Sunrise: Wrath & Righteousness: Episode Ten (5 page)

“Think of our Civil War. The Battle of Gettysburg. Even in the face of utter failure, Lincoln knew God had taken the whole business into His hand.

“But it’s a new day now, and like it has happened during the rise of fascism we’ve seen so many times before, I have to wonder why free men don’t speak out. An amoral society can’t exercise moral judgment. If we are no longer able to see the difference between right and wrong because we don’t believe they exist, then we have failed as a nation.

“Our Founding Fathers believed our government could survive only if the Constitution ruled over a moral people.

“Are we a moral people, Daniel? Are we worthy of the fight? Is any of it worth fighting for? I’m here to tell you that it is. I love my country. I know you love it, too. Now it’s time to man up and find the courage to join us in this cause.”

Brucius Marino was in his office. The lights were turned down, the shades drawn, the door open. He had three computers on the credenza behind him, all of them glowing, and a pile of papers across his desk, most in red folders marked “TOP SECRET—SPECIAL BACKGROUND INVESTIGATION.” He had to sign for each red folder and he couldn’t let them out of his sight.

Although he was sitting at his desk, Brucius was asleep. He hadn’t meant for it to happen; he’d only closed his eyes to rub them, but his wire glasses had fallen into his lap, his arms slumped awkwardly across his lap, his chin heavy upon his chest.

Sometime after 10 p.m., one of his assistants had poked a head into the room and called his name, but Brucius hadn’t moved. The captain had repeated his name, this time more softly, but again had gotten no response. He listened to Brucius’ breathing for a several seconds, then silently left the room.

Brucius slept in his chair for almost three consecutive hours, the longest period of uninterrupted sleep he had had in almost two weeks. At 1:13 a.m., two men walked into the office without knocking. “Sir,” the four-star general said softly. Brucius didn’t move. The general took a couple of steps toward him and raised his voice. “Secretary Marino.”

Brucius finally woke. He looked up groggily and shook his head. “What time is it?” he wondered aloud as he glanced down at his watch. “Did I sleep here through the night—no, I mean, it’s not afternoon, it’s still nighttime.” He quieted himself to collect his thoughts.

“Sir,” the four-star said again, his voice now urgent. “She got him. He’s coming out!”

Brucius studied the general. Neither of them had shaved and their eyes were red with fatigue. “Who? Sara Brighton? She got him?”

“Yes, sir,” the general said. “She found him this afternoon, yesterday afternoon now, I guess I should say. He’s coming with her.”

“Are they—”

“Yes sir. They’re already out of Raven Rock. The helicopter met them up at the pickup point a few minutes ago. They’ll be here by midmorning.”

Brucius gawked, almost unable to accept the good news. “You’re certain?” he demanded.

“Yes sir. I talked to Mrs. Brighton myself. Got a patch through on the HF. She sounded pretty good.”

“And Jefferson is with her?”

“Yes sir.” The general hesitated. “Apparently he’s not too happy, though.”

Brucius sat up in his chair. His legs had fallen asleep and he had to move them with his hands. He stood up gingerly and smiled. “What did she do? How’d she do it? She never could have brought him out against his will. The old coot is as stubborn as a mule with broken legs.” Brucius started laughing with relief.

The general didn’t share the humor. Laughing wasn’t his job. “Sir, all I know is that she did it. She really did it, and both of them are OK.”

Brucius rubbed his hands across his face to wipe the sleep from his eyes. “All right,” he said. “They’ll all be here by morning. The other justices are waiting. I want them assembled by one o’clock. We’re going to lock them in a room and not let any of them out. We’re not going to interfere with their decision or deliberations in any way. We’ll provide any assistance they might ask for, give them anything they want, but we’re going to keep them locked up until it’s over. I want a decision from them. One way or another, I want to know.”

The general took a breath. “The good news, Mr. Secretary, is that we’ve got three justices now. Either way, it’ll be at least a 2–1 decision. There’ll be no tie vote.”

Brucius looked across the desk at him. “Yes, that’s the good news. The bad news is that we don’t know which way this thing will turn.”

