Breanna punched the door panel to close the ramp, then scrambled forward.
“Emergency takeoff,” she yelled to the Osprey’s computer as she reached the flight deck. “Authorization Stockard. Go! Go!”
The aircraft launched. As it rose, a hail of bullets began spraying from the hill. The aircraft stayed on course, ignoring bullets and everything else once placed in emergency takeoff mode.
They were flying through a hail of tracers.
Breanna scrambled into the pilot’s seat. She grabbed the controls.
“Emergency override. Authorization Stockard!”
The aircraft bucked sharply to the side as she ducked away from the gunfire. She held it in the air, mostly by instinct, climbing away over the Ethiopian lines.
BREANNA’S HEART POUNDED IN HER THROAT.
“Computer control. Authorization Stockard. Orbit here at three thousand feet. No, five thousand feet. Climb to five thousand feet and orbit.”
The computer flashed the command in the center display. Breanna got up and went into the back.
Boston was cleaning Sugar’s leg, which had bruised and been cut by the rocks. One of her ribs felt broken. Her right elbow and wrist were sprained.
“You’re the bus driver?” Breanna asked Abul.
He stared at her, then nodded.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you. My name is Breanna Stockard.”
It took him a second to respond. “Amin Abul.”
“We didn’t blow up the gear,” mumbled Sugar.
“What are you saying?” Breanna asked, dropping to her knee next to Sugar.
“The gear,” said Boston. “She didn’t get a chance to blow it.”
“The detonator is in my pocket,” managed Sugar.
Boston slipped his hand in—delicately—and retrieved it. The device was essentially a short-range radio. Once the proper code was punched in, it would blow the charges. But they had to be within a half mile for it work: Nothing happened when Boston pushed it.
“We’ll go back,” said Breanna.
60
North of Tehran
THE PERIMETER OF THE FIELDS BEHIND THE BUILDING WHERE Tarid and Aberhadji had met was surrounded by what appeared at first glance to be a dilapidated wire fence. With posts poked down in places, and strands bent and twisted in others, it looked like the forgotten remnants of the farm’s old boundaries, a doomed attempt to keep out ruin as much as animals and other trespassers.
But looks were not everything. Examining the series of satellite images taken of the area, Danny realized the wire was part of a perimeter surveillance system. Video cameras were placed near or on a dozen posts. Small transformers indicated the wire was powered. He suspected that it was a tripwire as well, rigged to sound an alarm if it was moved more than a very minimal amount. Motion sensors, with floodlights and video cameras, were stationed close to the building. More subtly, there were several spots on the property that looked as if they could be used as defensive positions in case of an attack.
MY-PID analyzed the security system and showed several vulnerabilities, giving Danny a crooked but easy-to-follow path to the rear of the building. The only difficulty would be getting over the fence without touching it—a problem solved by stopping at a Tehran hardware store just before it closed.
The only stepladder the store had was an eight-foot aluminum model. Sturdy enough inside a building for light maintaining or maintenance, the legs were somewhat rickety on the uneven terrain where Danny wanted to cross the fence.
“Don’t hit the wire,” he hissed at Hera as she helped him get it into position. “We don’t know how sensitive it is.”
“I’m not doing it on purpose. The damn thing keeps shifting.”
The ground where she was standing was wet, and the leg kept sagging. She pulled it to one side, finally finding a sturdy spot.
Danny jiggled the ladder back and forth, testing how wobbly it was.
Very. No way it was going to hold him.
“Get some rocks and slip them under the right leg,” he told Hera. “I’ll hold it.”
The rocks made it a little sturdier, but not much.
“Are there any ground units in the rear of the building?” Danny asked the Voice. They had launched an Owl UAV before approaching the fence.
“Negative. Path remains clear.”
As far as they could tell, there was only one security person on duty, and he was down in a command post near the main building. Aberhadji had left the building some hours before nightfall.
“You climb over the ladder while I hold it,” Danny told Hera. “Then you hold it while I come over behind you.”
Hera grabbed her rucksack and rifle, cinched them against her chest, and squeezed past Danny and up the rungs. The sun had just set, and the field where they were was cast in deep shadow. This made it hard to judge where the ground was as she descended, and when she stepped off the last rail, she slipped and fell, pushing her weight against the ladder.
Taken by surprise, Danny barely kept it from hitting the fence.
“God, be careful,” he barked.
“I’m sorry. The damn ground is pure mud.”
“Ready?” Danny asked.
“Ready.”
Danny tested his weight on the first step, then the second. The ladder jiggled to the left but remained upright. He climbed up two more steps, then swung his leg around, barely avoiding the wire below.
“That was harder than it should have been,” he said as he reached the ground. “Help me get the ladder up.”
Hera moved to the side. They lifted it up carefully, Danny taking it up gingerly to clear the wire. He folded it and set it down near the fence.
Then he grabbed Hera as she started across the field.
“I didn’t think you had anything to do with McGowan’s death,” he told her. “Your attitude has been bad. You’ve been riding everyone.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her tone anything but.
“All right.”
“I feel like you’re watching every step I make, every move. Like I have to prove myself.”
“We all have to prove ourselves, every single day,” said Danny. He reached into his ruck for the night goggles, not wanting to stop for them later.
“You don’t. Your medal says it all.”
“That medal doesn’t mean crap here,” he told her. “Come on. It ought be easier from here, at least until we get to the wall.”
61
Eastern Sudan, near the border with Ethiopia
BREANNA HADN’T FORGOTTEN ABOUT THE REFUGEES, BUT they were pushed far to the periphery of her consciousness as she concentrated on rescuing her people. As she headed back toward the hill to blow up their gear, she saw them in their makeshift camp, nearly all of them standing and straining to get a view of the black aircraft hurtling through the nearby sky.
The firing had died down. The mercenaries were now on the hill, caught between the Ethiopians and the Sudanese regulars in the pickups, who’d stopped near the road.
The ready light lit on the detonator. Breanna was in range to blow up their gear.
She was about to push the button when she spotted a black speck in the sky to the north. It was the other Osprey, belatedly coming to back her up.
Breanna clicked on the radio. “Osprey Two, this is Osprey One. Can you read me?”
“Hey, roger that, Colonel Stockard,” replied Greasy Hands. His voice shook with adrenaline and nerves. “I’m here.”
“Good. Take the aircraft over the hill and orbit around the refugee camp.”
“I don’t have it in view yet.”