Under Fire

48

After a while he opened his eyes again.

There was activity all around him, voices, people rushing, phones ringing.

He lifted Seth’s body off the ground.

“Jack,” Ysabel whispered at his side, her hand on his biceps. “Let’s put him in our room. Come on, I’ll take you.”

Ysabel led him down the hallway and opened the door to their bedroom. She shoved one of the pillows out of the way and smoothed the comforter.

“Here, put him here.”

Jack laid him down.

Seth’s eyes were open and staring. The front of his shirt was a mass of blood. There was a perfectly round hole a couple of inches below his chin and an exit hole at the nape of his neck. Vasim’s bullet had punched into the soft tissue of Seth’s throat and blasted through his spine, right below his brain stem. There was probably some life left in Seth, but there was nothing to be done. He was as good as dead.

He felt Ysabel’s arms around his waist. She pressed her head against his back. “I’m so sorry, Jack. I wish there was something I could do for you.”

“Is Rebaz okay?” he asked.

“The doctor’s with him now, but it could be bad. He was hit somewhere in the chest. Dom thinks the bullet went through Seth.”

He nodded.

“I don’t know what to do, Ysabel.”

“I know.”

“He asked for my help,” he said.

“You did help him.”

“No.”

Later he wandered out to the main room. Dom and Spellman were sitting on the couch, heads together as they talked. Jack took one of the club chairs across from them. Neither of them told him “Sorry”; they didn’t need to.

“Rebaz?” Jack asked.

“He took the round in the right lung. Sucking chest wound. We got a piece of cellophane on it quick, but his lung was already collapsed,” Spellman said. “We should know more in the next hour. He wants to see you.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t say,” Dom replied.

“It’s over,” said Jack. “We’re going home. Medzhid can’t be a beacon of hope from a hospital bed, not with troops in his city.”

“That’s his decision to make,” said Spellman.

Jack shrugged. “I need to find Raymond Wellesley.”

“Well, Medzhid must have your mind,” said Dom. “Yana told me that while we were chasing the Igarka, Medzhid sent a couple ERF guys to the schoolhouse on Lena Road. They found computers, monitors, cables… the same setup we found at the Chirpoy apartment. There was nothing left but a melted pile of junk. They found traces of white phosphorus.”

Spellman added, “We figured that once he saw the hubs were getting fried by the Krasukhas, the protesters were dispersing, and Volodin was sending in the border garrisons, he decided his job was done.”

“He was right.”

“Jack, I can see it in your eyes,” Dom said. “I know what you’re planning.”

“No, you don’t.”

“It’s a raw wound right now — and a shitty time to be making big decisions.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s an easy decision.”

Medzhid’s doctor walked in. “Are you Jack?”

“Yes.”

“The minister would like to see you. Follow me.”

He led Jack out into the tiled hallway. They took the elevator down to the basement and then went through a white door with a red medical cross on it. Medzhid was lying on a hospital bed with an IV in his arm. Behind him a monitor chirped softly. His face was very pale and his eyes were sunken. A square transparent bandage was taped to his chest; through it, Jack could see a ragged hole. The bandage bulged slightly each time Medzhid took a labored breath.

“Jack,” he said. “Thank you for coming. I am sorry about Seth. I feel responsible.”

“I’m the one who got it wrong. I killed Anton instead of Vasim.”

“It’s a forgivable mistake. Seth loved you like a brother, you know. Even before we met I felt like I knew you, he talked about you so much. He was a good man.”

Jack simply nodded. “How’re you feeling?”

“Lucky. Seth saved me, my doctor tells me. Had he not…”

“Slowed the bullet down?”

“Yes. I would be dead right now. I need surgery to repair the lung. I told him he can do whatever he likes with me, but not immediately. Jack, I know you want Wellesley. I can help you find him, but I need your help first. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not bargaining with you. I will help you regardless of whether you agree to help me.”

“Go ahead,” Jack said.

“Soon I am going to get out of this bed and go meet with the Makhachkala garrison troop commander. He has pledged his support to me but there is one more thing we must do—”

“It’s over, Rebaz. If you’re lucky, you’ll get out of this alive. If you do, step out of the spotlight, wait a few years, then test the wind again.”

“In other words, live to fight another day.”

“Or take Aminat and your wife and move someplace warm.”

“There won’t be another day, Jack. Seth and I spent the last three years putting this plan into place. The strategy is sound, as are the tactics. The networks and infrastructure are largely intact. Most importantly, Dagestanis are still out there and they’re hungry for freedom. The only things we’ve lost are the element of surprise and some of our satellite Internet hubs—”

“And Seth.”

“Yes, and Seth. Believe me, I’m not trying to diminish him, but Matt knows the plan as well as Seth did. He would want us to go—”

“Don’t,” Jack said. “Don’t use him.”

“He wanted this to work and he still does. I truly believe that.”

Jack sat down on the bedside chair. He palmed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair. He was so tired.

“Rebaz, I can’t decide if you’re a truly great man or truly full of shit.”

Medzhid smiled. “Mostly the former, with a dash of the latter. Will you help me?”

“Why do you need me? You have the entire MOI at your disposal.”

“Let’s examine the situation: Both my closest bodyguards are dead, one of them a traitor who framed the other one to be killed; the leader of my ERF, also a traitor; and Seth is gone. And then there is you: a man who risked his life to save my daughter, a complete stranger to him. I trust you, and I trust Ysabel, and Dom, and Matt. They look to you as a leader. I need people like the four of you by my side if I am to have any chance of succeeding. Plus, do you really want to miss the endgame, whatever the outcome?”

Jack thought about it. “You’ll help me find Wellesley? Your word on it?”

Medzhid nodded. “Yes. Whether you help me or not.”

“Okay. What’s your plan?”

“To buy my country some time.”