"No," Hap said, then, "yes . . . please."
"Mr. President," Marten said quietly. "We didn't get the chance to rest before. We're getting worn down. Not just Hap, all of us. We need to take the chance and rest a little or we're not going to make it at all."
"You're right," the president looked to Hap. "You be our timetable. When you're ready, say so."
"Yes, sir."
• 2:32 A.M.
"Ready," Hap said, and abruptly stood. The others got up with him, ready to move.
Marten held them up. "Hap, at the risk of telling you your business, our job is to see that the president gets to the resort and up in front of those people. Your pilot friend Woody's job and the job of everyone else they brought in is to find him and take him the hell out of here."
"What are you saying?" Hap asked.
"You have a 9mm and a machine pistol. Give me one or the other."
Hap hesitated then reached into his belt under the survival blanket, slid out the 9mm Sig Sauer, and gave it to Marten.
"Know how to use it?"
"Yeah, I know how to use it."
137
• TRAIN #243, PARIS TO BERLIN, 2:48 A.M.
Victor lay back against his seat, unable to sleep. Across from him a young woman sat reading, her delicate features lit by a small overhead lamp. He glanced down the rest of the car. Save for one other reading lamp it was dark, the handful of other passengers sleeping.
The girl across from him turned the page and kept on reading, seemingly unaware he was watching her. She was blond and not particularly attractive but in her own way—how she held herself as she read, the way she turned the pages with one finger—intriguing. He thought she might be twenty-five, maybe a little older. He saw no wedding band and wondered if she was married and simply chose not to wear a ring, or if she was single, or perhaps even divorced. He watched her for a little longer then looked away to stare off vacantly into the semidarkness.
He had looked away purposely because he was afraid he would be caught staring at her and that such a thing might make her nervous. Still, he couldn't help thinking about her. The train would reach Berlin in a little over five hours. What would happen then? Did she have friends, family, someone to meet her? Or was she alone? And if she was, did she have a job or a home, at least somewhere to go?
Suddenly he felt an almost overwhelming need to protect her. As if she were his wife or his sister or even his daughter. It was then and for the first time he realized why he was here and why they had sent him. To take action to protect her and people like her before something happened. He was a preventive force.
It was why he had done what they had asked in Washington, why he had done as Richard had asked and walked through the Atocha Station terrorist bombing site in Madrid, why he had killed the jockeys in Chantilly, and why Richard had put him on this train, sending him to Berlin and then on to Warsaw, where he had promised him the most significant situation of his life. Where, if he carried out his directives properly, a major step toward halting the spread of terrorism would begin. The circumstances he knew would be complex, even dangerous, but he wasn't afraid or even nervous. Instead he was honored, knowing that if he succeeded he would be helping to protect the lives of innocent people everywhere. People like the young woman reading her book across from him now.
138
• 3:03 A.M.
They'd followed a slippery, dangerous trail downhill for a little over a mile in the dark before they reached the stream bank where they were now, stopped on a low rise, waiting as José went down to the water's edge trying to get some sense of the best place to cross the rushing current. So far they had seen nothing of the ground troops and assumed they were probably still in the hills behind them, though there was no way to be sure.
Ten minutes earlier the attack helicopters had abruptly pulled away from where they had been crisscrossing the area upstream and flown off to the southwest. It made them think Miguel had been found and was doing everything he could to delay them because so far they hadn't come back.
Marten moved partway down the bank, trying to pick José out in the dark. This was no time for their only guide to misstep and be swept away by the churning water. He was nearly to the young Spaniard when the wind suddenly picked up. For the briefest moment the clouds parted and the moon shone through. As it did, Marten saw shadows coming down the hill behind them. In front of him, across the water, was the two-hundred-yard-wide unprotected area José had described. Then the clouds returned and the moonlight faded.
Quickly he went to José. "Men are coming down the hill behind us. We have to cross the water and then the open space fast, before the moon shows again."
• 3:07 A.M.
They clasped arms in a human chain to get across. Difficult enough under normal circumstances, next to impossible while trying to keep their balance against the force of cascading water and at the same time stay beneath the Mylar blankets. The order of alignment now, the same as it had been: José, then Marten, then the president, then Hap.
"Look," Marten said as something above the high ridge upstream caught his eye. Immediately the searchlight of an attack helicopter swung across the mountainside and started down over the stream coming right at them, its light playing on the hillside where they had been and where they could now see at least a dozen uniformed men rushing down toward the water.
"José, go, go!" the president yelled.
The teenager moved as if he had been shot. In seconds he was on the far bank and helping the others up. Then they turned and ran, crossing the open space and slipping into the trees a heartbeat before the helo reached the site where they had forded the stream. Abruptly it pulled up, swinging the searchlight over the open area and toward the trees where they were and then back across the stream and the hillside where they had been. Further up they saw the second and third helos crisscrossing the stream, their searchlights playing over it and the rugged hillsides on either side.
• 3:13 A.M.
