A young officer-a lieutenant-peered beyond Jonathan, and his face showed deep alarm. He saw the rivulets of blood on the floor and the clusters of small people who created them. “My God, what happened?”
“Slave drivers up in the mountains shot them. The drug manufacturers. They shot these boys just as they shot their fathers before them. My friend and I rescued them and brought them here for medical assistance.”
Confusion invaded the officer’s look of horror. “That’s not what we were told.”
“Well, it’s the truth. In any case, can you please let the medicos through so that they can get to doctors?”
The soldier hesitated.
“They’re just children, Lieutenant,” Jonathan said softly. “Let’s give them a chance to be adults.”
The lieutenant nodded and gave the appropriate orders. Thirty seconds later, soldiers and ambulance personnel alike were lifting children out of the helicopter and placing them on stretchers.
“Not the one with the blond hair, or the boy next to him,” Jonathan said twice. “They’re with me. I’ll take them to the doctor myself.” It was a long shot, but if he presumed that he’d be allowed to go free, maybe it would come to pass.
Boxers remained still and quiet in the pilot’s seat. They’d had a tacit understanding for years that Boxers would never allow himself to be taken prisoner, and Jonathan had no reason to suspect that anything had changed. If it came to that, there’d be violence of a very high order.
As the last of the children were being carried away from the helicopter, two soldiers with little to do suddenly looked startled and snapped to attention. Stiff hands shot smartly to their brows as they saluted in unison.
Jonathan followed their gaze and saw an older man approaching. He acknowledged the salutes, but he did not encourage them to stand at ease. Jonathan knew from his gait alone that he was a general officer, and when he stepped more squarely into the light, the three starbursts on his epaulettes confirmed it.
Etiquette and years of indoctrination made Jonathan stand straighter in his presence. Even if you didn’t respect the man, you respected the rank. For all Jonathan knew, he might end up respecting both.
“So you are the invading American army I heard about?” the general asked in impeccable English as he approached.
Jonathan scowled. “Excuse me?”
“I recognize this helicopter,” the general said. “It belongs to a friend of mine.”
“If that’s the case, sir, then with all due respect, you need better friends. The owner of this helicopter was a murderer and a kidnapper.”
The general’s eyes narrowed. “ Was? ” Clearly, he’d heard the use of the past tense.
“Yes, sir. We killed him.”
The general looked shocked. “You admit this?”
“I celebrate it,” Jonathan clarified. “He was a rapist and a murderer. He tortured people. I presume we’re both talking about the same man? Mitchell Ponder?”
The general peered past Jonathan into the bloody interior of the helicopter. As he got closer, Jonathan saw from his name tag that the general was named Ruiz. “This blood,” he said, making a sweeping motion with his hand. “This is all from the children?”
Jonathan nodded. “Yes, sir. Ponder’s blood is all in the cockpit. Would you like to see it?”
The general gave him an odd smile. “No, thank you. How sure are you that he is dead?”
“Extremely.”
“I see.” The general reached into the pocket of his tunic and produced a pack of Marlboros. He shook one out, placed it between his lips, and then returned the pack and produced a lighter from the same pocket. He lit up, took a deep drag, then picked something off of the end of his tongue.
“It occurs to me that you have some very interesting skills,” the general said. “Is it safe for me to assume that you have visited my country before?”
Jonathan forced his face to reveal nothing. “It’s safer to say that if I had been here, it probably would have been under circumstances that I could never discuss.”
General Ruiz arched his eyebrows and aimed two fingers at Jonathan to acknowledge that he’d made a good point. “I’ve never thought much of the drug trade,” he said. “But soldiers like me are merely servants of our governments. Mine has a weakness for the revenue that the drug trade creates. Where there’s revenue, there’s power. And a politician can never have enough power.”
A long pause followed, during which Jonathan was unsure what to do. He remained silent and still.
“I, on the other hand, have a weakness for justice and the health of small children. Something tells me that you’ve helped to make the world a better place by killing Mr. Ponder. You’ve done my country a favor, even if the leadership won’t agree.” He considered his next step for a long moment before he punctuated his decision with a nod. “I will consider it a personal favor if you make this your last trip to my country.” He dropped his cigarette onto the tarmac and crushed it with his toe. “You are free to go.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Jonathan stood in the background as Alvin Stewart spent a moment with each of the children, flashing his famous smile and offering up candy treats from the paper bag he held on his lap. Mama Alexander piloted the wheelchair for him, and the room vibrated with the kind of happiness that only comes from learning that a dear friend is going to be okay after all. Jonathan knew that it would be a few months before Mr. Stewart fully recovered, but the doctors said that full recovery was assured.
A shadow fell to his left, and Jonathan turned to see Gail sidling in next to him. “Want to walk me home?” she asked.
It was exactly what he wanted to do. They left the mansion’s great room quietly and headed down the wide front hall for the front door. Outside, the evening air had cooled from its blistering afternoon peak, but humidity still hung like a wet towel. Gail moved gently and slowly, leaning heavily on the railing as she favored her wounded leg.
“Can I help?” Jonathan asked. He stood ready to catch her if she fell.
“Nope, I’ve got it,” Gail grunted. “Stairs are still hard,” she said. She paused and straightened when she stepped onto the walkway. “You’re a piece of work, Digger Grave. I spend the better part of my life in law enforcement, crashing doors and arresting people without a scratch. I’ve got to join the private sector to get shot for the first time.”
Jonathan smiled and shrugged. “Technically, you still haven’t been shot. You’ve been fragged.”
“I stand corrected,” she chuckled.
Halfway down the walkway, JoeDog found them and ran a couple of circles to get attention for the stick she had in her mouth. The bouncy black Lab was as close to a town dog as you could have, but she’d adopted Jonathan as her occasional master. Jonathan didn’t accept the invitation for a game of catch, but the beast’s hopes never dimmed as they continued to walk.
“How are you doing?” Gail asked, giving Jonathan’s shoulder a gentle bump with her own.
Jonathan scowled. “Me? I’m great. The good guys won another one. Did you see Secretary Leger’s perp walk on the news last night?” Irene Rivers had always had a flair for the dramatic, so she’d made sure that ample media were around when she personally arrested the secretary of defense on charges of murder and conspiracy.
Gail shot him a look. “Did I see it? I live on Planet Earth, don’t I? He does remorse pretty well, I thought. And your friend Wolverine is second to none at damage control. Nothing at all about our involvement.”
“Do I hear bitterness?” They were on Church Street now, heading downhill toward the water, taking in one of Jonathan’s favorite vistas. The low-hanging sun behind them bathed the marina in liquid gold.
“You mean about not getting credit?” Gail shook her head. “Not at all. In fact, I think I’m grateful. She was particularly gracious in praising Doug Kramer for saving Jeremy Schuler’s life by hiding him. She’s quite a lady.”
Jonathan gave a wry chuckle. “Maybe Doug will come to agree one day. He’s not keen on accepting credit for something he didn’t do.”
“It’s better than taking blame for something he didn’t do.”
Jonathan nodded. “He gets that. He’s just pissed that I put him in that position. As he has every right to
