Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Stay close,” Dirk said. But Meg was already so close the leg of her borrowed uniform brushed against his thigh as they reached the back door and walked out into the yard.
Luke stopped at the edge of the terrace. The clouds had parted and the moon was out, offering plenty of light to see the enemy. More than enough for the soldiers to see Gertsman leading the procession across the yard.
“Hören Sie Menschen! Legen Sie Ihre Waffen auf dem Boden!”
Helmut's voice rang with authority, telling the men to put their weapons on the ground. Luke repeated the order in Spanish.
A few complied, most just held steady. Luke and Helmut told the men Herr Gertsman was their prisoner. That the soldiers must let them pass or Gertsman would be killed.
The men grumbled between themselves even as Luke pushed Gertsman forward. Dirk kept Meg close beside him. Helmut took the rear position, walking backward, providing some small degree of cover. Gertsman's hands remained above his head, Luke's pistol pressing into his spine.
The top of the wall was lined with armed soldiers, assault rifles slung across their chests, their fingers on the triggers. There were men outside the walls and half a dozen in the courtyard between them and the gate. Luke kept forcing Gertsman forward. If the man gave the slightest resistance, they would all be cut to pieces.
Dirk kept walking, Neville's pistol in hand, Gertsman's Walther riding in the small of his back. They were through the gate, outside the compound heading up the hill toward the forest, moving steadily forward.
Perspiration ran between Dirk's shoulder blades. He knew where on the hillside to look for Morgan Flynn, knew where the man had set up his sniper's nest. He was there, covering their movements, probably praying, same as Dirk, that Gertsman would just keep walking.
They had almost made it to the cover of the trees when Gertsman made his move. He pretended to stumble, pitched forward, and started shouting for his men to fire. Chaos erupted.
Men grabbed their rifles and pistols and started firing. Dirk laid down a line of fire, shoved Meg to the ground and followed her down, then both of them crawled toward the trees. Fired from his position on the hill, rounds from Flynn's big M40 .338 slammed into one target after another.
With Meg under cover behind a thick-trunked tree, Dirk continued firing, wounding a man to his left and downing one to his right as the soldiers tried to flank him. Flynn held his position, providing cover as they moved up the hill.
Luke grabbed a downed man's AK and slid in behind a granite boulder. Helmut was twenty yards farther up the hill behind a tree, laying down a steady stream of gunfire. Dirk turned to see Otto Gertsman below them, racing back toward the gate, a dead soldier's pistol in his hand.
Dirk fired his last bullet, tossed the Browning aside, and pulled the Walther, laid down a trail of bullets, kicking up dirt next to Otto's feet. The German slammed into one of his own men, dragged him in front as a shield, and started firing back.
The M40 on the hill sent a deadly bullet flying. The heavy slug tore through the soldier's chest and all the way through Otto Gertsman.
* * *
“We're half a click from the LZ,” Luke said into his radio, speaking to Brandon Elliott, the chopper pilot. “We've got ten, maybe twelve men searching the forest behind us. They aren't far away.”
“Roger that,” said the pilot. “I'm ready. All you got to do is get here.”
“Copy that.” Luke tipped his head toward the top of the hill, urging the others to move. They didn't have far to go. The trick was to get there without being spotted.
Luke looked down at Meg, who walked next to Dirk, still wearing the tan uniform he had taken off one of Gertsman's men, though her hat was long gone, exposing her fiery hair. Luke and Dirk had stripped down to the camos they'd had on underneath.
“How you holdin' up, darlin'?” Luke asked.
She managed to smile. “You two got me this far. I'll make it the rest of the way.”
“Good girl.” Luke started walking. If Meg couldn't keep up, Dirk would carry her. So far she was hanging in, though the terrain was worse than rugged, a steep climb through heavy brush and fallen tree limbs. Tall pine forests cut by rushing streams and big granite boulders surrounded them.
The night was gone, the sun coming up, turning the horizon a grayish pink and adding to the difficulty of staying out of sight.
“I hear it,” Dirk said.
Luke caught the whine of the chopper engine seeping through the quiet woods. “We're almost there.”
