Easy Day for the Dead (28 page)

“My leg! Something bit me.”

Something sank its teeth into Alex's leg where a shot had grazed the inside of his thigh. The teeth were sharp as steak knives. Alex yelled.

“Piranhas!” Cat gasped in a whisper. “Swim to the shore!”

Alex kicked as hard as he could, worried the piranhas' next target would be his crotch. Cat and John kicked, too. A piranha nipped at Alex's trouser leg, so he kicked faster.
Better to be a target that's moving than one that's stationary.
One bit into his left calf and hung on. The pain was excruciating. Alex kicked so fast that his lungs ached. He turned in the water to swim on his side, which was the easiest position in which to hold Miguel and swim a one-handed sidestroke. Then Alex turned onto his back, where he could only kick. Alex kicked and turned until he flipped the piranha off, but all the movement seemed to stir the blood in the water and whip the piranhas into a feeding frenzy.

“Ow!” Cat yelled.

More piranhas gathered. Miguel received the worst of it because Alex, Cat, and John were too busy protecting their lives to protect his corpse. The piranhas feasted on Miguel.

Alex, Cat, and John reached the shore. Alex pulled Miguel out of the water, laid him down, and kicked the vicious little bastards off his body. Cat helped. John collapsed. After Alex and Cat had knocked all the piranhas off Miguel's body, Alex stomped a piranha's head into the mud.

Alex hoisted Miguel onto his back, and Cat carried John using
the same fireman's carry. They headed northwest through La Paragua. The village was quiet except for some dogs. After hiking the first klick, Alex was winded, but Cat seemed fine. Alex didn't want to be beaten by a woman, and he didn't want to show weakness. He didn't like carrying Miguel through the village, but Miguel had given his life for the mission, and it was the least Alex could do. It was like many experiences in the Teams:
You don't have to like it; you just have to do it.

While walking the next klick, Alex wondered if the SUV would still be where they parked it.
Did one of the locals steal it? Did the Guards find it?
He wanted to prepare himself for the kick in the crotch when he found out it wasn't there, but thinking about it now only made the hike more difficult.
Live in the moment and just take things one step at a time.
As was often the case, he'd just have to let himself be surprised by the kick in the nuts.
The only easy day was yesterday.

One more kilometer later, Alex and Cat reached the green Ford Explorer, right where they'd left it. Alex and Cat laid Miguel and John on the ground. Cat covered the area with her AKMS rifle while Alex checked around the vehicle for signs of tampering or booby traps. There were none, so he retrieved the key from Miguel's pocket and opened the door. Alex loaded Miguel into the third row of seats and Cat laid John across the second row. She elevated John's wounded leg, placing it on his backpack, to slow the bleeding. Cat put his wounded arm on his chest to give it more elevation. Alex was too tired to drive, but Cat looked like she still had energy, so he gave the keys to her. She looked at him for a moment. Alex wanted to ask her what the look was for, but this wasn't the time or place for a conversation, so he kept quiet and hopped into the passenger side of the SUV. Cat quickly sat in the driver's seat and drove away with the lights off. Alex kept watch for anyone following. Cat drove through La Paragua, reached Highway 16, and traveled three kilometers north. “I'm going to turn on the lights so I don't crash into something,” she said.

“Sure. No one is following us.”

Cat turned on the lights. There were no other cars on the road in front of them, and she gunned the engine.

Alex grabbed a water bladder from Miguel's backpack and a blowout kit from Miguel's pocket. Alex examined John's breathing and pulse—he was still alive, but his skin was cold. He woke John.

“Let me rest,” John said.

“Just drink some water,” Alex said. “Then you can rest.” He tilted John's head, placed Miguel's water bladder tube to John's lips, and squeezed it, wetting John's lips. John drank for nearly a minute until the water stopped in his mouth and spilled out onto the seat. Alex decided not to push it, worried that John might vomit, resulting in more dehydration.

John passed out again. Blood had soaked through his bandages. Removing John's bloody bandages would only cause more bleeding, so Alex put fresh bandages from Miguel's blowout kit on John's old bandages. Then Alex cleaned a particularly nasty bite from the piranha on John's leg and bandaged it, too.

