The team stumbled a few more steps, just to be sure they were on Israeli territory before stopping their headlong flight.
The Jordanian forces still advanced, marching toward the Israeli line, until they were only inches apart. The two countries faced off against one another. The Israeli commander stepped forward so as to go toe-to-toe with the Jordanian commander.
"You do not wish a repeat of the Six-Day War," the Israeli said in heavily accented English.
"We are prepared this time," the Jordanian replied, his hand upon his holster.
Perhaps they weren't as safe as Davidson had hoped.
Rebecca helped hold Brandt up as the group clearly feared the worst. They had survived all of the hell of the past few days only to die in a battle fueled by resentment dating back to nearly as ancient as Sodom and Gomorrah.
Then a man sloshed his way out to them from the Israeli side.
"Gentlemen!" he called out in a crisp British accent. "You are looking at this all wrong."
Was that Vanderwalt? Brandt's MI-5 friend? From the shaggy blond hair to his tall lanky limbs, it was.
Neither commander seemed any too happy to have a British agent join the mix.
"This is none of your concern," the Israeli snapped.
"Ah," Vanderwalt said, "but your superiors think it is."
The Jordanian commander refused to budge. "We shall settle this now."
Vanderwalt put up a finger. "I'd call in first. Your generals are waiting to hear from you."
Both commanders' eyes flickered to the Brit. It was one thing to ignore the foreign agent, but quite another to ignore their own superiors. The two commanders' cell phones rang at exactly the same time.
"Guess your generals got tired of waiting," Vanderwalt suggested, indicating to the phones on their belts. He waited until the men answered their phones, listened, and then hung up. "Because you see, this situation is a victory for everyone."
Vanderwalt turned to the Jordanian commander. "You see, a known terrorist hid a bushel full of weaponized bioagent in the caves near the Dead Sea, completely unbeknownst to the Jordanian government, of course."
Which there was no "of course." Someone in that government had to know Amed was using the old outpost. Rebecca was sure of it. Vanderwalt was just giving Jordan a cover story and what sounded like a pretty damned good one at that.
"Once Jordan realized what was happening on their soil, they rushed to neutralize the second coming of God's plague." Vanderwalt spread his hands in true dramatic fashion. "Unfortunately, the cave was booby-trapped and triggered a massive rift in the Dead Sea floor, creating the disaster swirling around us."
Vanderwalt turned to the Israeli commander. "Luckily, the Jordanian forces and nearby Israeli forces came together in true international cooperative spirit and saved the poor tourists caught in the flood."
All eyes turned to Rebecca and her group. Tourists? Really? All the men's weapons bristled, even Brandt's. Plus they had enough bullet wounds to fill an infirmary. Blood streaked off of all of them. Add in the magnesium fire scorch marks to really complete the backpacker vibe.
No one believed him. Why would they?
"At least," Vanderwalt stated, "that is what CNN is going to report in about two hours." He glanced to both commanders. "Or do I need to call your bosses and let them know there's a problem with their boots on the ground?"
Rebecca held her breath as tension strummed the night air.
Would the story play out as Vanderwalt suggested, or would CNN be reporting the death of six hikers in the Dead Sea tragedy?
Even though Brandt knew they could never shoot their way out of the situation, he still clung to his gun. The feel of power and control, while an illusion, was the only thing keeping him upright.
Neither commander said a word. Neither bowed to Vanderwalt's pressure. Neither admitted defeat. Both simply turned away from each other to face their own men.
In Hebrew and Arabic the call to withdraw was sounded.
Air rushed from Brandt's lungs as his knees buckled. Rebecca was right there. Vanderwalt caught his other shoulder.
"Chap, you've got to pick your vacation spots with a little more care."
As they limped to the shore, Brandt asked, "How did you know where to find us?"
"Oh please," Vanderwalt smiled with those crooked-ass teeth of his. "You say you are going east and then not a day later St. Basil's is destroyed in a 'terrorist' attack, then Slovenia has its only avalanche ever recorded in May, while hours later a private plane wings its way to the Holy Land, going far faster than the manufacturer's recommend speed?"
Brandt tried to summon up a glare at Lopez, but he just couldn't.
"Damn right," Lopez said, high-fiving Vanderwalt.
That was not the answer Brandt was hoping for, however they were alive, at least most of them. As they finally arrived at the rocky shore, Brandt looked back to the Dead Sea. The turbulent water had become still again. Apparently the cavern had filled and the drainage of the sea had stopped.
Looking out over the glasslike surface, placidly reflecting the moonlight, you would never know a war had been waged here. Never know that Harvish had sacrificed himself to save the team.
"We'll try to recover your man's body," Vanderwalt said, "but given most of this happened on the Jordanian side..."
Brandt knew the drill. They were a black ops team. Harvish had known the risks. The point man had known that his family would more than likely be burying an empty casket after a "training exercise" ran afoul. A tragic "accident." It was the way their world worked.
"He needs medical attention," Rebecca said as they made their way past the shore to the cluster of Israeli vehicles.
"We've got a helicopter to take us from here to Tel Aviv," Vanderwalt said as they eased Brandt down next to a medic vehicle. "Then a private plane to London." Vanderwalt spun on his heel, pointing at Lopez. "And no, you may not fly it."
With an audible sigh, Lopez sat his ass down next to Brandt. "Fine."
Vanderwalt turned his attention to Rebecca. "And yes, each of you needs medical attention, but I believe that what Brandt needs best is a good, stiff, forty-year-old scotch."
"Hella yes," Lopez answered, perhaps for all of them.
Aunush guarded her left side as they staggered through the thigh-high water of the outpost. God truly was feeling gracious, delivering them from the sure death of the caverns to the building.
