Payback

107

Lia gripped the side of the MH60G Blackhawk as it sped along the river west of Iquitos. The drumming rotor overhead numbed her head, mixing with the heavy fatigue of the last week. She knew today was Wednesday only because WE was underlined on her watch face.

She thought about Charlie, missing him. Every cross word she’d ever said to him came back to her, rumbling in the roar of the blades.

The helicopter banked sharply. It was at the end of a six-helicopter procession speeding toward a former Baptist missionary compound deep in the Amazonian jungle. The compound was occupied by a dozen natives the Peruvian intelligence service believed were part of a group called Sacred Right, dedicated to returning native land to native tribes. Though obscure, the group had issued a communiqué praising General Túcume eight or nine months before, calling him a “pure hero for the people.” The proximity of the river would have made it relatively easy to transport a warhead here. Beyond that, though, there was no evidence that this raid was anything but a long shot, one of several the Army had been on in the past thirty-six hours. Karr had been asked to come because of his expertise in nuclear weapons. Lia was simply backing him up; she herself knew very little about the weapon’s hardware.

“Up and at ’em!” yelled Karr as the helicopter shifted for its final approach. The big blond giant rising from the nearby jump seat, standing with Lia as the helo pirouetted toward the landing zone. The Air Force crewman manned a machine gun at the door, grim-faced and determined as he scanned the jungle. An AC-130U gunship was circling overhead, covering the landing area.

The special operations radio channel began buzzing with chatter. There were flares on the ground. The first team was down. No opposition had been encountered. The three Special Forces pathfinders who’d infiltrated into the area earlier that morning were reporting in — everything is good; everything is good; everything is good.

Lia flashed back to an incident when she’d been on a Delta mission before coming over to Deep Black. As a woman, she’d been part of the officially nonexistent “Funny Squadron”—an all-female Delta unit that mostly undertook undercover missions in foreign urban areas. On this occasion, however, she happened to have been part of a team assisting locals trying to apprehend terrorists who’d taken refuge at an African elementary school. One of the people at the school used that very same phrase, “everything is good,” to say they hadn’t meant any resistance and the hostages were free.

A second later, the school blew up.

“Let’s go, Princess,” shouted Karr, leaping from the helo as it touched down.

Lia jumped out after him, pistol ready, trotting behind him as he strode toward the buildings, laid out in a horseshoe. The captain commanding the unit met them near the opening of the horseshoe, signaling for them to wait while the Army Rangers and Special Forces troops secured the buildings.

There was a certain rhythm to entering a dangerous and unknown space. The soldiers didn’t take any chances, dropping flash-bang grenades through windows, blowing off the door hinges, moving inside quickly. Two Peruvian army officers were with them, acting as translators. Lia and Karr kept their distance from them, not wanting to have to answer any questions.

“Looks good,” said Rockman over the communications system. He was watching a feed from a Predator unmanned aerial vehicle that had been launched to provide reconnaissance earlier.

“It’s too easy,” said Lia.

Gunfire erupted from one of the buildings near the head of the horseshoe. Two, three men with automatic weapons began firing from one of the windows. One of the American soldiers launched a grenade into the window; it burst with a cut-off boom and smoke curled out.

Lia glanced at Karr nervously. The experts said the warhead couldn’t explode if it was jostled by another explosion. She wasn’t so sure.

“Clear!” yelled someone in the building.

There were some more pops and rattles, but the main resistance was over. Six of the native guerrillas were dead; five others had surrendered or been captured after being wounded. They denied any knowledge of Túcume.

It took an hour for the troops to search the buildings. Karr was his usual good-natured self, waiting with his arms folded and his rucksack hanging off his shoulder. The ruck had the nuclear testing equipment — and tools he could use to dearm the bomb if necessary.

Finally cleared, they walked to join the soldiers searching the buildings.

Karr kicked at the metal door covering the cellar entrance in the old tool building.

“What do you think?” asked the sergeant in charge of the detail searching the place.

“It ain’t nowhere else,” said Karr. “Hang on.”

He bent down and ran his PDA around the side, looking for electrical or magnetic currents.

“What’s that thing?” said the sergeant.

Karr smiled but didn’t answer.

“There’s no electrical booby traps,” he said when he finished. “But I have a bad feeling about this. You got a rope? We’ll rig it so we can yank it open from outside.”

The soldiers quickly rigged the rope. Karr pulled; the door opened; nothing blew up.

“So much for feelings, huh?” said Karr, easing in.

“Look at this!” shouted the first man down in the hole. “It’s a wine cellar!”

“Bust, huh?” said Rockman as Lia and Karr waited for the soldiers to saddle up.

“Except for the wine,” said Karr.

“Catch a ride back to Iquitos and head down to Lima,” said Rockman. “There are enough Atomic Energy people in Peru now. We’re going to get you home.”

“Who says we want to go home?” protested Karr.

“I wouldn’t mind going home,” said Lia.

Karr laughed, as if she were joking.

Later, as they walked toward the helicopter, Lia glanced across the clearing toward the other riverbank. An eagle had just come out of one of the treetops. He seemed to stumble in the air, but after two strong strokes, began to soar, gliding upward.

She didn’t know why, but the sight cheered her up.