Читать книгу The Big Burn - Terry Watkins - Страница 13

Anna dreamed that she was naked and clean, lost between creamy white sheets, ecstatic with their cool embrace, but angry at the mattress for being so uncomfortable.

When she woke a second time she still didn’t open her eyes. Instead, she listened to the steady drone of the plane’s engines, considered getting up, but the thought took too much effort. Weeks of constant grind had taken their toll. It would take a week to recover. Every part of her body ached. She realized she hadn’t moved for hours. Her muscles had locked up and she had to work to get them unwound, get some circulation. She stretched one arm, then the other. She finally opened her eyes when a smell wafted to her that she responded to with enthusiasm.

Her body felt like a piece of lead as she undid her seat belt and pulled herself up. The five men on the plane were up front talking and drinking coffee. Three sitting, two standing.

She got up and went forward.

“Coffee’s fresh,” one of the men said. Brock was talking on a satellite phone.

She accepted the offer of coffee. She smelled of fire and sweat and tried to keep some distance between her smelly self and the men.

After he hung up, Brock brought her a blueberry bagel with cream cheese and another cup of coffee. She was starving again. Then he showed her the island on the computer screen.

They huddled shoulder to shoulder around a laptop and discussed the latest satellite images of the Malaysian and Indonesian fires. The images, acquired by the Moderate-resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer (MODIS) on NASA’s Terra satellite, showed a thick soup of smoke.

The island was virtually invisible, covered by a massive cloud of dense smoke.

“Where are the winds?” she asked no one in particular.

“There’s no wind. It’s dead calm.”

Using a new technology she’d never heard of, the images were run though some kind of color spectrometer, and visual penetration became possible. She could see the heat pattern from the fires.

Brock pointed to an area. “This is where we’re getting our periodic beeps from. It’s the densest and hilliest part of the island. Jason was moving north, but apparently he can’t get over those mountains. He’s trapped about here,” he told her, gesturing to an area.

“How are we getting him out once we get to him?”

“We’re hoping to find a burned-over area and bring a chopper in. But the fires are now so big it’s getting hard to tell where to land. That’s going to be up to you.”

She studied the fire pattern, and the distance to the ocean. There were several lagoons, but they had limited information on the island’s trees.

“We were thinking of here,” Brock said, pointing to a spot. “It’s the closest point. The fires aren’t joined and that leaves something of an alley.”

“No. Too hot.” She explained the coloring of the fires. “Whatever the fuel load is in here, it’s very hot-burning. Unless you think walking through two thousand degrees won’t turn you into a puddle of glue. The best approach is from here.” She made a line from one of the lagoons inland. “These must be groves of old hardwood. The fires will be mostly crowning and high. There’s a river to the north we can escape to, if things get bad.” She pointed to the river. “Once we get to him, I’ll find a pickup zone and you can call your guys for a chopper.”

While Brock went over plans with his men, she closed her eyes and visualized the jump, the descent, the lagoon where she wanted to go in. Without wind, she’d be able to control the descent, though having to worry about Brock’s descent only made hers more risky.

Jumping into a fire from a high altitude at night and into a tropic combat zone was going to be something new. She wasn’t at all sure what would happen.

All she wanted to do was just get Brock to the ground and let him take it from there. He’s a leader with the most elite commando force on earth, she thought. He should know what he’s doing. Just get him in, and he’ll get us out.

That’s what she hoped for, anyway.

“We’ll refuel in the air, put down in Guam in about five hours. If you need more sleep, now’s the time.”

She walked back to her seat, thinking she might have trouble sleeping again. She cuddled up on her pillow, shut her eyes and immediately floated off into a deep sleep.

Pouco Vulcao Island

Jason Quick came out of a shaking sweat and forced himself to get up. He tried to focus so he could check his symptoms. He feared he was going into some kind of toxic shock syndrome. Septic shock was marked by fever. He had that. Malaise, he had that. Chills and nausea, check. Damn, he was four for four.

He pulled the bandages back and looked at his wound. It was nasty. He cursed bitterly. He had to get the hell off this island and into a hospital, soon.

Jason took a drink from a water bottle, then opened the laptop. He had only two, maybe three hours of battery power left. He closed the computer. He’d been able to translate enough of the text to know what he had, and it was critical he get it out as soon as possible.

Somewhere between Jakarta and Europe a cargo ship had three marine cargo containers with machine tools on board. Inside those machine tools, virtually undetectable by current methods, was enough uranium to make a dozen dirty bombs.

Jason had alerted his handler to the situation a week ago when the containers were first being loaded. It had cost him his cover and the life of his primary agent, a man deep in the terrorist network of Jemaah Islamiyah.

So far nothing had been done to find and stop that ship. But Jason now had a laptop with the information that would identify not only the ship, but where the deadly material was headed. What Jason didn’t have was the program that could break the code and get into the specific data on the laptop.

