“A few hours.” She took another sip. She picked up the remote control to the TV. “This should be interesting.”
The screen filled with the words CNC-TV SPECIAL REPORT, the words then displaced by the channel’s star reporter, Liz Gordon. “A bombshell exploded in the nation’s capital last night with the latest revelation growing out of the investigation into the suicide of the director of Central Intelligence.”
“I’m sick of this,” Maura murmured.
“Wait,” Maddy said.
The commentator’s face turned even more serious. “A tape monitoring a telephone conversation between Senator John Leland and Secretary of Defense Robert Merritt revealed that Leland knew beforehand there was no connection between the existence of an alleged child-pornography ring and the late DCI.”
The screen faded to an interview with Leland. “This is a blatant attempt by the Turner administration to discredit my investigation,” Leland blustered.
A voice off camera said, “Secretary Merritt has confirmed the authenticity of the phone call.”
“Merritt is a lying turncoat,” Leland fumed. “That is not my voice on the tape.”
The voice was relentless. “Three experts have analyzed the tape and compared it with your speeches. They all say it is you.”
Leland drew himself up, filling the screen with righteousness. “Let me make this perfectly clear: the person who recorded this tape committed a crime that will not go unpunished. It is a violation of federal law.”
Again the voice was there. “An unidentified source claims that Patrick Flannery Shaw was the source of the tape.”
Leland was shouting. “Do you know who Shaw is?”
“Was, Mr. Senator. Patrick Shaw died early this morning.”
Maddy clicked off the TV. “Oh,” Maura said. “I didn’t know.”
“He passed away two hours ago.”
“You were there?” Maura asked. A gentle nod answered her. “I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t unexpected,” Maddy said. She rose and walked to the mantel over the fireplace. She reached out and touched the small hand bell resting in the place of honor. “Do you remember when he gave it to me?” She held the bell as tears coursed down her cheeks.
Thirty-eight
Twilight in the tropics is very brief, and it was dark when Colonel Sun and the rest of the First SOS made the rendezvous shortly after 1900 hours, a good eight hours ahead of schedule. The men dropped their heavy loads and sank to the ground, too weary to appreciate what they had done. “How many?” Kamigami asked.
“Fifty-four,” Sun replied. With Kamigami’s forty-two men, they had ninety-six shooters.
“Where’s Tel?” Kamigami asked.
“Tel was on the point when we ran into a patrol,” Sun explained. “He saw them first, but before we could retrograde, they saw two men. Tel took a four-man team to lead them away. With luck, they may think they’re chasing a long-range patrol.”
Kamigami’s eyes narrowed as he fought the urge to reprimand the colonel. He should have waited and covered the last ten miles at night. But Sun was no fool and understood how critical the element of surprise was to special operations. “Why the hurry?”
“Singapore is under incredible pressure from missile attacks. We’ve been ordered to take them out as soon as possible — before morning.”
Kamigami had experienced it before where the priorities of a higher headquarters overrode tactical considerations, often at the risk of the mission itself. It was also a measure of SEAC’s desperation. “I understand,” Kamigami conceded. Sun swayed from fatigue, and Kamigami gave in to the inevitable. “Get some rest.” He checked his watch. “I’ll lay out the attack at 2300 hours, and we’ll go in before first light.” Four hours of rest was all they were going to get.
Rest was the one luxury Tel did not have. He kept his small team moving, urging them on with hand signals, barely ahead of the men in hot pursuit. It was a calculated gamble to lead the patrol they had inadvertently stumbled across away from the Taman Negara. So far it had worked. But he wasn’t certain for how much longer. He kept thinking “ambush,” but he needed time to set it up. He also needed to know how many men were chasing them. Given the way the PLA did business and judging by the noise they were making, he suspected it was a rather large number.
Finally it was dark enough to do something. He ordered his team to drop their heavy bergens and strip down to fighting loads. Then they were up and moving, now much faster. Eventually he found an open area where the trees thinned out but the underbrush was still thin and undeveloped. He sent his four men into hiding, all within ten meters of the trail. He quickly checked to make sure they were not visible to night-vision goggles before spreading ground pepper on the trail where it entered the clearing. He took cover.
He didn’t have to wait long. Two men came into sight, moving cautiously down the trail. He evaluated their movements with a practiced eye and decided they weren’t very good. Then he saw the dog. He forced his breathing to slow as the dog sniffed at the trail. The dog sneezed four times, and the two men halted. They took their time studying the clearing. The dog sneezed again, and one spoke into his radio, ample proof they were in contact with a larger group. They stood beside the trail and smoked cigarettes while they waited for the main body to come up. Tel didn’t move as the dog started to range, only to start sneezing again.
The patrol came up the trail, and the two men kept smoking, waving them through the clearing. Tel counted fifty-three soldiers as they passed. An officer brought up the rear with a radio operator. He paused while he spoke into his handset, reporting his platoon’s location and what they had seen. Tel caught enough of the report to worry him. The officer moved on, and a second platoon came down the trail. This time Tel counted fifty-eight men. He was dealing with a company-strength patrol. Finally the two men were alone, and they fell in behind, now the rear guard.
Tel waited until they were out of earshot and spoke into his whisper mike. “Take them out,” he ordered. He waited.
A voice spoke in his earpiece. “We got them.”
Tel stepped onto the trail and moved forward. The two soldiers were lying beside the trail, their throats cut. “Where’s the dog?” he asked. But no one had seen it. Tel made a decision. “Pick them up and head for the rendezvous. We’ll dispose of them when we can.” Two of his team shouldered the bodies in a fireman’s carry and headed back in the direction they had come from. Tel scoured the area, removing any traces of the fight or their presence. He took one last look around and followed.
Clark counted the twenty men piling onto the first helicopter while Doc Ryan and two medics pulled the last stretcher patient out of the crash wagon. Willing hands helped pull the wounded man onto the laps of the six men crammed onto the rear bench of the second Puma. Clark took one last count — four litter patients and fifteen men — and gave the pilots a thumbs-up. The two helicopters lifted off and disappeared over the treetops. She ran for the crash wagon and jumped into the back with the doctor. They raced for the med station as an artillery shell exploded on a nearby empty aircraft shelter. “How many left?” she asked.
“Two,” Ryan answered.
“I wanted to get them all out,” she said.
The doctor shook his head. “Better this way. They’re not in pain.” It was triage in the raw. The two men not evacuated were going to die no matter what miracles modern medicine might perform. Their places on the helicopter had been given to patients who could be treated — and to men who could still fight. The crash wagon’s radio crackled. Two more wounded were coming across the runway, both the enemy.