The Lazarus Moment (5 page)

Red
smiled slightly. “Thanks, buddy, that means a lot. But it just got me thinking
about how impressionable young kids are. The last thing I want is my son
thinking his dad’s a racist.”

Dawson
leaned forward. “He’d never think that, not if he knew what the word truly
meant.”

“Yeah, I
suppose you’re right.” He rubbed his hand over his head again. “I’ll take care
of it later.”

“You
better,” said Niner, nodding toward the orange stubble. “You’d stand out like a
damned airport beacon with that head of hair in the desert.”

Dawson
laughed with the others, Red shaking his head. “I still have my knife out.”

Niner
nodded toward his boys. “And I’m still covering them until you don’t.” He twisted
his legs to the left, putting the side of his hips between his jewels and the
knife. He motioned toward Red’s head. “Didn’t you start shaving that thing
because you were going bald at twenty-five?”

Red
really flushed this time. “I’m going to take care of it now.”

Dawson glanced
at his watch. “No time. Take care of it on the plane, you’re wheels up in
fifteen.”

Red
rose, grabbing his gear. “I wish it had left fifteen minutes ago, then I
wouldn’t have had to listen to this scintillating conversation.”

“You’ll
miss me,” said Niner, blowing a kiss.

Red
flipped the knife in his hand.

Niner
covered up again.

Red gave
an exaggerated sigh as Jimmy, Jagger and Wings grabbed their gear. “The life of
a Delta Operator never ends.”

“And
you’d have it no other way.”

“Sad,
but true.” He turned to the others. “Have fun, boys, we’ll see you in Kenya.”

“Don’t
get eaten.”

Red eyed
Niner. “You do know they’ve got lions here, too.”

Niner
looked about the room. “In here?”

Red grinned
at Dawson. “I’m glad he’s on your team. I don’t think he’d survive on mine.”

Dawson
slapped him on the back as he headed out the door, the rest of Red’s team
following. He sat back down and pulled out his phone, firing off a text message
to his girlfriend, Maggie Harris. She had been shot recently in Paris though
was recovering nicely. Her biggest concern now was the fact half her head had
been shaved, her gorgeous curls gone. Red’s wife Shirley had trimmed the rest
short for her and was keeping it that way until the side of her head that had
been operated on caught up.

He had
nearly lost her that day, and he had thanked God every day since for sparing
her.

His life
was dangerous. All their lives were dangerous. They were Special Forces,
America’s elite; some would say the best in the world. As a member of 1st
Special Forces Operational Detachment–Delta, commonly known as Delta Force, he
had been on ops around the world and around his country, Delta the only
military unit permitted to operate on American soil at the sole discretion of
the President.

It was a
privilege they all understood the significance of.

Yet
today they weren’t battling terrorists, they were on a babysitting mission. His
team, Bravo Team, had been called in to supplement the normally already tight
security that travelled with the President. With this trip taking him to
Africa, it was felt a little extra “muscle” was warranted, and with the
Russians making noises about the Ukraine policy shift, anything was possible.

Though
he’d rather be arranging a meeting with Allah for some fundamentalists, he did
have to admit travelling on Air Force One was a thrill. It wasn’t his first
time, and he was sure it wouldn’t be his last in the airplane, though to call
Air Force One an airplane was almost an insult. It was a flying building with offices,
meeting rooms and three decks of luxury and technology, encased in a reinforced
fuselage designed to withstand an EMP pulse from a nuclear detonation, and
operate as its own satellite in the case of war.

The
President could quite easily run the entire country from the confines of the
aircraft.

It was a
technological marvel, built by Boeing, customized to the hilt, and operated by
the proud men and women of the United States Air Force.

Yet
despite all that, he couldn’t wait for this mission to be over. There was
almost no chance of action, and he was itching to kick some ass.

He eyed
Niner, debating a sparring session, though even that wasn’t possible, training
discouraged on these missions as a fresh black eye never made a good impression.
The President and his handlers didn’t want the world to know they were along,
it perhaps conveying the wrong message to their hosts.

We
don’t trust you to keep him safe.

It was
the truth. After all, they were in the country that had allowed a sign language
interpreter who didn’t know how to sign within feet of the most powerful
leaders of the world during Nelson Mandela’s memorial service.

Security
clearly wasn’t their strong suit.

Three
more days, then home, then off to some shithole.

He
smiled slightly.

Can’t
wait!

His
phone vibrated.

Love
you miss you too!

His
smile widened.

Sheraton Pretoria Hotel, Pretoria, South Africa

One day before the Air Force One crash

Senior Airman Cameron Lennox moaned, struggling to open his eyes,
the lids feeling like they had bricks hanging from them. He was in a fog, his
head pounding, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

He felt
hung over.

Yet that
wasn’t possible.

He never
drank on duty, and when Air Force One was deployed, he was always on duty.

He
forced his eyes open. He was in his hotel room. Or was he? It seemed different
somehow. Someone cleared their throat to his right and his head spun toward the
noise.

He
immediately regretted it, closing his eyes as his head throbbed in protest.

Somebody
said something. It sounded Russian.

Oh
shit!

He
opened his eyes again. Slowly.

“Senior
Airman Cameron Lennox?”

Lennox
nodded, the thick accent clearly Russian or Eastern European. “Who are you?”

“Who
I
am is of no importance. Who
you
are is.
You
are one of the tech
specialists on Air Force One.”

His
chest tightened, his headache forgotten.

This
can’t be good.

He said
nothing.

The man
smiled.

He
looks sick.

“No
matter, we know exactly who you are, what your assignment is, what your duties
are”—the man paused, swiping his finger across the trackpad of a laptop sitting
beside him on a small round table—“and we know who your family is.”