It was his opinion that the cargo was headed for a port in Europe, before heading elsewhere—most likely the States.

He made his way slowly and painfully to the front of the cave. He pushed aside the blanket and stuck his head outside. At times the smoke so completely blocked the sun he couldn’t tell if it was day or night but for his watch. The front of the narrow entrance was covered by thick vines and wide lantana fronds. He’d found the cave by accident as he’d fled the men hunting him.

He didn’t want to waste the satellite phone’s batteries, but he had to make contact. He was getting sicker and weaker by the day. His spells of fever getting worse.

He wouldn’t last much longer.

Guam

Anna sensed an absence of movement. They were on the ground.

The door of the transport plane was open, and opening her eyes, she appeared to be alone. They had brought her all the way out to Guam and abandoned her in the plane.

A fine set of circumstances. Her anger and frustration was rising again.

Brock and his associates had, indeed, deplaned without her. No one was on board but her.

She could see the jungle beyond the plane framed in the open door.

Anna unfastened her seat belt, got up and stretched. The heat and light poured in through the open doors with a nasty vengeance.

She deplaned, squinting, and began to sweat almost instantly. It was like walking into a sauna. The sun beat down on her neck and face, the humidity sucked the sweat right up out of her pores onto her skin where it heated up but couldn’t evaporate because the air was already saturated. She’d rather be surrounded by fire.

Right across the road from where she stood there was a big sign above the feeder road into the camp: Welcome to Camp Nowhere.

The camp sprawled along the road on the far side of the airfield. No colorful tents like the ones she saw in firefighting camps. This one consisted of a half-dozen Quonset huts with semicircular, corrugated roofs, the structures bolted to large concrete slabs. Behind the Quonset huts stood several smaller stucco buildings and in the distance, across from what looked like a rice paddy, Anna saw several concrete outbuildings.

The sprawling base seemed empty. She had a weird feeling about it, as if she’d stepped into a horror thriller, or one of those great old Twilight Zone episodes.

She walked away from the C-17 and then stopped and stood staring across the dirt road at the camp. There was a small road sign: Harm’s Way. Hanging from that sign by one arm was a small skeleton of a man that had been fashioned out of wire.

Then, to her right about two hundred yards down the dirt road, barging out of the jungle like a charging rhino, came a Humvee. It careened onto the road, bounced over potholes and headed her way. When it reached the entrance to the airfield it turned toward her and kept on coming as if the driver was going to run her down.

Anna stood her ground, still as a bullfighter awaiting the charge of the bull.

The Humvee came to a skidding halt in a swirl of dust five feet from her.

Brock leaned out the narrow window. “Sleeping Beauty awakens. Hop in, Quick. We have a meeting we’re already late for.”

Like smoke jumpers, like probably all military-type organizations, last names took precedence over first names. She was Anna to her close friends, Quick to her colleagues. The habit probably came from name tags on military uniforms, last names only.

The doors were off the Humvee, so she wasn’t getting into any air-conditioned luxury. Brock wore lightweight tan pants, a green T-shirt and had a weird-looking gun of some kind slung tight next to his chest.

“You going to shoot me?” she asked.

“No. We don’t go anywhere without these. I’ll get you one after the briefing.”

“I can’t wait.”

She continued to give him a hard look, letting him know she didn’t appreciate his exuberance.

In the field about a mile away behind the Quonset huts and other buildings, commandos were drop-roping from two choppers.

She climbed in to the Humvee and they took off toward the camp.

Just then a group of men jogged by in tan shorts and green T-shirts. They all looked the same, as though they were from the same family. A bunch of middleweight fighters, short-cropped hair, hard bodies, all yelling in a sharp cadence.

She began to feel ill, the effects of the heat and the lingering exhaustion.

Too hot.

She had to get the damn fire suit off or she’d pass out. “Can you stop a second?”

He pulled over.

Anna jumped out and unsnapped the suspenders and began pulling the heavy overalls down. She wore black shorts and a gray sleeveless T-shirt underneath.

“Pretty damn hot, isn’t it?” Brock said.

She stepped out of the fire suit and tossed it into the back of the Humvee.

“Crazy hot.”

“This place is locked and loaded with testosterone,” Brock warned. “I wouldn’t go any further than that. Where we’re going there’s air-conditioning.”

“I wasn’t intending to go any further, at least not until I’m standing in front of a running shower.” She refused to get back into the Humvee. “I’m not talking to anybody without a shower and some clean, dry clothes. You’ve changed clothes, now it’s my turn.”

Brock chewed on the left part of his bottom lip. He had to think about her attitude for a second. She wasn’t in the military so he couldn’t call it insubordination. At least not technically. But there was the fact that she’d made that fire jump against direct orders from her boss. So she was insubordinate by nature, apparently.

