Suddenly, one of the men began running toward her.
Why? she wondered.
Then she knew.
“Bomb!”
Danny saw the flash in his visor screen as he switched back to check on the escapees.
All he saw was white in the center of black. It seemed like forever before the camera on the Osprey supplying the feed readjusted.
There was a team member down.
Melissa.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded. “Shorty? Shorty!”
“We have one man down,” said the trooper. “Another minor injury. All of the prisoners are dead.”
“What the hell happened?” demanded Danny.
“He had a vest, and explosives in a knapsack. We have high-tech parts in a bag.”
“What’s Melissa’s status?”
“Breathing. Losing a lot of blood.”
“Evac her the hell out of there.”
“We’re working on it, Colonel. We’re working on it.”
Chapter 7
Room 4
Jonathon Reid pushed his chair away from the table and rose. He felt as if he’d taken a breath of fresh air for the first time in weeks.
“The electronics match,” he said. “We’ve got it. Thank God.”
“I’m always amazed at how much God is blamed for what humans do,” said Ray Rubeo.
Reid stifled a smirk. He hadn’t known the scientist even believed in God.
“They’ll all be back in Ethiopia inside an hour,” Breanna said. “Three wounded, including the CIA officer. Light casualties, considering.”
Reid nodded. It was an absurdly low casualty rate, given what had been at stake.
There was a certain poetic justice in the fact that the person who’d been most seriously wounded was the one attached to the program. It was an extremely uncharitable thought. Yet that’s what he felt.
He also felt it would have been far more satisfying if it was Harker who’d been wounded.
“Ilse has lost a lot of blood,” said Breanna, who as usual seemed to be reading his mind. “But her vitals are stable. She took some shrapnel in the face. That’s probably the most serious. The cut in her neck didn’t reach the artery. I’m pretty sure she’ll live.”
Reid nodded. The other two injuries were Marines. Both were bullet wounds, one in the arm and one in the leg.
“As soon as all our people are out, the Tomahawks will finish off the camp buildings,” said Breanna. “It’ll be wiped out completely.”
“Do you want to tell the President, or should I?”
“You go ahead,” she said. “I’ll stay here until they’re all on the ground.”
Walking to his office, Reid realized that, if he wished, he could hint that the Russian involvement in the entire affair seemed less than coincidental. It could easily be made to seem part of a conspiracy to purposely “lose” American technology, without actually appearing criminal about it. A case could easily be constructed that pointed the finger at Harker.
Easily.
But Reid would not do that. He knew the facts. And even though he wished Harker ill, he would not bend the truth to harm him.
It occurred to Reid as he sat down at his desk that Harker might actually be in line to take over Edmund’s job. If that were the case . . .
No, Reid told himself, I must act responsibly. No conspiracy theories, no hints, just the facts.
He picked up the phone and called the White House.
“You’re awful quiet,” Breanna said to Rubeo as they watched the first Osprey take off.
“Yes,” he said, in his long drawn-out way.
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
“We have the hardware,” said Rubeo.
“And?”
“One never knows.”
Chapter 8
Ethiopia
Danny hopped out of the Osprey as it settled down, sprinting toward the building that had been turned into a temporary clinic. Two Navy doctors and a small team of corpsmen were flown in prior to the strike to tend to the wounded.
A corpsman met him at the door.
“How are my people?” asked Danny, stepping into the large room.
“All stable, Colonel. We’re just getting ready to evac to Germany.”
Four stretchers and a host of medical equipment were spread out in the room. One of the patients was sitting on a chair, arm in a sling. Another was sitting up on his bed. The medical people were clustered around the third, lying prone on the table.
“How’s Melissa?” asked Danny.
“Serious but stable,” said one of the doctors near her. He came over to Danny. “She’ll make it. Your people did excellent work. Excellent.”
“Can she talk?”
The doctor grimaced. “She’s unconscious. Her face is fairly bashed up. She’ll need plastic surgery. Maybe a lot.”
Danny walked over to the stretcher. Melissa’s face was bundled in bandages.
Her face. Her beautiful face.
“Transport is ready!” yelled the corpsman. “They’re waiting for us!”
“Let’s move it!” said the doctor.
Danny stepped back and watched as they took her and the others out.
“Don’t let her die, God,” he prayed quietly. “And let her be the person she was before all of this.”
Chapter 9
The White House
Christine Mary Todd took the news like she took most news—calmly, without noticeable emotion. She thanked Jonathon Reid, not only for helping make the mission a success, but for having had the fortitude to bring the matter to her attention despite what she guessed was considerable personal anguish and, undoubtedly, backlash from the intelligence community.
She hung up the phone, then called Blitz and Bozzone in to see her.
Waiting for them, she took a sip of tea—lukewarm, but welcome nonetheless—and tried to stretch her legs in the small office. The Intelligence Committee vote was deeply unfortunate; it made it difficult for her to send Edmund over to talk to them without seeming to give in. The political nuances of weakening her image could easily come back to haunt her in the future.
But now that Raven was safely in their hands, she had no problem giving the committee the information. In fact, handled properly, it could help fend off another episode like this one.
How exactly could she deal with this?
Perhaps she could persuade the committee to pull back on the subpoena. But they seemed to be in no mood to do so, not given the vote. Only Zen Stockard had stood against them.
She went back to the phone. “Give me Senator Stockard’s office.”
Bozzone came in while she was waiting on the phone. Todd motioned for him to sit down.
Zen’s appointment secretary said he was on the Senate floor, which made it impossible to talk to him immediately.
“I’d like to speak with him personally,” Todd told her. “When do you think he would have a hole in his schedule?”
“For you, he would always be available, Ms. President. But um, uh—”
An idea occurred to her.
“Does he still go to the Nationals baseball games?”
“Yes, ma’am. As a matter of fact, he’s planning on going this evening, I happen to know.”
Todd winked at Bozzone. “Ask if he’d like a better seat.”