The Lazarus Moment (12 page)

Child slammed
a fist onto his desk, rattling the keyboard.

“Or kill
them where they stand.”

RENAMO Camp, Mozambique

North of the crash site

“Did you hear that?”

Commander
Afonso Domingos looked up from his ragged copy of the July 2003 issue of Car
& Driver, the supercars featured in it not even under warranty anymore, not
that you could actually get warranty service in this part of the world. That
didn’t bother him with most cars, some of his men excellent mechanics, but his
dream car, a Jaguar XKR Cabriolet in Polaris white would be foolish to own
without a tow truck as a second vehicle and a Jag dealership nearby.

Yet in
the jungles of Mozambique, neither was to be had, and the state of the roads,
when there were any, meant four-by-fours ruled the day, not sleek sports cars
no matter how well they handled on German autobahns. He couldn’t imagine
travelling over 200kph in a vehicle. He was pretty sure the fastest he had ever
gone was sixty, and that hadn’t lasted long before they had to piss on the
engine to cool it off.

He was
fighting for a better life for his people, for his family, for himself. Though that
better life simply meant food, fuel and freedom, not luxury cars and flat
televisions. He considered himself a noble man, though as a leader in the Mozambican
National Resistance, RENAMO, he had done horrible things. They had all been
necessary, either to protect his people or to deliver a message to those who
would bring harm to them.

He was
hailed as a hero by some, vilified as a beast by others.

Both
made him proud.

Both
made him feared.

He was
at one of the more remote bases, visiting an area that saw little action, though
being located on the Lugenda River, it was of strategic importance, the river a
primary mode of travel for the area. The government had stopped trying to use
it to raid them, but it paid to keep an eye on things, just in case someone in Maputo
was foolhardy enough to try again.

The
troops here were inexperienced but eager, and any type of action had them
itching with zeal.

And a
plume of smoke on the horizon was more than enough to have them all on their
feet.

Domingos
strode down to the shore to get a better look, the trees thick around the
village. The wind was making quick work of the smoke, blowing it west, yet it
was clear something was burning, and in a damp jungle with no lightning in days
if not weeks, it had to be manmade.

And it
was too big for a cooking fire.

A young
boy named Filipe rushed up to him, his arm trailing behind him, pointing at the
fire. “It was a plane!” he shouted, running into Domingos’ leg, bringing them
both to a halt. “I saw it, it was a plane!”

“Big?”

The boy
shrugged. “I don’t know. Aren’t they all?”

Domingos
smiled, patting him on the head. “Yes, Filipe, aren’t they all.” He stared at
the smoke, turning to Paris Nyusi, the commander for the town. “How far do you
think?”

“About six
kilometers maybe? We could be there by sundown.”

Domingos
nodded. Planes flew over the area all the time, though usually so high all you
could see was a speck in the sky, long thin white streams trailing behind them
on some days. He had never actually seen a plane up close let alone actually
been in one. His exposure to the world was almost exclusively through
magazines, his collection at home impressive. He considered himself well read,
well informed, and he knew enough to know that what had crashed was probably a
large passenger jet with lots of people far richer than him on board. And if
any had survived, and if they were American or European, they would fetch a
hefty ransom.

And if
none had survived, among their belongings could be some
very
valuable
salvage.

I’d
kill for a laptop with satellite Internet access.

Then
maybe his magazines wouldn’t be so out of date.

He
turned to Nyusi. “Take a team, get there as fast as you can. If there’re
survivors, bring them back here under guard. Grab as much salvage as you can.
I’m going to call for reinforcements. Even the metal from this thing could be
valuable to our people.”

“Yes, Commander.
And if they resist?”

“Pick
one and remove their head. The others will fall in line.”

A smile
spread across Nyusi’s face.

“With
pleasure.”