The thing about her he worked hard to ignore was the shock at how beautiful she was, even under that ash and dirt. It was hard to keep his gaze off her. He turned and looked forward.

“Well, shit,” Brock said. “I’ve got orders to deliver you.”

“Why did they send you in the first place? Was it because they knew if they’d sent a CIA guy I wouldn’t have believed him for a second without proof?”

“Maybe.”

“What if I refuse now?”

“Well, this is a top-secret base and we’re in the middle of a global war. I can to shoot you, but then this whole exercise would have been for nothing.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

Brock looked over at her, frowned and shrugged. “You need a shower and fresh clothes. I can appreciate that.”

“That’s big of you.” She crossed her arms and leaned on one hip. Stubbornness was written all over the woman. He had to quiet the brewing storm.

“Okay, since I’m the one who’s going to train you, and jump into this mess with you, we need to get along. So I’ll offer a compromise.”

She shifted her position. Maybe he was on the right track.

He continued, “This guy we’re going to see has a file on your father. We’ll be there in about five minutes so he can meet you and know that you’re willing to go in. Then, the minute that little bit of time-wasting is over, I’ll take you to the showers and get you some clean clothes. Five lousy minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. He almost had her. Just a little more reasoning, and she’d see things his way. He was sure of it. “See, the problem is, he’s a bureaucrat, CIA type. He runs things on this mission. It’s his job to get your father off that island. So, if I were you, and you want to see your dad again, I’d just placate the man for five minutes. Is there any way you can do that for me?”

Anna stared at him for a few seconds. He wasn’t sure which way she would go. Brock hadn’t noticed before, but she had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, and just when he was beginning to believe those eyes were hardening, and he’d have to come up with more bullshit to get her into the Humvee, she climbed in.

It had been a long time since Brock had had to deal with a civilian, or even a regular soldier, for that matter. The kind of men he dealt with were the elite of the elite from all the branches of the military. But he had a feeling that this woman was just as tough.

Anna was too foggy-headed to argue and besides he’d made a compelling case. They passed three more Quonset huts, a couple concrete structures and a few large military tents. She spotted men moving like wolves in the forest that ran alongside the dirt road. Another team of men crossed in front of them and continued into the high grass. These men did have uniforms. Jungle fatigues. And guns.

Brock pulled in front of the end hut.

“Here we are.”

“Who’s this guy I’m going to meet?” Anna asked.

“Name’s Curtis Verrill. He’s the head spook around here. This is his mission.”

“They run all your missions?”

“No. They often propose. Guys like me, dispose,” he said with a smile.

“Meaning that you carry out their orders?”

“Meaning they tell us what they want, and we figure out how to go get it. Could be rescuing somebody, delivering an important package, hunting down a bad guy, whatever.”

“In this case recruiting a smoke jumper. Which, I might add, is how this all got started with my father in the first place.”

“I don’t question the missions, I just figure out how to do ’em. They’re the brains, we’re the brawn.”

“I think you’re both. You designed the mission they want done. That takes brains.”

He smiled again. “It takes experience and professional common sense.”

“Are you modest by nature or by design?”

“Both. I’m a realist. This is an eclectic business. We put together the kind of force structure we need for each job. Each element brings something we need. We live and die by team effort and by always making sure we have the right people for the job.”

“Like me?”

“Like you. But not normally. We usually bring in specialists from all branches. Or even go outside the military. Whatever it takes to get the job done. It’s like everywhere else. The Ivy League guys dream up something to do, we tell them if it’s possible and how to do it. Then we do it and they take all the credit.”

She exchanged a little conspiratorial grin with him. She understood perfectly. “A little like having a long discussion on a short topic with Bureau of Land Management people.”

He nodded. “You got it. You’re about to meet the Bureau of World Management.”

“I detect something of a bad attitude.”

“My attitude is very flexible,” Brock said. “It depends on my proximity to things that irritate me. And right now we’re real close to an irritant.”

Anna chuckled. As much as she’d have preferred not to like Brock, he was the type, open and self-deprecating, that she could easily connect with.

They got out of the Humvee.

“One more thing,” Brock said. “You’ll be walking through the communications room on the way back to his office. There aren’t any females in there. Or anywhere in the camp, for that matter. Just horny guys who can’t get into town. We’re in shutdown, mission isolation. Don’t even smile. It’ll act like a spark in dry hay.”

“I’ll do my best to ignore anything with more appendages than I have.”

“Excuse me, but there’s nothing I’ve seen around here with more appendages than you have. Slump and frown, that might help.”

She laughed. What had she gotten herself into?

He pushed open the door and went in ahead of her. She hesitated, staring at him. He turned and shrugged. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You didn’t.”