A minute later they stepped into the clearing, little more than a bare level spot fifty yards wide in a patch of wooded hillside. Elliott had to be damned good to set the big Sikorsky down at night without the rotors colliding with the branches of the trees.
They ran for the chopper, just the three of them. Helmut had peeled off as soon as they were away from the compound, disappearing silently into the woods. He knew the area, had contacts. He had a meet set with Interpol in Bariloche. What was left of Otto Gertsman's criminal empire was finished. Helmut Mueller had collected enough data to make sure of that.
Morgan Flynn stayed with them till they reached the LZ.
“If you ever need a place to light,” Luke said above the roar of the engine and the whir of the blades, “plenty of work in Seattle.”
Flynn smiled. “Thanks, but I've still got places to go and people to see.”
Dirk helped Meg into the chopper, turned, and shook Flynn's big hand. “We couldn't have made it without you.”
Dirk followed Meg inside, strapping himself in beside her, while Luke strapped into the copilot's seat and pulled on a helmet. He caught Flynn's wave as the big man disappeared into the trees.
The engines revved and the chopper lifted away. Elliott made it look easy as he navigated the hostile mountain wind currents and guided the forty-foot blades through the tiny opening, into the early morning sky.
They were almost clear when a shout echoed from the tree line and gunfire erupted. Men spilled into the clearing, firing their weapons into the air.
“Fuck!” Luke grabbed the AK-47 assault rifle he'd confiscated during the firefight and laid down a burst into the soldiers below, sending them running for cover. Bullets dinged off the fuselage.
Dirk fired a steady stream as Elliott pulled back on the collective and the chopper shot higher into the air. It didn't take long before the clearing was far behind and they were heading for the tall mountains in the next range over.
Now all they had to do was navigate the dangerous peaks and valleys of the treacherous Andes and hope nothing else went wrong.
* * *
Meg sat in the middle of the rear seat, strapped in next to Dirk. She needed to feel his powerful, hard-muscled body close beside her, needed to feel safe and protected.
With the roar of the engines and the
whop, whop, whop
of the rotors, it was too noisy to speak. But every once in a while she felt the squeeze of his hand holding hers or the brush of his lips against her hair.
There was so much she wanted to say. She prayed he was ready to hear it. But first they needed to reach the company jet waiting for them at the airport in Chile.
Meg closed her eyes as exhaustion rolled through her. Climbing the mountainous terrain to reach the landing site, combined with the fear of being recaptured or shot, had her muscles shaking with fatigue and her nerves stretched to the breaking point.
Wearing boots several sizes too big had rubbed blisters on her feet and the rough material of the uniform chafed her bare breasts beneath the tunic.
She felt Dirk's reassuring hand squeeze. It didn't matter how awful she felt. She was safe from Otto Gertsman. Charlie was safe and she was on her way home.
She leaned her head against Dirk's shoulder. The helicopter was flying through rugged, icy mountain passes instead of trying to top the chain of peaks that climbed more than twenty thousand feet into the sky.
The pilot she had met as she climbed aboard the chopper, Brandon Elliott, had managed to spirit them away from Gertsman's men. Now, as the chopper headed west, he seemed more than capable of navigating the Andes' jagged, snow-capped peaks.
The roar of the engine began to lull her. They were on their way home, on their way back to safety. Meg had just drifted to sleep when something changed inside the cabin. She roused herself to listen, realized the whine of the engine was different. A clattering had started, interfering with the rhythmic roar of the motor.
Dirk leaned forward, said something to Luke, who was wearing a helmet and able to communicate with the pilot. Whatever Luke said put the tension back in Dirk's shoulders.
He turned toward her, shouted loudly enough for her to hear. “Chopper took a hit when we lifted off. Elliott's looking for a place to set down.”
Her stomach instantly knotted. Outside the window, nothing but snow and rocky, craggy peaks. Meg started shaking. So did the helicopter.
“No . . .” she whispered.
No! No! No!
Not when they were so close! Hadn't she been through enough? Hadn't all of them?
