Chapter 46
The main runway was beginning to crack. Rourke snatched the young child from the refugee woman's arms and handed the little girl aboard the DC-9, then helped the woman to follow. He should never have let Natalia go, he thought. They had reached the airfield, the evacuation already under way and most of the Cuban personnel aiding in the civilian evacuation or too busy trying to save their own lives to offer resistance. Rourke and Natalia had gotten Sissy Wiznewski on one of the first planes to take off after they had reached the field, then Natalia had gone off to aid a party of refugees, Rourke working with a Soviet captain and an American major to bring some order to the airfield and speed up the take-offs. More planes hovered overhead, ready to land as they made a wide circle of the field. It was a miracle that so far there had been no mid-air collisions.
He loaded the last child aboard the aircraft, then the little boy's crying mother, then slapped his right hand against the fuselage as the crewman by the door started closing up. Rourke snatched the borrowed walkie-talkie from his hip pocket. "Rourke to tower— DC-9 ready for take-off pattern!"
"Tower here. Roger on that."
Rourke shoved the radio into his pocket, then turned around scanning the field for Natalia. The rain was pouring down, and as the propellers of a plane passing along the runway near him accelerated, the rain lashed at Rourke's face. Pushing his streaming wet hair back from his forehead, he started to run, sidetracking a small, twin engine plane that was landing. He looked from side to side along the runway's length. There were more planes loading refugees at the far end of the field, and Rourke started running toward them. It was more than the promise he'd made Varakov, to see Natalia get away alive. But Rourke forced the thoughts from his mind as he ran on, sloshing through puddles on the runway, the wind blowing the rain at near gale force now, gusts buffeting his body as he dodged incoming and outgoing planes, making his way across the field.
Rourke reached the planes still loading, but Natalia was nowhere in sight. He grabbed a passing Soviet airman by the collar, shouting in Russian, "The Russian woman— where is she?"
The man looked uncomprehending a moment, a strong gust of wind lashing them both, catching the Soviet airman's hat and blowing it across the field. "Wait," the young man stammered. "A beautiful woman— dark hair, blue eyes?"
"Yes— where?" Rourke shouted over the wind.
"There, I think!" The airman pointed toward the airfield control center, a complex of low buildings about five hundred yards away, nearer the water beyond the airfield than the runways.
Rourke started running, shouting over his shoulder, "Thank you!" but the young airman was already turned around, helping a woman load a baby aboard the nearest aircraft.
Chapter 47
They were out of the city and there was no sign of Soviet pursuit. Sarah Rourke thought she knew why. The ground under the truck was shaking, and the rain was falling so heavily its color reminded her of staring through a cheaply made plastic drinking glass. It was almost impossible to see anything.
"Mary Beth! Stop the truck!"
The woman behind the wheel looked at her and hit the brakes, the truck skidding slightly, then grinding to a stop.
Sarah Rourke turned out the window and looked into the rain again, then looked back at Mary Beth, saying, "You want to get them into hiding, where that fisherman took your children. But he was taking my children up the coast so we could get away. I'm leaving you now."
"You're crazy. You'll get killed out there alone." Mary Beth called over the rain.
Sarah smiled. "No I won't."
She started out of the truck cab, the rain lashing at her, the long skirt of the dress plastered against her legs. "Get down!" she shouted to the Soviet major, gesturing with the MAC-10.
The man looked at her a moment, then started out of the truck. "What are you doing, Sarah?" Mary Beth screamed.
"I made this man a promise. I want to see it gets kept and nobody kills him."
There was a car coming down the highway-Russian, she thought. The car was swerving, the driver coming too fast in the rain. Sarah pressed herself against the side of the truck as the car skidded out of the oncoming lanes and across, narrowly missing the front of the truck and slamming into a utility pole.
Sarah gestured with the MAC-10 and the Soviet major ran beside her toward the car.
It was a recent, model, an American Ford. The two Soviet soldiers inside it were dead. She turned to the major. "Get the bodies out— and no funny business."
The Russian looked at her. "All right."
Sarah reached under her sodden dress, snatching the .45 automatic bound to her thigh, then cocking the hammer to full stand.
She pointed the gun at the major, the Russian clearing the body from the back seat and placing it beside the man already on the ground.
"Mary Beth— the gun!" Sarah held the MAC-10 out at arm's length in her left hand.
In a moment, Mary Beth was beside her. "You know what you're doin'?"
"Uh-huh," Sarah answered. "Good luck to you all. Get out of here."
From the corner of her eye, she watched as Mary Beth ran back toward the truck, then climbed into the cab, the truck starting away.
Sarah turned and looked at the Major. "You've been wearing a pistol all this time, haven't you?" And she eyed the holster on his belt.
"Not very efficient of you, madam."
Taking a step closer to him, she said quietly, rain streaming down from her hair and across her face,
"Take it out and toss it into the bushes."
"Yes," he answered, taking the gun slowly from the holster, eyeing her a moment, then tossing it away.
"Now get your shoulder to that car; get behind the wheel or something. I want it away from that pole."
"It will not drive, probably."
She started to speak, then the major interrupted her. "I know— I'd better hope that it drives." The major slowly climbed behind the wheel of the car. There was a groaning noise, but then after several false starts, the engine turned over and she gestured to the major to back the car up. She kept the gun pointed at his head.
Sarah thought for an instant he was going to try to make a break, but the car stopped, and as she stepped back from the door he climbed out. "I can't believe it," he smiled. "Luck is with you today. The car drives."
"Now stand over there, by the utility pole," she ordered.
"For you to shoot me?"
"You'd better hope—" She stopped, hardly believing the sound coming from her own throat— laughter. The major was smiling, then he too began to laugh. He stepped back, slowly, still facing her and, as he reached the utility pole, she started into the car, behind the wheel.
"Madam!"
She looked into his face. He raised his right hand and saluted her, bowing slightly.