"Reserve malfunction!" she screamed.
Reserves weren't supposed to malfunction, Vaughn thought as he glanced at his altimeter. Five thousand feet. She was at least four hundred feet below him, and the gap was growing wider.
There was only one option. It was stupid, it was insane, but he didn't hesitate.
He reached up, grabbed the metal covers over his cutaways, flipped them open, put his thumbs in the loops and pulled. The pins popped and his main separated from his harness. He was now in free fall.
Vaughn briefly went into the free-fall stable position, then tucked his head down, moved his arms back tight against his sides, legs together, and became an arrow, shooting down toward Tai.
"I'm coming for you," he yelled, the mike picking it up and transmitting.
"Stay stable."
"What?" Tai was confused. How could he be coming for her? Then she realized what he had to have done. She wanted to yell at him, to curse him out for being so foolish, but she also knew it was too late. Still, there was a spark of hope in her chest. She didn't know what he planned to do, but whatever it was, it was her only chance at living.
Four thousand feet.
Vaughn looked past the black spread-eagle form that was Tai. Jolo Island was off in the distance, at least a mile or two offset from them. They were over open water and there was no way they would make landfall. That was the least of their problems right now. Vaughn could tell he was closing on Tai, but he wasn't sure if it would be enough.
Three thousand feet.
Tai was only fifty feet below him now, and he was inching closer. It was going to be close, very close.
Two thousand feet.
She was ten feet below him…five feet. Vaughn moved out of the dive position to stable as he came alongside her. He knew that grabbing her and pulling his reserve wouldn't work – the opening shock would be stronger than his ability to hold onto her. He had to make sure there was a secure connection. With one hand, he reached out and grabbed her harness.
"Stay stable," he ordered over the radio. She was staring at him, the night vision goggles making her seem more like a flying machine than a flesh and blood human being.
One thousand feet.
With the other hand, Vaughn reached underneath his reserve, fingers ripping at the nylon casing around the eighteen-foot lowering line attached to his rucksack. A nail ripped away, but he ignored the pain and managed to hook his finger around a piece of the nylon strap. With all his strength, he pulled, extracting a length about two feet long.
Five hundred feet.
Tai was having a hard time keeping them stable and oriented. Their bodies were beginning to tumble, but Vaughn knew there was nothing to be done about that as he took the length of nylon strap and pressed it against the snap link on the front of Tai's combat vest, trying to press it through the gate. Tai realized what he was doing and grabbed his hand with both of hers. The nylon popped through the snap link.
Vaughn's other hand grabbed his reserve handle. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the ocean surface. Close, way too close. He pulled the rip-cord grip on the reserve and the chute spewed out. Vaughn was jerked upright, then cried out in pain as the lowering line ripped out of its casing, burning down the inside of his right thigh, and then abruptly stopped at its full length, and he was jerked again as Tai came to a halt at the end of it.
She hit the water barely two seconds later, then Vaughn splashed down hard next to her.
CHAPTER 12
Abayon was staring out to sea, looking at the moon reflecting off the water. He felt bone-tired. Telling the story to Fatima had exhausted him, and there was more still to tell. He sighed as he heard the door behind him open and then quietly swing shut. Fatima walked up to him with a bottle. He took several deep drafts before putting it down.
"Where was I?" he asked, although he knew quite well where he'd left off.
"The Americans who parachuted into Japan," Fatima said.
"Ah, yes. One of the Americans was killed right there on the drop zone. Beheaded by a Kempetai officer. The officer turned to behead Martin, forced him to his knees, but another officer stopped him, saying there was a need for living Americans. Martin and the other survivor were taken into custody, thrown in the back of a truck, surrounded by guards, and driven to a Kempetai base. There, to Martin's surprise, his partner was greeted as if he'd been expected – by a well-dressed Japanese man, obviously someone with great power, given the way even the Kempetai officers were treating him."
"Who was this other man?" Fatima asked.
"David Lansale was his name. Here's the interesting thing, and what made Martin wonder what was going on: Lansale turned to Martin and said he was sorry, then left in the company of the mysterious Japanese man. Martin was then taken away, eventually transported to Manchuria and 731. He never saw or heard of Lansale again. He knew he'd been betrayed, but he had no clue why."
"And you do?"
"I do now, to an extent."
Abayon fell silent, and Fatima patiently waited.
"I was in that field, tied to the stake for five days," he finally said.
"Martin died quickly. On the second day. I heard the others crying out. That was bad. But the worst was the smell. Whatever they used on us made us vomit and unable to control our bowels."
Abayon stayed quiet for a few seconds, recalling that horrible field of death.
"I was the last one alive. I could sense it on the morning of the fifth day. They had taken about half of the prisoners away to do with them as they had done to my wife. Others, who died on the stake, they left to rot. They were timing the deaths. In the middle of the fifth day, the soldiers came once more. They wore their protective suits. Gas masks. Many, I could tell, were not happy with their task. It was just as easy for them to be infected.
"A few went up and down the rows of stakes, confirming that all were dead. I knew this was my only chance. I slumped forward against the ropes holding me. I had vomit all over my chest and down my legs. Excrement and urine soiling my pants. I held my breath so the soldier coming along my line would not see my chest move. They didn't want to touch the bodies to check pulses. They were confirming death just by looking for breathing.
"The soldier was in a rush. He looked at me for no more than ten seconds, then moved on the next one. He made it to the end of the line, then joined his comrades. They drove away in their truck. Several hours later, just before nightfall, a truck came back. This one contained the prisoners whose job it was to clear the field. Take in the harvest, so to speak.
"The Japanese used Korean laborers for this. The Japanese did not care if the Koreans became infected. Once more I pretended to be dead. I nearly was, so it was not difficult. I was very sick. I was running a fever. I was dehydrated. Almost delirious. A man cut me loose from the stake and dragged me to the cart behind the truck, which was full of bodies. He threw me in. I weighed perhaps eighty pounds after months of captivity and because of whatever they had infected me with.
"They threw bodies on top of me. Meruta. Logs. And that is how we were tossed in that cart. I lay there, buried among the dead. I almost wished I was."
Again Abayon fell silent.
"How did you survive?" Fatima asked.
"Hate," he said.
"And love."
"I don't understand."
"Even though my wife was dead, I still loved her," Abayon said.
"That kept me going. And because I loved, I hated those who had killed her. That gave me strength. All I thought of while I was in that cart was revenge. They drove to a ditch and dumped us in. I lay there until they were long gone, then clawed my way out. Through all the bodies. I crawled all night. Just to put distance between myself and that place of death."