The sound changed again. The whining shifted to a strained, higher octave, followed by the grating of disintegrating metal. She looked past Dirk through the glass bubble, down at the white expanse of ground below them, closer now than it had been a few minutes ago.
“We're over the summit!” Dirk yelled. “We've crossed the border into Chile.”
If he thought that would make her feel better, he was wrong. The mountains didn't end at the border. Where in God's name were they going to land?
The helicopter made a hard left turn, broke free of the sheer rock walls around it, shuddered, then seemed to fall out of the sky. Meg bit back a scream.
“We'll autorotate down. Just hold on!” Dirk tugged her seat belt tighter. Alarms were sounding, lights in the cockpit flashing all sorts of warnings. Dirk pushed her head toward her knees and wrapped her arms around the back of her neck, then took the same position himself.
Trembling all over, Meg slanted a look toward the window, saw the ground rushing up, heard what sounded like a piece of metal tearing free, felt the helicopter plummet, shudder again, then tip sideways, fall the last few feet, and plunge into the snow.
A jarring blow slammed her backward, then forward again. The rotors tore off. Sharp pieces of metal crashed into the laminated glass, slicing, ripping the helicopter to pieces. Meg didn't realize she was screaming until the chopper finally shuddered to a halt. She gasped for air, her head reeling. She heard the click of a seat belt and felt Dirk leaning over her, checking her for injuries.
“Are you hurt, baby? Tell me where.”
She clamped down on her fear, tried to control her shaking. “I-I'm okay.”
His hands ran over her a couple more times. He wiped a trace of blood off her cheek. “You've got a few nicks. I don't think it's anything serious. We're down, baby. We're okay.” He was bleeding in a few places, too, trickles of red running down from his temple.
“What . . . what about Luke and the pilot?”
Dirk was already leaning over the seat, shutting down alarms and powering off systems, checking the other two men.
“They've got injuries. We need to get them out of here in case the fuel ignites.”
“Oh, God.”
Dirk caught her shoulder. “We're down. We're okay. All of us are going to make it out of here. Yeah?”
Meg took a shuddering breath and nodded. “I'll help you get them out.”
Working together, they dragged out the pilot, who was unconscious. Meg pulled off Elliott's helmet while Dirk made sure he was breathing properly and checked for broken bones. Easing the man out of the plane, Dirk did a fireman's carry, hauling him far enough away to be safe if the chopper caught fire.
Meg made her way over to Luke. The door had been ripped away, making it easier to reach him. His eyes were closed and he was groaning.
“It's Meg. I'm right here, Luke.” She removed his helmet. “Can you hear me?”
His eyes slowly cracked open and fixed like blue lasers on her face. “I hear you. . . . I think I'm okay.” He moved, hissed in pain. “Well, mostly okay. Dirk?”
“He's helping the pilot. How badly are you injured?”
He shifted a little, ground his teeth. “Broken collarbone, I think. My ankle hurts. I hope to hell it's not broken.”
“Can you get out? Lean on me and I'll help you.” Luke flashed a pain-filled attempt at a smile. “Dirk hit the jackpot when he found you, darlin'.” Raising his good arm, he draped it over her shoulder, leaned on her to hoist himself out of the chopper.
When he tried to stand, his ankle gave way. “Son of a bitch.”
Dirk hurried over and took her place, draping Luke's good arm over his shoulder, helping him hop around the chopper, over to where the pilot lay on the snow.
For the first time Meg noticed the hand Dirk pressed against his side as he helped Luke lie down next to Elliott. “You're hurt. How bad is it?”
“Bruised a couple of ribs. Hurts like hell, but I'll live.” He reached up and wiped a trickle of blood from her forehead just below her hairline. “We're all pretty well banged up. Elliott's in and out of consciousness. He had a split in the back of his helmet where something hit him in the head. Looks like a bad concussion.” He looked back at the chopper. “I need to check the radio, see if it's working, and get the survival gear.”
Meg nodded. She wanted to just sit down on the snow and weep. Instead she pitched in to help Dirk salvage as much of the gear as possible, stripping the helicopter of everything they might be able to use.