They were in the thick woods, climbing through increasingly difficult and complex rock formations. José looked back, then stopped and waited for the others to catch up. All were nearly spent—their legs turning to rubber, gasping to draw in air under the thin Mylar blankets, by now fighting just to keep moving at all.
• 3:15 A.M.
They crouched at the base of a massive boulder, hidden in the close overhang of a long-dead tree fallen against it. Seconds later an attack helicopter made a pass directly overhead, the beam of its searchlight lighting up the rock formations and casting enormous shadows through the trees. A second helo followed in its path. And then came a third.
"¡Por aquí!" This way! José yelled as soon as it passed. In a blink they were up and moving.
• 3:17 A.M.
"¡Por aquí!" He yelled again, turning sharply off the trail and squeezing through a narrow slit at the base of two towering sandstone pillars. The others followed on the run, slipping through behind him.
"It is called 'The Devil's Slide.' It is very steep and very far to the bottom. Pretend this is a game and you are blindfolded. Follow my sound and just slide with it!" José said quickly in Spanish. As rapidly the president translated.
"Okay?" José asked in English.
"Go," the president said.
"Sí." Instantly the teenager stepped off into the blackness and was gone. They could hear him below, sliding on the shale as he went down. From high above came the distant thudding chop of the helos.
"You're next, Hap," the president ordered.
"Yes, sir," Hap nodded and, with a glance at Marten, stepped over the side.
Marten looked at the president and half smiled. "Promise kept. You didn't die in the tunnel."
"We're not going to die here either." Now it was the president's turn to smile. "I hope."
"So do I. You're next, Cousin. Go!"
The president nodded, then abruptly turned and slid into the pitch black. Marten waited for him to clear the space beneath,
then took a breath and followed.
• 3:19 A.M.
It was as if they had stepped into an elevator shaft. The chute was as José had said, very steep and very far to the bottom. Steeper and farther than any of them had imagined. Straight down through the blackness. Those above showered the ones below with pieces of flying shale.
José. Hap. The president. Marten. Plummeting down sightless. Standing on one foot and then the other. Each trying wildly to keep his balance while the earth slid out from under him. Each man above hoping to hell he didn't overtake the man below him.
Marten bounced off an unseen wall of rock to his right, that all but knocked the wind out of him. He pushed himself up and shifted to the left, hoping he could remain centered and not run into a wall on the other side.
He heard a heavy grunt below as the president hit something. He wanted to yell out, ask if he was alright but he was moving too fast. Suddenly he was afraid that if the president had been hurt he would slide right past him in the dark and not know it. The idea of reaching bottom and then having to climb back was no idea at all because it would be impossible. The shale would never hold. Then he heard the president cry out again as he hit something else and knew at least he was still in front of him.
A half second later his right foot caught on something and pitched him headfirst down the hill. He slid at terrifying speed, desperately flinging out one arm and then the other trying to slow himself. Then his right arm encircled a large rock. He jerked himself toward it and stopped. He was dazed and breathless. Then he saw the searchlights of the helicopters sweeping the forested rock formations above. It made him fear that at any moment their pilots would realize what had happened and suddenly swoop down to light up the entire area, at the same time sending a wave of troops cascading down in pursuit. Or worse, they would be waiting at the bottom when he finally got there. If he got there. Another breath and he stood. Then again stepped off into the dark.
139
• 3:24 A.M.
Miguel stood inside the command post with his arms folded over his chest. Captain Diaz stood in front of him. So did Bill Strait. So too did Dr. James Marshall. Hector and Amado were off to one side, silent, in the custody of two CNP officers. To Miguel's relief and delight, everyone seemed to be as exhausted as he was. It meant the longer he could drag this out, the longer it would be before they took action.
Hap had bought the president, Marten, and himself precious time earlier by giving up Hector and Amado. Miguel had given them a bit more by going off on his own and then watching the movement of the helicopter searchlights from the hilltop. When he'd seen the helos start downstream he'd taken off the Mylar blanket and exposed himself to the satellite's thermal imaging. It had worked almost instantly. In seconds the three helos pulled away and headed straight for him. Less than a minute later he was in the blaze of a searchlight. Then the helos touched down and armed men came running.
He'd told them his story at gunpoint, then repeated it to CNP and U.S. Secret Service agents in the helicopter on the way here. And now he was determined to tell it once more. Using up time was everything.
"Look," he said patiently in his Australian-accented Barcelonan English. "I will try and explain it to you once again. My name is Miguel Balius. I am a limousine driver from Barcelona. I came to visit my cousin in El Borràs. When I arrived he was not there and his wife was crazy because my nephew Amado and his friend Hector were missing. Amado," he pointed at his nephew, "is that chap there. Hector is him," he gestured directly at Hector. "They were gone all day, did not come home for supper, nobody knows where they are, everybody's upset. Except I know where they are. Or I think I know. They're where they're not supposed to be. Up in the old mine tunnels looking for gold that's not there but everyone thinks it is. There is no gold in these mountains, but nobody believes it. Anyway, I tell no one, and take my cousin's motorcycle and come up here. I find their motorcycles where they always leave them. It starts to rain. I start to look. Eventually I find what I think are footprints. I follow them. It gets later. I'm wet and cold. Then, all of sudden, boom! Bright lights from the sky and in come these helicopters. Men jump out with guns. They want to know about the president of the United States. I say, 'I understand he's a nice man.' They say, 'What else do you know?' I say that I saw on the news he was taken away from Madrid in the middle of the night because of some terrorist threat. Next thing I know here I am and luckily I find Amado and Hector safe."