Approaching Mozambican Airspace

Red pressed the earpiece tight, the roar of the Boeing C-17
Globemaster III almost overwhelming as he listened to the latest update from
his Commanding Officer, Colonel Thomas Clancy. Jimmy, Jagger and Wings were
listening in as well, everyone on the plane on pins and needles waiting for
news.

“Satellite
imagery shows a fire but nothing else. There’s no sign of debris or survivors,
though with a fireball the size that we saw, I’d doubt anyone survived.”

“No
comms?”

“Just
the emergency beacon. There’s no coverage in that area except satellite. We
know the plane’s comms were down, but there’s emergency gear on board.”

“What
about that fighter escort? Did they spot anything?”

“Not
yet, they had to leave to refuel. They’ll be back on target shortly, hopefully
they’ll see something.”

The
fighter escort hadn’t been scheduled, but when the President had heard the USS George
H. W. Bush was off the South African coast on maneuvers, he had requested a
flyby to impress the dignitaries on board, it important to show how America
could project its power anywhere in the world, even the far reaches of southern
Africa.

No one
had ever guessed they’d arrive only minutes before the emergency.

“What
about the families?” asked Red, his chest tightening. “Have you notified them
yet?”

“Negative.”
Clancy’s voice was subdued. Clancy was the type of CO that every service member
wanted. He was fiercely loyal to his men and extremely competent. He took every
loss personally, as if he had lost his own son.

And
today he had lost four including Dawson, whom Red knew the Colonel was
extremely close to, even more so now that his personal assistant, Maggie Harris,
was dating Dawson.

“None of
the families know they were on board. I’m waiting for confirmation of no
survivors before I break the news. We should know soon.”

“What
about the President? What’s being done?”

“We’re
operating under the assumption the President is dead. The Vice President will
be sworn in any time now.”

Red
exchanged looks with his men, all in shock. Their country had lost yet another
President, and they had lost four friends, four comrades in arms.

Four
brothers.

“I never
thought BD would die that way.”

“Neither
did any of us,” agreed Clancy.

Red ran
a hand over his freshly shaved scalp. “I always thought he’d go out in a blaze
of glory, guns belching lead, bad guys dropping all around him, yelling
something clever. Not mechanical failure.”

Clancy’s
reply had them all in shock.

“Zero-Two,
this was no mechanical failure. This was an act of terror.”

Operations Center 2

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Start tracing everything. Tap all our data sources, I don’t care
about warrants, we’ll worry about that later. The President is dead and we need
to know who is responsible. At this point it looks like the Russians are
involved, and if that’s the case, we could be going to war in the next
twenty-four hours. If we’re going to start a shooting match with the second
most powerful army in the world, I want to make sure we’re doing it for the
right reasons.”

Leroux
was content to let Morrison bark the orders at his team, he still in shock over
what they had all just witnessed. Part of him wanted to scream out in rage,
another to curl up in a corner and sob. His country had been attacked, and few
outside this room knew it. Almost everyone in America and the world thought Air
Force One had crashed because of mechanical failure, but the moment the truth
started to leak—for it would leak—they’d be scrambling for blood.

And he’d
be among them.

He just
wanted to make sure, like Morrison, that they drew the right blood.

It just
didn’t make sense for Russia to be behind this. Yes, the FSB agent had called
to warn them, but the warning was conveniently delivered too late. It was
exactly how he would do it if the roles were reversed. Get out ahead of the
story, ahead of the intelligence gathering, and admit involvement of one of
your resources, acting alone, out of control.

Sow just
enough doubt so as to avoid the retaliation.

A
warning beeped, one of the monitors showing Pentagon alerts, flashing a
warning. “What’s that?” he asked, turning to Cornel.

Cornel hit
a few keys. “We’re going to DEFCON Four. Russian forces just went on alert.
They’re recalling all troops from leave and calling up the reserves.”

“They’re
preparing for war!” cried Therrien. “They must have done it! That crazy
bastard’s wanted war for years!”

