Page 82 of Cross Down
“What do you suggest, then, General?”
Grissom opens his briefcase, pulls out a red-bordered file folder, and removes from it a single sheet of paper with his seal on it. He passes it over the faux Resolute Desk.
“Martial law, sir,” Grissom says. “It’s time you declare it. You have no other choice.”
Chapter
91
It’s standard militarydoctrine that when ambushed, you fight forward toward the ambushers, spoiling their aim and killing those whom you can kill.
But our situation is anything but standard here; we’re alone, with no reinforcements and no air assets over the horizon. Making a stand amid the rubble might work for a while, but soon we’ll be outflanked, within the attackers’ grenade range, or otherwise overwhelmed.
I think through all of this in about a second, then push Deacon and say, “Peel, now! You first!”
Deacon runs, keeping her head down and zigzagging, while I drop and take cover among broken stone and rubble, sending off three-round bursts at our ambushers. I do a quick scan and see maybe five or six attackers in motion, and Deacon yells, “Covering fire!”
She starts firing and it’s my turn to move, peeling away from my position and doing what Deacon did, head down, zigzagging, making my six-foot-nine-inch frame as small a target as possible.
I race behind Deacon as she continues her shooting, and when I get about thirty or so yards from her, I take cover behind brush-covered boulders and yell, “Covering fire!”
I snap out three-round bursts as she hauls ass in my direction, and I see our attackers have stretched out in a skirmish line. Except for the first burst of gunfire when we were ambushed—done in the undisciplined spray-and-pray method—their shooting has been focused.
Deacon yells, “Covering fire!” and it’s my turn again. I pick up the pace and keep running, and I hear asnapas a bullet goes over my head, way too close for comfort. Before us is the same monotonous landscape of rocks, scrub brush, and boulders, and then a small hill comes into view. I skid to a halt near Deacon and fire off another three-round burst, and the action of my M4 snaps back into the open position, meaning my thirty-round magazine is empty.
“Reloading,” I call out. I insert a fresh magazine into my M4 and let the bolt snap back into position.
Deacon yells, “Why the hell are you still here? Move it!”
I fire again, and I hear the satisfying yelp of one of our attackers getting hit. I scan, look for more targets, and say, “Move where? They’re going to outlast or outflank us eventually, Elizabeth. We can’t run forever.”
She fires again. “You got a better idea?”
I tap her shoulder, point to the nearby hill. “Yeah. I go up there, set up overwatch, and keep them busy while you get away.”
She mutters an obscene phrase and says, “Get away where?”
“To your Agency friends across the border,” I say. I dig into the side pocket of my pants and pull out the circuit board I recovered from the cracked bricks and rubble. I press it into her hand. “This,” I say. “There’s a serial number on it. Get it analyzed, find out who in hell had this ordnance and why it was used here. Walk back the cat, find out what you can. We don’t have much time left. Gul told us about a coup. Maybe he’s exaggerating, maybe he’s not. The U.S. is not Bolivia…yet.”
“John—”
I see movement, fire off another three-round burst, then give her a hard stare. “Can I trust you, Elizabeth? Trust that you’ll follow this up and do the right thing for the country, not just for you and the Agency?”
She looks like she’s going to spit at me. Then she looks at the circuit board.
Secures it in a pocket.
“You sure as hell can,” she says.
“Outstanding.”
We both put another set of three-round bursts down. I say, “That’s evidence, and it’s got to get back to the States. You’re it. I’ll hold ’em off as long as I can.”
“John—”
“Damn it, you silly bitch, go! Every second you delay, they gain ground on us. Move!”
She nods, opens a magazine pouch, removes two thirty-round magazines, and hands them over. Then she gives me a quick and hard kiss on the lips. “It’ll take time for transport to get to the base,” she says. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