Alex radioed the USS
Jason Dunham
and gave them John's medical status. They said they were ready to give an IV, blood transfusion, and whatever else he needed.

The jungle hid the horizon to the east, but the sky above was brightening. Alex offered Cat some water.

“That's Miguel's water, isn't it?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“That's pretty sick.”

“I'd expect him to do the same. Wouldn't you?”

“You guys can use my water when I'm dead, but I'm not going to drink Miguel's.”

“And if you run out of water, whose water are you going to drink? John's? Mine?”

“Just let me dehydrate.”

“Have you been dehydrated? I don't mean thirsty, I mean—”

“I said I'd rather die than drink Miguel's water!” Cat cut him off.

Alex put the water down. He waited several minutes before speaking again. “You gave me a look when I gave you the keys to the SUV.”

“I was going to tell you that you look like how I feel.”

“I was pretty exhausted.”

“Is that why you asked me to drive?”

“Yes.”

“It's awfully brave of you to admit that.”

Alex shrugged.

The sun shone brighter, and Cat would need to blend in as a civilian. She unbuttoned her cammie top and removed it with one hand while driving with the other. Beneath, she wore civilian clothes. “How are you feeling now?”

“I've got the feeling back in my legs and shoulders,” Alex said.

“That's a start.”

Alex opened a packet of alcohol wipes. “If you need a break, just tell me, and I'll drive.”

“Are you saying that because it's your job, or are you saying that because you care about me?”

Alex used a wipe to take the camouflage paint off her face. “Both. Jabberwocky told me that if you take care of your SEALs, they'll take care of you.”

“Who's Jabberwocky?”

“He was my sea-daddy. At SEAL Team Two.”
Sea-daddy
meant
mentor
.

A rusty truck drove slowly in front of them, and Cat passed it. “I've heard of him. Didn't he die in Iraq?”

“Major Khan killed him.”

Cat became quiet.

Alex wiped the camouflage off her neck. Then he cleaned her hands. “You're quiet all of a sudden.”

More vehicles drove on the highway, and Cat passed another. “Does that bother you?”

“I'm just wondering,” he said.

“I just don't want to tell you.”

“Now I'm really wondering.”

“You said you'd be finished after this mission.”

“It's true.”

“After you kill General Tehrani, you're going after Major Khan.”

Alex took off his cammie top, revealing his civilian shirt underneath. “Yes.”

“That's not part of the mission.”

“It's part of my mission.”

“Why?”

“For Jabberwocky.”

“Just Jabberwocky?”

Now Alex knew where this was heading, and Cat was no fool. “Leila, too,” he said.

“Jabberwocky and Leila are dead. They don't need you to kill Major Khan.”

Alex didn't say anything.

“They kill one of yours, then you kill one of theirs, then they kill one of yours,” Cat said. “The cycle never ends.”

“You're still mad about Leila. That's what this is about, isn't it?”

Cat passed a car—then another. “Yes, I'm still mad. I don't want to lose you—not to Leila, not to Major Khan—not to anybody. I've loved you since Indonesia, and I've tried to fight it, but I still love you.” A tear ran down her cheek. “I still love you.”

A
lex put his cheek next to John's mouth—he was breathing. Then Alex felt the artery in John's neck—his pulse raced. The racing heart was a sign that John was running out of time.

Cat finished driving north, 487 kilometers in under seven hours, arriving at Puerto La Cruz. Sailors wearing civilian clothes and piloting an unmarked RHIB picked up her, Alex, John, and Miguel at the pier and motored away. Fortunately, the winds were calm and the ocean smooth as glass, shining under the afternoon sun—peaceful. Lying on his back, John looked peaceful, too—for all the wrong reasons. Alex had cleaned the camouflage paint off John's skin, and John's face looked gray. Alex put his cheek down to John's lips—he wasn't breathing. Alex checked John's pulse—it galloped like the lead horse in a Kentucky Derby. Alex used his left hand under John's chin to tilt his head back until John's chin pointed up, making John's air passageway straight. Alex placed his cheek to John's mouth—still no breathing. Alex put his ear to John's mouth—no sound. With Alex's right hand, he pinched John's nostrils closed. Then he sealed his lips over John's and blew air until John's chest rose. After John's chest contracted, Alex blew again—long and slow.