The general stood with his eyes on the wall.

Brucius moved toward the low coffee table set between two leather couches on the other side of his desk. “I want to show you something, General Hawly.”

The general followed him around the first couch and looked down at the table.

The engineering charts, construction blueprints, and infrastructure layouts were piled two inches thick. Brucius tapped them eagerly.

“What are these?” the general asked.

“All the engineering blueprints of Raven Rock. We’ve got charts that show every access door, the ventilation systems, communications antennas, power generation stations, air purifiers, the whole bit. See, that’s the problem with a place like Raven Rock. It was always assumed that friendly forces would be above ground. But I’m not feeling friendly, General Hawly. And I’ll bet that you’re not either.”

Maybe for the first time since he had known him, Brucius saw the general smile. “What are you planning, Mr. Secretary?”

“Give me the right Supreme Court decision and I’m going to rock their world. We’re going to cut them off and kill them. We’re going to take their underground encampment and use it to trap them like the rats they are.”

At 2:08 a.m. local time, the helicopter landed at a remote firebase in the extreme mountains of Afghanistan to pick up the final members of the military team. The last of the Cherokees climbed onboard, two men who knew the local area as well as any men alive.

The team complete, the helicopter lifted again and flew northeast.

The Cherokees, six of them now, were bunched together at the front of the helicopter, an Air Force Special Forces MH-53J Pave Low, the largest, most powerful and technologically advanced helicopter in the world. The Pave Low was crewed by six; two pilots, two flight engineers and two gunners who manned the powerful 7.62 mm Gatling guns with the cyclical rate of six thousand rounds per minute, 100 rounds per second. The helicopter was huge, ugly and all business; dirty, loud, with protruding antennas, guns and in-flight refueling probes, covered in tinted glass, flare and chaff dispensers, and protected by armor. Unlike a modern fighter, it wasn’t sleek or sexy. The helicopter was boxy and black, a barnyard dog begging for the fight. The two GE engines generated almost 9,000 shaft horsepower between them. The order of battle communications package allowed for instant updates on target and threat locations while creating a bird’s-eye view of the battlefield. The terrain-following and avoidance radar, forward-looking infrared sensor, inertial navigation system, global positioning system and computer-generated moving map display allowed the crew to fly at night or bad weather while following the contours of the earth at just a couple dozen feet. Officially, the Pave Low’s mission was “
low-level, long-range, undetected penetration into denied areas, day or night, in adverse weather, for infiltration, egression and resupply of special operations forces
.” More simply put, the helicopter was designed to sneak in and sneak out, avoiding the enemy when it was possible and engaging them when not.

Despite almost forty million dollars in avionics upgrades, the inside of the helicopter was anything but pretty. One of the most combat-proven assets of the Dark Side (as Special Operators were known) the helicopter was bare-bones and well used; canvas seats, ratty paint; every piece of equipment functional but worn.

As the Pave Low flew northeast, the winds suddenly kicked up, gusting down from the mountains to the cooler valleys, swirling and circling between the enormous mountain peaks while creating turbulence so severe the men felt they were on a rollercoaster ride from hell.  

Too turbulent to work, the soldiers quit talking and held on.

Two of them had already been sick. Azadeh hadn’t thrown up yet, but that was only because over the previous two days she’d been too nervous to eat anything more than a handful of nuts and a couple of bananas.

Settling into the valley, the ride became suddenly smooth and the soldiers went back to work.

Azadeh sat and watched as the soldiers pointed to their maps, debated, sometimes argued, all the while scribbling in little notebooks. She was relieved to see that, as far as she could tell, Sam was one of the officers in charge. She watched him closely. He had cut his hair, dyed it darker and trimmed his facial hair into a neat beard. With his dark skin, he could have easily passed for a local. Watching him, she thought back to the battle on the streets of East Side Chicago, the episode having instilled a completely unrealistic confidence in Sam in her mind.

“
Be cool
,” he had told him.

She had a better understanding now what that meant.

