Dark Rule (COIL Book 3), page 28
Brad prayed as he heard men's voices across the road. They spoke in Greek, which he didn't know but a few words. He guessed they were debating whether Brad had crossed the road or not. They'd see there was nowhere for anyone to hide across the road, and they'd conclude that he'd remained where there was more cover to the west. At least, that was Brad's prayer. And with the assumption his lone shrub would be scrutinized, he remained as still as possible, even when a leg cramp painfully plagued his right thigh.
The first hour passed. More soldiers came and went. Since Brad didn't know when one of them might eye his bush, not once did he dare to peek at the searching soldiers who combed the brush no more than a stone's throw away.
During the second hour, more vehicles arrived with fresh reinforcements, probably from New Manchester, he guessed. Brad tried to sleep. As tired as he was, he still couldn't find peace enough to drift away. He kept his eyes closed, meditating on where true peace and security rested: at the cross of Christ. And the more he thought about Horatio, the more firmly he decided he couldn't leave the island without knowing for certain if the young man were dead or not.
When darkness finally settled across the land, three vehicles drove north. Their search had turned up nothing, but Brad knew the military wouldn't give up. Finally, for the first time in hours, Brad moved. He rolled over, eased himself into a sitting position, and massaged his leg muscle. For several minutes, he took in his surroundings and familiarized himself with the shadows. The moon was out, casting a clear reflection off the sea to the east. There were no clouds in the sky to cover the light of the moon. Even with the darkness, he'd have to move carefully along the cliffs because a watchful eye would still see him.
Far above and to the northwest, the volcano rumbled and spit fire. It quieted a moment later, as if it were biding its time for the prime occasion to erupt.
With difficulty, Brad swallowed. He needed water. Digging into his pack, he ate his last energy bar, choking it down without a drop of liquid.
Still seated, he fit his pack onto his back, though not without taking inventory first. He still had three stun grenades and two tranquilizer pens. Using a meager medical kit, he applied alcohol pads and antibiotic ointment to his scrapes and scratches. Though he was close to exhaustion, he felt a sense of exhilaration at the thought of meeting up with his friends. If Heather, Jasper, and the team were anywhere in the region, Walter would've made contact with them by now. Walter would know how best to find out about Horatio's status, perhaps by intercepting a radio transmission.
With his eyes on the terrain inland, Brad cautiously rose to his feet. Nothing moved. No cars. No soldiers. No barrels flashing gunfire his way.
He crept to the edge of the cliff and looked down at the waves frothing against the rocks far below. And farther out to sea, the Predator was one of those floating lights he could barely see, bobbing in the water. If his radio still worked, he could've briefed them on his plans, but he had to assume they'd know he'd reach out to them the best he could as soon as he could. Communication devices failed sometimes. They'd know that. Or would they automatically assume he'd been captured? His mind was ready to burst under the pressure of doubt.
Slowly, Brad followed the cliffs southward. He stayed only a few feet from the edge, which wasn't to tempt fate, but to stay as far away from the road as he could, which snaked along at his right. It wasn't long before Brad saw headlights approaching from the north, but he had time to run ahead and hide behind a small boulder until it was safe again. When Brad came upon a driveway that veered off the coastal road, he guessed he was below the airport. He was farther along than he'd estimated. Pausing south of the intersection, he wondered if he should dare to deviate from his way to search for water at the runway. If he found himself too distracted, however, he wouldn't reach Sankaddan that night at all. He was thirsty, but it was best to bypass the airport altogether. There was nothing there for him but risk.
As Brad turned away, he spotted movement in a stand of brush between him and the runway. Dropping to his stomach, he rolled twice, in case gunfire followed, but he was sure he'd been spotted. Against the backdrop of the sea and horizon, he was surely more visible than anyone else inland.
And yet, no gunfire followed, no screaming bullets sought his hide. He rose to his hands and knees and crawled westward. When he paused again, he looked toward the airport. More movement, but not just from one spot; there were many bodies moving toward him! Silently, ghostlike, at least thirty soldiers rushed him. They'd lain in wait, as if Brad were their prey.
