Deadly Promises (Tracers #2.5)(60)

A second volley from Ma Duce kicked up dirt just behind them. Another narrow miss. Third time, someone was bound to get lucky.

But then the unmistakable chuck chuck chuck of an M-60 gave Cav a reason to believe they might just get out of this.

He glanced skyward and, sure enough, the barrel of an M-60 mini-gun poked out of the belly of the Huey. The gunner was peppering the Junta truck with 7.62 x 54 NATO rounds like he was seasoning a steak.

Cav let out a war whoop. These boys knew how to throw a party!

He stood up, one hand gripping the windshield frame, the other grabbing for the tail end of the hundred-plus feet of rope that dangled from the Huey. The rotor wash whipped the rope and the attached harness back and forth like a pendulum on a wide, arching swing.

“Can we really do this?” Carrie yelled.

“Piece of cake!” he promised as the Huey pilot timed its speed perfectly to theirs, then tucked in directly overhead just low enough for Cav to finally grab the spinning harness when it swung by.

Behind them, the Junta truck and jeep had gained ground. Ma Duce kept firing. The M-60 kept answering. Cav paid no attention. He unhooked the SPIES—Special Patrol Insertion/Extraction System—harness from the dangling rope, then concentrated on getting himself buckled in.

Now came the leap of faith. There was only one harness. They needed two. He improvised by quickly making a loop out of an extra length of webbing.

“Under your arms!” he ordered Carrie as he tugged the looped strap over her head, then under her armpits in a dizzying dance of coordination and caution while her hair flew around her face and she managed to maintain control of the fast-moving jeep.

“I don’t want to know what’s going to happen next, do I?” Her eyes were dead ahead on the road as Cav hooked a carabiner attached to the front of his SPIES rig to the strap he’d made snug around her chest.

“One more act of faith!” he told her as he quickly hooked his SPIES harness back up to the rope, looked skyward, and gave the Huey crew a thumbs-up.

“Let go of the wheel!” He pulled Carrie out from beneath the steering column and, just that fast, they were airborne.

“Arms and legs out!” he yelled when they’d cleared the jeep and the Huey lifted them fifty feet in a split second. “Spread-eagle it or we’re going to spin like a top, and then I’m going to embarrass myself and make you very unhappy!”

“I’m already unhappy!” She buried her face against his chest as the ground fell away beneath them and the chuck chuck chuck of the M-60 sang like music above them.

As they flew through the air and cleared the tree line, Cav looked down to see the jeep roar off the road. It bounced several yards, then rolled end over end down a steep ravine and exploded in a ball of fire. Even more spectacular was the sight of the M-60 lighting up the Junta truck in a blazing fireball when the Huey’s gunner scored a direct hit.

Prettiest sight he’d ever seen. Well, almost.

He glanced down at the woman in his arms as they continued to climb, dangling from the end of that long rope at a dizzying two hundred feet above the ground and a heart-racing seventy or eighty mph.

She was the prettiest sight he’d ever seen as she lifted her face to his. Through her fear and her shock, she met his eyes with a smile so dazzling it lit a fire inside him that made the flame-engulfed Junta truck pale in comparison.

“MAN, YOU GUYS are a sight for sore eyes!” Cav yelled above the Huey’s engine roar.

They’d set down in a field a safe mile away from the extraction site so Cav and Carrie could climb on board.

“Just like old home week.” Luke—Doc Holliday—Colter grinned as he held out a hand and pulled Carrie up into the chopper bay.

He had that right, Cav thought as he scrambled up behind her, shook hands all around, and saw the men who’d enlisted his help to blow up half of Jakarta’s waterfront over a year ago in their rescue mission of Crystal Debrowski.

“Glad we could return the favor.” Johnny Reed sat at the bird’s controls with none other than Nate Black riding in the copilot seat.

“Thanks, man.” Cav returned a quick embrace and back slap from Joe Green, his old CIA buddy. “When Wyatt said he’d send a team, I didn’t know he was going to call out the big guns. Appreciate it.”

“Like Reed said”—Nate turned in the seat—“one good turn needs another.”

“I’d say this more than makes us even.” Cav glanced at Carrie, who was still wide-eyed and a little shocky. “Carrie,” he yelled to be heard above the Huey’s big engine, “meet Reed, Doc, Joe, and Nate. Friends of Wyatt’s. Friends of mine,” he added as he strapped in while Doc made sure Carrie was secure.

As soon as they were buckled up, the Huey lifted off and they tore through the skies.

“It’s over,” Cav said, leaning in close to Carrie. “It’s finally over.”

Not until then did she finally break down and cry.





Thirteen

Her life had gone from colorless to vivid Technicolor, then back to shades of gray again.

Rain streaked down the tall glass panes as Carrie stood alone, staring out the window of the waiting area outside the consulate’s office at the U.S. embassy in Jakarta.

She still couldn’t believe she was in Indonesia. Or that Cav was in conference with the consulate, arranging her passage back home.