"You were with the president, out there on the mountain," Bill Strait said flatly.
"The president of the United States is out there on the mountain?"
"Where is he?"
"I came up here after Amado and Hector."
"What were you doing with a Mylar blanket?" Strait's manner was like ice, his questioning increasingly accusatory.
"I'm going into the mountains alone in the cold and rain and dark. I'm going to take something to help protect me. It's all I had."
"The protection you were looking for was from satellite surveillance."
Miguel laughed. "I'm running around in the dark and you've got a satellite looking for me? Thanks very much. I appreciate the help."
"Where is the president?" Strait pushed hard. "Who else was with him?"
"I said I came up here after Amado and Hector."
"Where is he?" Strait was right in Miguel's face, his eyes like stone, his stare cutting him in half.
"The president?"
"Yes."
"You mean now?"
"Yes, now."
Miguel suddenly stopped his banter and looked Bill Strait in the eye. "I have absolutely no idea."
140
• 3:30 A.M.
They sat on the flat of a rock-strewn trail at the bottom of the chute. They were shaking, breathless, scraped, bloodied, torn, wasted. But they'd made it. Each man accounted for. Each had said something to make sure he still had a grip on his senses. Each was enormously thankful to have made it down alive.
Far above they could see the helos still moving back and forth, playing their searchlights over the high pinnacles and the conifer forest below them. It meant that, for the moment at least, no one had found their trail or the drop into hell they had used for their escape.
The president took a deep breath and looked to José. "You are a very special person," he said in Spanish. "I thank you for myself and for all of us. I would like to call you my friend." He reached out and extended his hand.
José hesitated for the briefest moment, then looked to the others and back at the president. A shy, proud smile crept over his face as he reached out to take the president's hand.
"Gracias, sir. Usted es mi amigo," he looked to the others and nodded. "You es todos mis amigos." Thank you, sir. You are my friend. You are all my friends.
Abruptly the president stood. "Where do we go now?"
"There," José stood, nodding toward a narrow path leading through a rocky canyon. Just then the clouds parted enough for the moon to appear, lighting the entire area—from the deep canyon floor where they were to the pinnacles and mountaintops far above—like a silver moonscape. They could see the chute clearly, how deathly steep and narrow it really was and how far they had come down it. At any other time the idea of a grown man, let alone four, sliding down it out of his own choosing would have been insane if not suicidal, but this was hardly any other time.
The president looked to José. "Vámonos," he said. Let's go.
José nodded and led them off quickly toward the canyon.
141
• 5:20 A.M.
Nicholas Marten stood in the open doorway of a tiny tin-roof and stone outbuilding on the edge of the Aragon vineyard, a structure Hap had remembered from his walk-through of the resort site a month earlier when the Secret Service had been preparing for the president's visit. Mylar blanket finally taken off, Hap's Sig Sauer automatic stuck in his belt, he was eating a handful of dried dates they'd found in a bag on the shelf when they arrived, and looking up at the sky. T
he weather was clear now, the moon just dipping behind the high peaks to the west. In another hour the horizon would begin to pale. In two it would be fully light. Sunup would come a half hour later.
Marten stood there a moment longer trying to visualize the steep zigzag trail they had come down after they'd left the base of the chute. So far he had seen nothing of the helicopters nor anything else to suggest that their tracks had been found and that their trail was being followed. With luck, Marine Corps Major George Herman "Woody" Woods and the other helo pilots were still confining their search to the mountains and would continue to do so until well after daybreak. What they did afterward would be of little consequence, because by then, if things worked the way Hap had outlined, they would have breached the Aragon resort's massive security force, and the president would long since have arrived at the church on the hill and given the speech of his life to the highly prestigious members of the New World Institute.
• 5:23 A.M.
Marten turned and went back inside. José was curled up asleep on the floor just inside the door. A few feet to his left, Hap slept the sleep of the dead, the Steyr machine pistol in the crook of his arm. Safely back from the doorway on Hap's far side, President Harris slept too.
Marten slid the Sig Sauer from his belt and sat down in the doorway. They had reached the outbuilding just before 4:30. Five minutes afterward Hap had determined that the area was secure. It was then they found a watering hose tethered to a wall outside the building and the bag of dates inside, and all four ate and drank. Almost immediately extreme weariness began to overtake them and Marten volunteered first watch. At 5:45 he was to wake Hap and then have some forty-odd minutes of sleep himself before they were up and moving at 6:30, hoping to cover the three-quarters of a mile across the vineyards and up the hill, to where the resort's maintenance buildings were, just before daybreak.