Staring at him, her stomach fluttered and she quickly looked away. Her emotions for him were becoming far too complicated. Far too deep.
He doesn’t care about you Azadeh
, a nagging voice inside her seemed to say. But something about the way he looked at her made her wonder, even hope, that maybe he did. And even if he didn’t, it didn’t change the way she felt. Like some mythical Greek god, he seemed invincible. She’d do anything he asked of her. She’d place her life in his hands.

Which was exactly what she was doing now, and she wasn’t the only one. The other soldiers were placing their lives in his hands as well.

The responsibility was crushing. But it made her even more determined to do whatever it was they needed of her. After all that she had been through, she wouldn’t let them down.

She adjusted her headset to relieve the pressure on her ears and listened carefully as the soldiers talked.

The other officer, she thought his name was Bono, leaned across the large map the men had spread across the helicopter’s floor and shone his red-lens flashlight. “OK guys,” he said, pointing with his finger. “We’re here now. We’re heading here. Twenty minutes to the LZ.”

Sam glanced at his illuminated watch. “Almost three minutes behind schedule.”

Bono didn’t seem to care. “No worries. The pilots assure me they’ll more than make it up on the downside of the hill.”

Azadeh glanced through the tiny window cut into the cabin door to her right. The darkness was so deep she couldn’t see anything, which was a good thing for if she’d been able to see how close the helicopter was to the ground, roaring along at more than one hundred and fifty miles an hour and barely half a rotor length above the rocks and trees, she would have panicked.

Sam looked at her and it was as if he’d read her mind. “The mountains in this area form a rough triangle that meets at the Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iranian border,” he told her. “We’re following the contours of the mountains northeast, basically skirting between the border of Pakistan and Afghanistan.” He motioned at their feet, signaling the river valley they were flying over. “Not any good guys around us right now. The mountains ahead of us are as steep and treacherous as any in the world. We’re operating on the footstool of the Himalayas, the greatest mountain range on the planet. K-2 is not too far from here. Mount Everest is off to our right, though still a long way off.

“The only things below us right now are bad guys and rock.” He was talking to his team now. “This ain’t the place we want to go down. Not the place we want to have any problems. We all understand that. There isn’t going to be any cavalry coming to the rescue. We’re going in alone.”

Listening to him, the soldiers were attentive and serious. No bravado. Like the helicopter that was carrying them, they were all business. It was a lousy job before them and the only thing they wanted was to get it over with.

Sam looked grim. “There are no rescue assets in this area,” he concluded. “There’ll be no close air support, no air support at all, no suppressive or protective cover. With the exception of the weapons we’ve got in our hands, we’ll be on our own. Got some Marines up north, but they’re way too far away to be any help. You understand what I’m saying?” He hesitated. All of them understood.

“Alone. Outgunned. Afraid,” one of the other soldiers snorted. “Pretty much a normal mission.”

The Air Force door gunner patted the Gatling gun positioned at the window. “A hundred rounds per second of burning slugs of joy. I’d hardly say that you’re unarmed. Not with this baby in my hands.”

One of the soldiers, his name was Slapper, pointed to the ammo box beside him. “Yeah. Sure. At that rate of fire, you have what, five or six seconds’ worth of ammunition? Anyway, what does it matter, you’re going to drop us off then head back to the carrier where you’ll sip some coffee before getting on the computer to check in with your wife. After you drop us off, we’re nothing but six pukes in the middle of the bad guys.” He snorted again. “Yeah, you drop us off, then take off with our mini-guns.
That’s
when I get afraid.”

The gunner smiled. “Guess that’s why they give you all that combat pay.”

Sam slapped the sergeant on his knee to get his attention back to him. Slapper turned, then tilted his head toward Azadeh. “And the girl?” he asked as if she wasn’t there.

The other soldiers turned suspiciously toward her. The expressions on their faces asked the question. “
What are we going to do with her?
”

“She’s going to get us close enough to the king to get him,” Sam told them. “She’s key to the entire operation. Without her, we don’t have a chance of pulling this thing off.”