Leroux
held up a hand, trying to calm the man. Putin was a nutbar as far as Leroux was
concerned, though a strategic one. He only took on enemies he knew stood no
chance. He was the schoolyard bully who only picked on the smallest kid on the
playground, not the burly kickboxer.

It still
didn’t make sense.

He cleared
his throat as Morrison didn’t respond, instead giving him a slight look. It was
his turn to be a leader. “Listen people, this is
exactly
why we need to
do our jobs, do it well, and do it quickly. Right now there’re people outside
this room jumping to the exact same conclusions we are. We need to get
proof
of what happened, of who did this, so our leaders can make the right decisions.
If we’re going to war, then let’s go to war with the people
actually
responsible, not the people we
think
are responsible.”

He
looked around at his team, all eyes on him, some younger, most older, though all
having learned to respect him over the years. He was growing into this role
thrust upon him by Morrison, and at this very moment, he wished Sherrie were
here to see him. He actually felt like a man, a pride swelling within him as he
finally realized that he actually did have the respect of these people and that
they were looking to him for strength in this time of crisis.

A wave
of confidence flowed through him for the first time that he could remember, the
sensation intoxicating. He glanced at Morrison who seemed to have a look his
father might have in a similar situation.

He was
proud.

He
lowered his voice slightly, relaxing his tone. “Listen, I know you’re emotional
right now. You’re angry, you’re scared, hell, so am I. I’m terrified of what
might happen, but I’m more terrified that it might happen because we got it
wrong. Let’s focus on our jobs. We in this room are going to use every tool at
our disposal to discover the truth, then provide that information to the new
President so he can deal with those responsible. And if it turns out be the
Russians, then so be it. We’ll kick their asses so hard, they’ll never dare
mess with us again!”

Roars of
approval accompanied by clapping erupted as his team burst to their feet,
Morrison coming up beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Good
speech.”

Leroux glanced
at his boss. “A little too much?”

Morrison
smiled slightly. “Maybe just a little.”

“Got
caught up in the moment.”

“It was
exactly what they needed.” Morrison stepped back, raising his voice. “I’m going
to my office. I think we’re in good hands here.”

Leroux
flushed with the implied compliment when Child waved a hand. “Got something,
boss!”

Leroux
stepped over to the young man’s terminal. “What is it?”

“You’re
not going to believe who arrived in Pretoria yesterday.”

Leroux read
the display and smiled.

“Find
the bastard.”

Ecomotel, Pretoria, South Africa

Igor Khomenko downed his shot of vodka, everyone in the cramped
motel room on the edge of their seat as they watched the news coverage unfold.
There was no footage of the crash site yet, though the fact that every news
station in the world had turned to ongoing coverage of the reports of contact
being lost with Air Force One told him everything he needed to know.

It had
worked.

One of
his men leaned over and they exchanged a high five, the others smacking each
other in manly displays of joy before a patriotic rendition of the Russian
national anthem broke out. He sat quietly, closing his eyes as he remembered
his beloved wife and their precious daughter.

You
have been avenged.

The
President was dead, the blood debt repaid. He had lost his family, and America
had lost its.

They
were even.

Now
let America grieve as I did.

The
anthem finished, the men poured another drink before sitting down, the image changing
to the White House Press Briefing Room, a woman walking to the podium.

“I’m
going to read a brief statement, there will be no questions. Earlier today, we
lost contact with Air Force One. Reports confirmed by United States Navy jets
providing escort confirm that Air Force One has crashed in Mozambique with the
President and the First Family on board. At this time, there is no reason to
believe anyone survived. Due to the remoteness of the region, rescue teams have
yet to arrive, however an explosion at the time of the crash leaves little
hope. In order to maintain order and stability in this time of crisis, Vice
President Roberts was sworn in by the Chief Justice only minutes ago. President
Roberts will be addressing the nation later tonight with an update on the
situation. Thank you.”