Brad rose to his feet, with only the cliffs behind him. He wouldn't leap into the sea unless all else was lost. Calmly, he plucked a grenade off his belt and pulled the pin. They'd underestimated his will to live—and the accuracy of his arm.
The volcano exploded fire and cast an eerie, orange-red glow across the island. The illumination distracted the charging soldiers. Brad picked out the bald head of the one Horatio had called Fredrick, and pitched the first grenade at the giant man.
*~*
Chapter Thirty-one
Fredrick wiped the sweat from his baldheaded brow. All evening, he'd been leading the search for the missing Christian. Finding Horatio had been a surprise, but now he wanted the man who had talked Horatio into helping him escape the island! Horatio was unconscious and terribly wounded, so Fredrick couldn't interrogate the young soldier yet, but Fredrick was fairly certain he was accurately reading the intentions of the remaining foreign invader.
Since they hadn't been able to find the missing man, Fredrick had gathered his soldiers at the airport—over fifty men. Then he'd sent all the vehicles away to make it appear they were pulling out of the vicinity. Thirty men remained, all hiding in the brush. He was certain the missing foreigner was hiding nearby, and so his ambush was laid.
His mobile phone buzzed. It was Trevor Niles.
"Everything in place?" Niles asked. "Sure want to see at least one of our ambushes work this week!"
"Yeah." Fredrick was in the center of his ambush line of men. "If we don't see anything in the first couple hours of darkness, we'll go closer to Sankaddan."
"Where did you take that traitor? What was his name?"
"Horatio, sir." Fredrick was angry that his own interrogator had betrayed them all. The young soldier would pay as soon as he was conscious. "We took him to the Sankaddan clinic. He was a weak man. I was trying to toughen him up, but I see my time spent with him only made him weaker."
"The general has been briefed. He awaits news. Call me when you have something."
Pocketing his phone, Fredrick narrowed his eyes in thought, as he looked south. Both he and Niles were responsible for the failings lately, but Niles had rushed to the general's side and was surely putting all the blame on Fredrick. If Fredrick didn't succeed this time, he knew Niles wouldn't hesitate to discipline him publicly. Worse yet, they still hadn't caught any of the other escapees, either, mostly because they were spending so much time searching for this cursed man who so evaded his men. Fredrick didn't know how the man had gotten away after stumbling upon his plantation. He'd had nowhere to run, and yet Fredrick's men hadn't found him—only a few traces of blood and fabric clinging to thorn bushes. And by the time Fredrick had arrived on the scene, his men had so trampled all sign, it was impossible to track the evasive intruder.
A moment earlier, Fredrick had finally spotted the foreigner—a tall, lanky figure across the road near the cliffs. One by one, the message was passed down the line, every soldier preparing to attack. The lone man lingered at the roadside where it intersected with the roadway to the airport. No better ambush could've been planned. His men were perfectly placed. The invader had nowhere to run!
Silently, Fredrick signaled the advance by rising to his feet and starting forward. Like a wave, the thirty soldiers moved on either side of Fredrick, sidearms and rifles in their hands. When the lone man sensed the danger, Fredrick saw him reach for his side, then cock his arm, as if to throw something. Fredrick felt as if his heart skipped a beat when he realized the man was about to throw another grenade! With his side still painful from the last grenade the operative had thrown at him, he took comfort in the fact that no one could be that accurate twice.
Along the line of men beside Fredrick, one of his soldiers moved up, then passed him. In the darkness, it was too hard to see which of his men it was. But from the silhouette, this man had longer, loose hair. He suddenly realized it wasn't one of his men at all! It was . . . a woman! The infiltrator was two steps ahead of Fredrick when he reached for her, but she was moving faster, even with a pack on her back. He didn't know where she'd come from! She just . . . was.
Behind him, the volcano that had been rumbling for days, belched such fire that half the men became distracted. For an instant, they took their eyes off the lone man against the cliff.
