wanted to glide slowly to earth. Tonight, his goal was to get down as quickly as possible. So he instructed the MESSKIT to deploy at 10,000 feet, figuring it would be easier to fall to that altitude quickly than to fly to it.
The device didn't like the instructions. It flashed the words beyond safety protocols on the screen.
"Override," he told it.
But the computer wouldn't. Annie Klondike hadn't wanted to take chances with his life, and so had programmed various safety protocols into the unit that would initiate deployment based not only on velocity, but on time elapsed and altitude drop. Zen was forced to open his wings at 21,500 feet.
He compensated by leaning forward and pushing his arms back, turning the exoskeleton as close to a jet as possible. His descent increased to 25 feet per second before the safety measures kicked in, once more preventing him from dropping any faster.
"This is Zen. Johnson, you hearing me?"
"We have you, Zen," replied Lieutenant Englehardt in the Johnson. "You ready to talk to President Voda?"
"Yeah, roger that."
"Be advised he's hard to understand. And probably vice versa. Speak as slowly and distinctly as you can." "Yeah, roger that."
"What am I hearing?" said a foreign voice, distant and faint.
"This is Zen Stockard, Mr. President. I'm going to help you. How far are you from the stream location?" "I am still looking."
"I'm about twelve minutes away," Zen told him. "Do you think you can find it by then?" "I will try."
"Stay on the line, all right?" "Yes, yes."
"No,General.There are no bodies in that part of the house," repeated Major Ozera. "Or in any part of the house. The president must have escaped the attack. He has to be on the property somewhere."
General Locusta pounded his fist against the hood of the car. Where in God's name was the son of a bitch? He couldn't do anything until he found him.
Ozera trembled.
"Where is the search party?" demanded Locusta, trying to calm his voice.
"They've moved up the close side of the hill and are now working their way up to the summit. The dogs are having trouble with the wind," Ozera added. "And they got a late start. The cold helps preserve the scent, but there are limits."
More likely the problem was with the handlers, Locusta thought. He retrieved the area topographical map. They'd gone too far. Voda must be hidden somewhere on the hill.
The general's sat phone began to ring. He ignored it.
"Pull the teams back to this side of the ridge," Locusta told the major. "Have them concentrate on the area around that old pump building or whatever it is. There's probably another secret passage."
"Should I add the regular troops to the search?"
"No!" He raised his phone and hit the Receive button. "Lo-custa."
"General Locusta, I trust you are having an interesting night."
It was the Russian attache, Svoransky. "Why have you sent planes to attack my troops?" Locusta boomed.
"Relax, General. They were trying to attack the Americans, not your troops." "Liar."
Locusta took control of himself. No one, not even Ozera, knew he had dealt with the Russians; he had to be careful about what he said.
"General, please. We should remain civil. We have much to gain from working together. I called to offer help."
"How?"
"I've heard rumors about the president. They say he is dead, but I suspect they are false." "You suspect?"
Did the Russian have a spy in his organization? Locusta glanced at Ozera. Who else could it be?