The sniper opened a door as the water surged ahead, carrying them forward. Trying to call up the plans for the building, Aunush guided them to the left through another door. They were so close. One more room and they would be out.
Half walking, half tripping they stumbled into the reception area only to find their lone Chinese soldier. Thankful, she took his extended hand to help right herself.
They might have lost the tablets, but they had survived.
Then she felt a gun barrel in her gut as several Jordanian soldiers joined them. The Chinese soldier pulled the trigger, sending hot agony through her belly.
Her last thought was of her sniper, yet he stood by, doing nothing.
With that puzzle, the world went black.
CHAPTER 27.
Skies above the English Channel 9:14 a.m. GMT Rebecca leaned her head up against the plane's window, watching as they descended toward Heathrow International Airport. The others were sprawled out, most snoring loudly. The men were used to riding adrenaline as high as it could take you and then crashing. She was still too jittery to sleep. How she wished she could though.
Brandt's features seemed so peaceful as he slept across the aisle. Occasionally a frown would pass over lips. Then they'd release and his breathing would steady. Thankfully the damage had been far less than Rebecca had feared. If you considered five broken ribs, a bullet wound to the lateral oblique muscles, and a half a liter of blood loss as "less."
Apparently she wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep as Bunny sat down next to her. The younger woman gave a sad smile. "I thought we should..." She lowered her voice. "Talk about the tablets..."
Rebecca indicated to the Union Jack stitched into the fabric of the seat in front of them. "I know, weird, right?" Rebecca asked in a tone far more cheerful than she felt. "That those tablets had nothing really more than the standard Ten Commandments."
Bunny went to open her mouth, but Rebecca nudged her foot. "Right?"
"Yeah," Bunny responded. "Weird."
Rebecca grinned as the pilot came on to tell them to prepare for landing. Which she was more than ready to do. Vanderwalt, however, was still a little put out that he couldn't debrief them. No, that distinct pleasure would come tonight once they got stateside. Apparently there wasn't anyone high enough up the ladder to take their statements. That's what happened when you blew up the Dead Sea.
The plane jostled a bit on the landing as the brakes squealed.
"Amateurs," Lopez grumbled from across the aisle.
Quickly though the plane's speed was under control as they taxied to their private hangar at the edge of the airport. Her seat belt was unhooked before they even pulled to a stop.
Silently the team hurried down the steps to the tarmac as soon as the hatch was opened. Everyone more than happy to put the adventure behind them and move on with their lives. Brandt especially seemed in a hurry, even though he leaned heavily on the railing in front of her. Her instinct was to reach out and help, but she no longer had the excuse of imminent danger to explain her actions.
Once they were all off the plane, Vanderwalt pointed to a row of cars.
"Dr. Monroe," he said, "a car will take you to your flat so that you may collect your belongings." Vanderwalt turned to Davidson. "And one for you as well. As for Ms. Davenport, we can put you up in a hotel if you wish until your flight to the States."
Bunny's eyes darted over to Davidson. He gave a subtle nod. She turned back to Vanderwalt. "If it's alright with you, I'll go with Davidson to help pack his belongings."
Vanderwalt shrugged. "Just about the only thing alright for me would be to haul you all to Thames House for a thorough debriefing, but alas your president has other things to say about the matter." He then focused on Brandt. "Your team will be taken to Croughton."
"What?" Lopez asked. "No Sheraton?"
"Again, chap," Vanderwalt replied. "Thames House is your other option."
Brandt patted the British agent on the back. "Don't think we're unappreciative. Croughton will be fine."
For some reason the two men's casual affection pained Rebecca. Or was it the knowledge that once again she'd be losing Brandt. This time for good. Soon the baby would be here and any chance of some miracle bringing them together would be severed along with the umbilical cord.
With what she hoped was a casual wave, Rebecca left the group and made a beeline for her assigned car. She was almost in when a call came from behind. "Rebecca! Wait."
Brandt.
Why couldn't he just let it go?
She stopped and turned to find Brandt limping over, an arm around his midsection. The medics in Israel had done an amazing job, however there was a limit to their abilities in the face of that much trauma.
"Rebecca," he said much more quietly so only she could hear. The name reverberated inside of her. To hear it spoken with such tenderness just made her ache, and not in the good way.
She knew that Brandt wanted to have some kind of epic closure, but she just wanted to get the hell out of here. There was nothing more for the two of them to say.
"So, I overheard Vanderwalt say that Maria had been brought to London."
Brandt's face hardened. "Yes."
"And that once the baby is born they are relocating her to North Carolina to be near your parents?"
"Yes," he said through gritted teeth.
"That's great," she said as she put her hand on the car's door handle. "Well then, I should get-"
Brandt grabbed her wrist. "Rebecca, we did it so wrong last time."
Yes, yes the breakup had been a train wreck. The yelling. The tears. The slamming doors.
His grip loosened. "Can't we just-"
"Brandt!" Vanderwalt called out as he trotted over.
"Not exactly the best time, Vanderwalt," Brandt warned.
"It's Maria," the Brit said, smiling apologetically to Rebecca. "She has gone into labor."
Fighting back tears, Rebecca pulled her hand out from under Brandt's touch. "Go," she choked out. "She needs you."
Brandt still seemed torn. His body had turned toward Vanderwalt, but his feet were still pointed to her. It wasn't until Lopez jerked the keys out of the chauffeur's hand and shouted, "Get in. I'm driving!" that Brandt snapped back.
"Rebecca, I am so-"
"Just go," Rebecca said as she opened the door to her own car. She slid into the backseat and slammed the door shut, glad for the darkly tinted windows. That way Brandt wouldn't see her break down.
With one hand Brandt gripped the safety handle and with the other he held his ribs in place as Lopez made a ninety-degree turn going over thirty miles an hour. But at least the physical pain took his mind off of his heart's ache.