Looking ahead of the woman, Fredrick saw his foe on the cliff release the grenade with the expert snap of his wrist. Though Fredrick opened his mouth to warn his men about the woman and the grenade, it was too late. The grenade hit him squarely on the chest and stopped him in his tracks. He couldn't breathe. Falling to his knees, Fredrick looked down at the grenade in front of him. Everything in his head told him to look away, but he was staring directly at it in unbelief when it exploded.
#######
When Heather noticed the Zalzunian troops begin to congregate around her at the airstrip, she knew Brad had to be near. Thirty soldiers were spread out in a line from east to west to the south of her. She was hidden only twenty yards away, but in the darkness, she felt adequately protected since their focus was toward the cliffs.
Though she felt safe, Heather worried about how she would help Brad if he encountered the deadly ambush. Would she be able to get him to a plane and start it up in time? Straining to hear, she listened to a large, bald man point and gave orders to the others. She caught no signal as to their specific intentions. But Baldy was definitely in charge.
In the moonlight, Heather saw Brad at the cliff edge an instant before Baldy did. When the troops rushed toward Brad, Heather was on Baldy's heels. Silently, even with her heavy pack, she overtook the man and his soldiers.
Once in front of them, she saw Brad throw a grenade at the men behind her. She was temporarily deafened, but her eyes were unaffected. With both hands, she tossed two of her own grenades, one to each side. They exploded simultaneously, blinding Brad, as well as the rest of the soldiers, who stopped their attack in fear and confusion.
Heather had only a few seconds when she reached Brad, who was kneeling on the ground, covering his eyes with his hands.
Grabbing Brad by the back of his collar, Heather pushed him toward the cliff rim. She reached over the edge and found her rappel rope, then fastened it to her harness.
"Brad, I'm here!" she yelled. "C'mon!"
He crawled toward her and stood. Grabbing at his waist to find his belt, she hoped the leather was sturdy enough to hold his weight. Then she clipped her harness to him, kicked his heels from under him, and they tumbled over the cliff together.
For two seconds, they free-fell before Heather twisted the rope in a Z to manage their decent. Brad's arms were flailing, then he clung to her torso as she bounded thirty yards at a time down the cliff face.
Unable to see much besides shadows in the darkness, they hit the beach hard, then crumpled in a heap of limbs as Heather struggled to loose Brad from her harness. Once they were free from the rope, Heather jumped up and pulled the dinghy away from the cliff wall into the water. She waited for Brad's senses to return, then he followed her and climbed into the narrow bow. Heather hopped into the back and began to row.
"I have Brad in the dinghy, Jasper," Heather said into her comm unit. "We need a pickup. Over."
"Walt, you got her?" Jasper said in her ear.
"Coming to you. Tell me when you see my boat. Over." Walter's voice was barely audible over the noise of his motors.
"We can't leave!" Brad objected to Heather. "Horatio—he saved me! He saved Uncle Albert and Lacy, too. He's the one who bulldozed the rehab center!"
"Brad's right," Walter said in her ear. "Albert told me he promised a guard named Horatio a ride off the island. Over."
"This is Dirk. Bruce, Cliff, and I are in Sankaddan. We'll look into it. If everyone's safe, we need to get our hands on Niles if possible. He's a wanted man. But with or without him, we need to be gone by dawn. Over."
"Jasper here. Meet you in Sankaddan. Out."
Heather nodded at Brad
"You've got a covert kind of future for you, kid. We're almost done with this operation, but I'd say you're just getting started."
"Something for me to pray about," he said, then looked out to sea.
In her heart, Heather said her own prayer—for Bruce. He'd be going in without her.
#######
"Seems this is pretty extreme for a fella we're not even sure is alive."
Glancing at Clifford Lavers, Nathan paid his mouthiness little mind. Clifford's skills as a Christian operative were known around the world, regardless of his loose tongue. Bruce, who knelt with them behind a sea wall on the edge of Sankaddan, shrugged in the fading darkness. Like his brother, Bruce had a reputation among COIL field agents as a selfless and committed man—and he had scars to prove his dedication.
