Mirror Image

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

"They're climbing to the roof of the engine!" Honda said, his lazing-in-the-sun calmness gone, replaced by what sounded to Rodgers like fear or horror. "The thing's going like a torpedo— a runaway, it looks like."

"Can't they get off?" Rodgers asked.

"Negative, Sir. The trains' just starting over the bridge now, and there's nowhere to exit except straight down a couple hundred feet. I can see Grey— shit! Sorry, sir. Newmeyer just laid him on the top of the cab and followed him up. The sergeant is moving but he seems to be hurt. "

"How hurt?" Rodgers asked urgently.

"I can't tell, sir. We're too low and he's lying down. Now I see— I don't know who it is. A Russian soldier, it looks like. He's definitely hurt. There's a great deal of blood on his leg."

"What's the Russian doing?" Rodgers asked.

"Not much. Lieutenant Colonel Squires is handing him out to Newmeyer, holding him by the hair. Newmeyer is trying to get his hands under the Russian's arms. Looks like he's struggling. Hold on, sir."

There was talk in the helicopter, and Private Honda was quiet for several seconds. Rodgers couldn't make any of the conversation out. Then, near the radio, Rodgers heard Sondra say, "Then we'll jettison our clothes or weapons. We'll make up the weight."

Obviously, Squires was planning to bring the Russian onboard and the pilot was justifiably concerned. Rodgers's undershirt began to dampen along his spine.

Honda came back on. "The pilot's concerned about two hundred added pounds and about how long it's going to take us to get them aboard. If he doesn't try to get them, he's going to have a revolt on his hands."

"Private," said Rodgers, "this is the pilot's mission now and he's got a crew to worry about too. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

They were the toughest words Rodgers had ever had to utter, and Hood gave the General a reassuring squeeze on the forearm.

"The Russian's torso is out of the train," Honda continued, "but he looks like dead weight."

"But he's not dead?"

"No, sir. His hands and head are moving."

The line was silent again. Rodgers and Hood looked at one another, aborted vacations and who answered-to-who forgotten as they suffered this wait together.

"I can see the Lieutenant Colonel now," said Honda. "He's leaning out the window and his hand's holding up the front of the Russian's coat. He's motioning— pointing into the cab, moving his finger across his throat."

"The controls are dead," Rodgers said. "Is that it?

"We think that's what he's saying," said Honda.

"Hold on, sir. We're about to make a pass over the train. And then I think… yes, sir."

"What, Private?"

With rising excitement Ishi Honda said, "Sir, the pilot told us to lower the ladder. We've got eighty seconds to reel our boys in."

Rodgers was finally able to breathe. And as he took each breath, he watched the numbers of the computer clock flick by inexorably