As it turned out, neither lackey was very good. When Caesare came up and over the top of the hill behind them, neither of the men were watching. Instead, they were both turned and looking down the front of the slope where they had last seen the helicopter. One was trying to dial someone on a phone while the other glanced nervously back and forth between the slope and his partner. The first man began cursing at the large phone in his hand. They were the pilots all right.
Caesare came up behind them smoothly, with the carbine pressed tight against his cheek. By the time they heard him, he was right on top of them. The pair froze at the sound of Caesare’s boots.
“How many?!” Caesare growled, in a low voice.
Both men peered at him without moving.
Caesare circled wide and stopped next to an old International pickup truck. Its fenders and doors had more rust than paint. He kept the barrel on the pilots and glanced around the camp. “How many others?”
Still no response. Christ. “Speak ENGLISH?”
The two men, both dressed in light colored khakis, looked at each other. When they turned back, one of them raised a hand and held his index finger and thumb just an inch apart.
“A little. Great,” Caesare mumbled sarcastically. “How many?” he asked again, sweeping his arm across the camp.
The pilot Caesare was talking to was shorter than the other, with hair barely an inch long. “No,” he said. He pointed back and forth between him and his partner as if to say just us.
Caesare motioned for them to get onto the ground, and they complied without hesitation. Both lay face down while Caesare checked inside the three rundown structures. They were so poorly constructed that Caesare wondered if someone had run out of nails. They probably would have been better off with tents.
He examined the second vehicle, an old style U.S. Jeep which clearly had seen better days. It looked to have been out of commission for years.
With his ears listening for anything behind him, he approached the pilots again as they lay still on the ground. He stood to the side where they could clearly see the carbine pointed at their heads. “Where?!” he yelled.
The shorter pilot looked up with a questioning look.
“I said where?! Where did they go?!”
The pilot pivoted his head. He then tilted it and pointed up at the mountain.
Caesare followed his finger toward the smoke. He studied the situation while his gun remained on the pilots.
“Alves?” he asked and pointed the same way.
The man on the ground nodded.
“How long ago?” After more silence, Caesare yelled again and pointed at his watch. “HOW LONG?!”
The pilot displayed four fingers.
Caesare stepped forward and picked up the phone that was dropped when the pilots both lowered themselves to the ground.
Four hours.
One by one, he tied the men to the old Jeep with one at each end, using a nylon line from his bag. When he finally stood up, neither man said a word. Almost half Caesare’s age, they simply glared at him from their positions in the dirt.
“You know I should have killed you both.”
Neither replied.
“Not even a thank you.” Caesare shook his head. “I weep for the future.”
He scanned the camp once more before running through the tall grass over to the AgustaWestland. He approached, pausing for a moment outside to admire the aircraft, and then reached up high and pulled the door open.
If he thought it was nice from the outside, he was stunned at the inside. “Good God,” he thought to himself and examined the ornate interior. The walls were decorated in a combination of soft white and lightly colored maple wood. The white leather seats gave it a noticeably elegant touch. But his eyes quickly fell to the open area on the left side where the carpet was matted down, leaving square-shaped impressions. Cages.
Caesare immediately turned and entered the cockpit. The instrument panel was as modern as he had ever seen. He dropped his bag on the copilot seat and slid into the other. After a short pause, he was startled when the leather seat began to slide forward for him.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” He held his hands up until the seat finished its positioning, then dropped one hand onto the stick and felt it out. After scanning the rest of the panel, he reached out and powered up the electrical system. Lights all around the cockpit instantly illuminated and two large screens in front of him flickered to life. He leaned forward and inspected the fuel gauges.
“Just enough fuel to make it back,” he said aloud. A devilish grin began to spread across Caesare’s face.
General Wei sat quietly in his darkened office. It was very early in the morning and he was the only one in the building. Still in his uniform, he sat waiting with hands resting on the expansive black, polished desktop.
In hindsight, he supposed it had been inevitable. There were a thousand variables that could have easily yielded a different outcome, but deep down he knew it would eventually come to this. He had seen his share of battle, often skirmishes obscured by the veil of political posturing, but warfare was the same no matter where it was and no matter which uniform you wore.
Wei was one of a few soldiers who had ever made it so high up the military ladder without any strong political or blood relationships. In truth, he was an anomaly more than anything else. Born and raised by humble means, he’d entered the Chinese Army when he was only sixteen and the country was in the throes of the greatest political shift in modern Chinese history. It was an overthrow of the old regime by a new one that, in the end, would be different in words only.
His skills as a leader were recognized early in his career by one of the new government’s ideologists and guided him down a path of advancement that few would ever experience. But ironically, it was his skill of remaining politically neutral that helped Wei eventually become one of China’s most powerful military leaders.
But he had no illusions as to where his fate now lay. Wei was one of China’s only honest generals, perhaps the only one, which is why “the seven” selected him for this job. But when it was over, he would be too.
Wei jumped when his phone suddenly vibrated against the hard wood of the desk, illuminating the area around him in an eerie glow. Wei picked it up and looked at the screen. It was the message he had been waiting for: a message from Chao.
Wei read the text and put the phone down again. He sat for several minutes in the darkness. Deep inside, he had somehow hoped it wouldn’t come to this. That there was still some way out. There wasn’t.
There was a fleeting attempt at consolation, remembering an old proverb about the hardest decisions having to be made by the strongest men. It didn’t help.
He picked up his desk phone and dialed a number. The other end was picked up immediately. Wei gave the order and gently returned the receiver to his cradle.
As he usually did, Wei thought of his late wife: the most beautiful of souls whom he had ever known. What would she think of her husband now?
55
Alison dunked her tea bag several times before laying it to the side and taking a tentative taste from her mug. Satisfied, she removed the pouch and set it gently on the edge of her saucer. She raised the cup with both hands and took a longer sip.