"If Brad and the Jamisons say this guy helped them," Nathan said quietly over the waves at their back, "then we can't leave him behind."
"If he's still alive." Clifford shook his head. "Brad did say Horatio was shot."
"Why don't you shut your mouth?" Bruce finally told his brother. "You know you're going with us no matter what."
Nathan didn't mind the brothers' banter. Actually, he didn't mind their company at all. Since leaving COIL's primary infiltration team to operate underground, he was usually alone—and more often than not, he was lonely. For this reason, he anticipated contact with Chen Li. What mission was she on? Would she be free to meet in person? He had to see her again!
"Four soldiers." Nathan pointed at a cement building and a Jeep parked in front. "According to our intel, that's Sankaddan's only clinic. If Horatio's alive, he'd be in there."
"Yeah, but there's still four soldiers!" Clifford looked to his brother. "Tell him, Bruce!"
"Tell me what?" Nathan kept his eyes on the clinic. The sun was nearly peeking over the horizon. Jasper was down the shore three hundred yards at the main pier, probably still arguing with customs officers since he didn't have the right shore papers. The team was running out of time if they were to catch a ride with Jasper on the sailboat off the island. "See that Jeep? That's Fredrick's Jeep. That means Fredrick is inside. You two approach from the east. I'll take them on the west."
"Wait." Clifford set a firm hand on Nathan's forearm, stopping Nathan as he started to rise over the sea wall. "What do you expect us to do exactly?"
"You have tranqs, don't you?" Nathan held up his own pen tranquilizer device. "Use them."
"Seriously, Dirk . . ." This time, Bruce objected with pleading eyes. Nathan was certain the brothers knew he was really Nathan Isaacson, but they were still respecting his cover as Dirk Salverskein. "We're used to team coverage."
Instantly, Nathan understood. The Lavers brothers were prime operatives, but they were team operators, not solo agents, as Nathan had become. They were familiar with NL weaponry and tranq guns that could disable the enemy from a safe distance.
"Nothing to it." Nathan forced a smile. "East side. Distract them. Don't worry; God's with us!"
Before they could object, Nathan leaped over the low wall and crouched as he ran for cover behind a single olive tree that grew at the edge of the clinic parking lot.
Once behind the olive tree, he looked back to see the brothers were on the move. The four soldiers near the entrance of the clinic were heavily armed with rifles and sidearms—perhaps a sign of their two fruitless days and nights of manhunts all over the island.
The volcano belched fire and rumbled, welcoming the dawn as the sun shined on the upper section of the cone. A shimmering lava flow appeared on the deserted western slope. If the island weren't about to be consumed by the volcano, Nathan might've entertained the idea of returning after the rescue operation to help the peasants set up a new government in place of General Yousef's. However, the increased activity of the violent eruptions signaled the end of the Republic of Zalzuna.
The Lavers brothers were in full sight of the four soldiers now, and Nathan tensed his weary and bruised body for one more conflict. His knee brace joint needed some attention, and he could've used a twelve-hour snooze, but lives were in the balance. People came first.
The soldiers spotted Clifford and Bruce. Nathan started across the gravel lot a heartbeat later. The brothers were mock arguing as they approached the clinic—pushing, shoving, and yelling threats at one another. Nathan hoped it was enough of a distraction as he dashed toward the Jeep.
By the time Nathan reached the Jeep, the soldiers had passed the front bumper of the vehicle. Clifford and Bruce were so vocal that Nathan's footsteps weren't heard on his intersecting path. He planted his left foot on the Jeep's right front tire, and sprang over the hood, his arms reaching out for maximum effect.
Though the soldiers were grouped tightly, tackling four at once was a stretch, but Nathan only realized this in midflight. Though his wingspan was over six feet wide, he collided with only two of the soldiers. The impact of his body against his targets was enough to startle the other two soldiers, but Nathan had his hands full with the first two. He hoped the Lavers brothers were close enough to deal with the others.
