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She related her conversation with the ambassador. “So, our immediate concern, other than getting Prime Minister Laguerre to agree to allow us into the country, is Petty Officer Shane Reeves. He’s going to die, sir, if we don’t get him off that island and to medical assistance before they run out of plasma.”
“You have a plan in mind.”
“Of course,” she said. “There’s a Coast Guard Search and Rescue chopper at Gitmo, and it can be at Toussaint Louverture in less than two hours. The only catch is they will have to transport Petty Officer Reeves four miles on foot. Their rescue basket was damaged in a storm. They’re repairing it, but it won’t be available to just evacuate him from the compound. That chopper can’t land anywhere near the embassy, or we will cause an international incident. We can get around the lack of permission from the prime minister because we already have an open invitation for flights in and out of the airport.”
The Director of National Intelligence, Antonio Maxwell said, “You realize they will be going over rough terrain with possible exposure to armed Haitians. We could lose them all.”
“How fast can our military men make that trip?” the president asked.
“Even loaded down with a man on a stretcher, they can be there before the chopper at a seven-to-eight-minute mile, just over thirty minutes, Mr. President,” the Navy joint chief said. “We can have a trauma surgeon and a supply of plasma onboard.”
The president sat there for a minute, then said, “We’ll present the information to their commander, and he will have to make the decision on what to do. He’s on the ground, and it’s his call.”
“Get the ambassador on the line, please,” she asked the communication aide. Within a minute the ambassador’s voice came over the line. “Could I speak with Lieutenant Penn, please, Ambassador?”
“This is Lieutenant Penn speaking, Madam Secretary.”
She laid out their plan. “We know this is an extreme and dangerous proposal to expose an injured man through the streets of Port-au-Prince, but this is the best we can do with our hands tied. The good news is that once the SEALs reach the airport, the chopper can transport them back to the embassy, and they can fast rope to the compound. As long as they don’t land.” Ellie shrugged. “It’s splitting hairs, but I think I can defend it to the Haitians if I have to.”
“I will speak with my men and get back to you as soon as we’ve made a decision.”
“Good luck, Lieutenant.”
She looked at the communications aide. “The prime minister?”
“No luck, ma’am. I believe our call is going through, but there just isn’t a response on his end.”
“Of all the selfish, irresponsible leaders I have ever had the misfortune to meet, he has to take the cake as the absolute worst.” Her voice rose in volume, the fatigue, concern, and disbelief getting the best of her. “He’s deliberately letting his people suffer for his own heinous acts against his president. He is just reprehensible.”
“Ellie,” the president said, setting his hand on her arm. She rubbed at her temple, pushing back her outrage and fury, then nodded at him. “Keep trying,” was all she could say.
“We have satellite images of the road to the airport during the quake. I’m afraid it’s not good, ma’am.”
“Let’s see them, Tony.”
They flashed onto the screen, and Tony got up from his chair and walked over. “As you can see, they were being chased by unknown assailants. This is before the quake.” He nodded to the man working the computer. Another similar photo appeared, then another, and Ellie held her breath as she saw the white vehicle that was being pursued fly off a shelf of pushed-up earth, landing on the beach below. Then the scene played out in the subsequent photos, the battle, the capture, the forced march. Ambassador Towson’s daughter, Madeline, Petty Officer Bale Maddox, Corporal Noah Cassidy, the first lady, Fabrice Baptiste and her son, and the brave palace guard, Emmanuel Benard, were prisoners. They had no way of knowing if the prime minister was involved, but she was almost positive he had, in fact, given the order.
* * *
Twister was aware that this was the last bag of plasma Melina hung on his IV stand. She gave him a bright smile and checked his vitals. Seemingly satisfied, she left the room. She didn’t close the door behind her, so when Tex and the team entered the room just outside his door, he could hear everything they said.
“That’s the plan they came up with?” the ambassador asked.
“Yes, it’s that or nothing.”
“I’m not going to fucking stand around while he dies! We go,” Brawler said. “Bondo, Dagger, Easy, and Flash can carry Twist. Beast and I will make sure they get through.”
“Are you all sure about?—”
“Hoo-yah!” came in unison. What the hell was happening?
“The populace is devastated. They are all trying to survive. No one’s going to bother a contingent of SEALs,” Flash said. “If they do…they do it at their own peril.”
“Carry me where?” he yelled. If they were going to try to save him, he had a right to hear how.
There was a sudden silence, then all of them showed up at the door. “Hey, Twist,” Brawler said, then laid out their plan to run four miles with him on a stretcher through the ruins of an earthquake, on foot, all the way to the airport. They were all standing there with determination on their faces, consumed with saving his life and without any concern for themselves. Twister was humbled. He was going to die here if they didn’t transport him, but the thought of putting them all in danger for his sake was hard for a medic to swallow. It was his job to administer to them if they were injured. But they were his brothers and their willingness to go through with this mad scheme was what they were all about. All in, all the time, and never out of the fight.
“As long as I get a sidearm, I’m game,” Twister said.