“John stopped breathing,” Cat told the RHIB pilot. “We have to hurry!”

“We're going full out, ma'am,” the pilot said. “This is as fast as she'll go.”

Every five seconds, Alex breathed into John. After three minutes, Alex stopped to see if John would breathe on his own. “Breathe, John. Come on, John. Breathe, damnit!” John still wasn't breathing. Alex resumed giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

The USS
Jason Dunham
had moved closer to shore while remaining in international waters—every little bit helped. A chief hospital corpsman met the Outcasts when they arrived, quickly ushering John to sick bay, where he gave him an IV and blood.

Alex and Cat waited outside sick bay to find out John's condition. When the doorknob to sick bay turned, Alex's anxiety level rose.

The chief hospital corpsman smiled.

Alex's anxiety level suddenly dropped. He felt like he was on a roller coaster.

“How is John?” Cat asked.

“Better,” the chief hospital corpsman said. “He had injuries caused by the shock effect of the bullets, and he lost well over forty percent of his blood. If he wasn't in such excellent physical and cardiovascular shape, even if he could have survived the trauma, his cardiovascular would have collapsed. John is lucky to be alive.”

“Can we see him?” Alex asked.

“I guess,” the chief hospital corpsman said.

Alex and Cat thanked him and walked inside. John lay hooked up to an IV. His eyes were open.

“John,” Alex greeted him.

“Hi, John,” Cat said.

John turned and looked at them and didn't say anything—he was quiet that way. Alex's sister was quiet, too, and Alex was comfortable with that.

“Anything we can do for you, buddy?” Alex asked.

“Take me with you,” John pleaded.

“You know I can't do that. Not while you're in this condition.”

“I know,” John said sadly.

They were silent for more than a minute. “Anything else?” Alex asked.

Alex had never seen John cry, but now moisture glistened in the corners of his eyes. “You know what I want,” John said.

Alex knew. “With extreme prejudice.”

Cat lowered her head.

Alex and Cat left the operating room.

“The captain would like a word with you in his stateroom,” the chief hospital corpsman said.

Alex and Cat walked to the nearest ladder and climbed to the third floor (0-3 level) amidships, then found the captain's door and knocked.

“Enter,” a voice said.

They walked in to find the ship's captain, seated with two naval officers Alex didn't recognize and the Evaluator officer who spoke with a lisp. In the center of the navy blue carpet was the U.S. Navy's blue and gold seal—an eagle gripping an anchor and a ship sailing in the background.

“Please, sit down,” the captain said.

Alex and Cat sat.

“We just finished talking with JSOC, and they said they'll give you the divining rod at your final destination. JSOC traced General Tehrani's location to an Iranian Aframax-category oil tanker.”

“Where is the tanker now, sir?” Cat asked.

“After the tanker left Venezuela, JSOC lost it, but the tanker's manifest reads that it's sailing for St. Petersburg, Russia, to deliver crude oil. The tanker should arrive in St. Petersburg in about thirteen days. Right now we're returning to Virginia. When we're within helicopter range, our Seahawk will fly both of you to NAS Oceana, and you'll be shuttled to the Dam Neck annex, where you'll
debrief from this mission and brief for the General Tehrani mission. After taking a couple of days to prepare, you'll fly a civilian flight the rest of the way: Norfolk to Washington, Washington to Frankfurt, and Frankfurt to St. Petersburg. You both should arrive a week before the oil tanker.”

K
illing General Tehrani would be the easy part. Throughout history, prominent people have been killed by focused madmen: John Wilkes Booth and Lee Harvey Oswald numbering among them. The hard part would be escaping—requiring a rational mind and sense of calm that men like Booth and Oswald didn't possess.

It was Thursday morning when Alex and Cat's Lufthansa plane landed on a black runway surrounded by snow on the tarmac at Pulkovo Airport in St. Petersburg, Russia. It was Alex's first visit to Russia, and as the passengers disembarked the plane, his nerves kicked in. If he didn't control his feelings, he'd become his own worst enemy. Both he and Cat could end up in a Russian jail or dead. Alex thought to himself:
You've done this in countries around the world—Russia is just another country.