An image
of his wife and daughter appeared on the laptop and he felt bile fill his
mouth. He tried to stand but found his hands bound behind his back, the pain in
his shoulders from the unnatural position suddenly explained.

What
happened to me?

The last
thing he remembered was sitting down to eat the room service he had ordered.
Cheeseburger and fries with extra ketchup on the side. And a Coke.

They
must have spiked my drink!

He glanced
around the room and suddenly realized it wasn’t his. None of his stuff was
anywhere to be seen.

Which
would explain why his roommate wasn’t there.

Jerry
should be looking for me. They’ll tear the place apart. Just hold out for a
little longer.

“I’ll
kill you if you touch them.”

The man
smiled. “I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.” He repositioned the mouse
pointer and clicked, the image now a video showing his wife and daughter
sitting on a bed in a room he didn’t recognize.

And they
looked terrified.

“What
have you done?” His voice was barely a whisper as his eyes widened.

“We have
your wife and daughter. They are safe for as long as you do as you are told.
Should you not do what you are told, should you tell anyone what is happening,
they will die, slowly, painfully, your daughter first so your wife can watch
her suffer.”

Lennox
leaned over and vomited for the first time in years, the harsh acid burning his
throat and mouth as he leaned to the side, trying not to get any on himself.
Bile dripped from his mouth as he fought for control.

He spit.

Get a
grip! They’re not dead yet!

Or
are they?

“How do
I know they’re alive?”

“You
don’t trust me?”

Lennox
gave the man a look.

He
smiled.

“I
wouldn’t either.” The man launched Skype, the video, looping, replaced with a
shot of the same room, his daughter now asleep on his wife’s lap, she sitting
up in the bed, her back against the wall, her cheeks stained with dried tears,
her eyes barely open.

She
looks exhausted.

“Can she
hear me?”

His
wife’s eyes shot open.

“Cam, is
that you?”

A lump
formed in his throat as his eyes filled with tears. “Yes, hon, it’s me. Are you
okay?”

“No!
We’ve been kidnaped!”

“I know,
hon, I know. Did they hurt you?”

She
shook her head, it clear she couldn’t see him, only hear him, her eyes
searching the room, settling on what he assumed was a camera. “No, no we’re
okay.”

The man
clicked a button, killing the conversation.

“Satisfied?”

Lennox
shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Well,
it will have to do. They are alive and unharmed, for now. If you do what we
ask, then they will be set free. If you do not…well, you know what will happen
to them.”

Lennox
closed his eyes, praying for guidance.

He
received none.

“What do
you want?”

The man
produced what appeared to be a standard USB memory stick and held it up.
“Tomorrow, when you board Air Force One, you will insert this memory stick into
a computer attached to the avionics network, bypass any security protocols,
then remove it.”

“What is
it, a virus?”

“That is
of no concern to you.”

“To hell
it isn’t. That network is isolated from the main data networks used by the passengers,
but it’s tied into all the flight controls and communications equipment.”
Lennox’s eyes shot wide as he realized what it must be. “You’re planting a
virus to monitor the President’s communications!”

The man
smiled slightly, shrugging. “See, no harm.”

“But
it’ll be discovered.” Lennox bit his tongue, cursing himself for revealing the
fact the virus wouldn’t last long.”

Let
them think they’re accomplishing something, so long as Cecilia and Janice are
okay.

“Let
us
worry about that,” said the man, tapping the laptop. “
You
worry about
your family.”

Lennox
nodded. What was the harm? He would plant the virus, they might get some
classified intel, they might not. It would still be encrypted, so they might
actually get nothing, and the first time the system scanned itself, the virus
would be caught and either eliminated or quarantined so there would be no
further breach.

“And if
I do this—”

“
When.

“Fine,
when
I do this, you will release my family?”

“You
have my word.”

“And how
will I know?”

“They
will have instructions to call you.”

“But
they have no way of reaching me unless it’s an emergency!”

“You
don’t think their kidnapping and release would qualify?”

Of
course, you idiot!

The man
was right. The Air Force would immediately get in touch with him. And once he
knew they were safe, he’d simply tell them what he did and the system would be
cleaned.

No harm
done.

His
family safe.

And
hopefully this bastard, and whomever he was working for, could be tracked down
and brought to justice.

“Do we
have an agreement?”

Lennox
nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.”
The man leaned forward. “And Airman?”

“Yes?”

“If you
fail, we will know. And your family will die.”

FSB Headquarters, The Lubyanka Building, Moscow, Russia

Day of the Air Force One crash

Arseny Dudnik reread the news report, his eyes wide in shock. It was
a report from South Africa, filed overnight, about a cultural festival
featuring traditional music and dancing.

Attended
by the First Family.

For
the love of all that is holy!

The
report from FSB had indicated the President would be travelling alone, not with
his wife and daughter. If he had known, he never would have agreed to supply Khomenko
with the virus.

Never.

It was
one thing to kill a president.

It was
another thing to kill his family.

America
might not clamor for war if their leader was assassinated. Presidents had died
before, and life went on.

But kill
his wife and teenage daughter?

They’d
demand answers.

Then
blood.

We
can’t risk it being traced back here!

He
immediately dialed Khomenko’s cellphone, it answered on the second ring.

“It’s
me, can you talk?”

“Yes.”

“You
have to abort.”

“Why?”

“His
wife and daughter are travelling with him.”

“So?”

“So? If
you kill his family, they won’t stop until they find out who did it, then
they’ll demand justice!”

“They
didn’t care that my family died, so why should I care?”

Dudnik
exhaled loudly in exasperation. “Listen, Igor, we can’t do this. Moscow will
find out, they’ll kill us all, and they’ll stop any payments to your friend’s
family.”