milk. “I would expect you and Miguel to be the heirs — if you are one day married.”
“I don’t mean to sound like a gold digger, senor. I am just worried about Miguel. I know you want him to work at the bank this summer, but I am worried that he’ll hate it. And if he is miserable, we both will be miserable.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Teach him about how you operate your businesses. Let him be your right-hand man. He is your son, after all.”
Rojas thought about that. She was right. Miguel was the heir to his empire, and the boy knew so very little. Rojas could have been killed, and Miguel would hardly understand the enormity of his father’s world. But Rojas would never reveal the ugly truth of the cartel — not to Miguel, not to anyone, ever …
Suddenly, Alexsi appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on here?” she asked, staring accusingly at Sonia.
“Do you want some warm milk?” asked Rojas, ignoring her question. “I have some more.”
“All right.”
“I couldn’t sleep. Not after what’s happened,” said Sonia. “I heard Senor Rojas come down, and so I thought I’d join him.”
Alexsi’s expression softened. “I understand.”
Rojas stared at Alexsi. If she could read his mind, her bags would be packed within the hour.
And if Sonia could read his mind, she would be joining Alexsi in a taxicab that would take them very far away from his world.
29 THE ONLY EASY DAY
Moore heaved himself up and into the black Zodiac to join the other two SEALs who’d jumped from the platform. They were still waiting on Carmichael and one of his guys, Mako Six, who’d been hit. Moore tugged off his mask and took in a long breath of the salty air. Out to the west, across the charcoal-colored waves and beneath a mantle of clouds, hovered the CH-47 Chinook helicopter, it’s rear ramp lowered, its pilot perched precariously over the water. The tandem rotors created a wash that lifted high into the night and drew a pale white vortex over the gulf, while the chopper’s turboshaft engines roared. That pilot, Moore knew, was battling fiercely against the wind.
An onslaught of small-arms fire erupted from the platform, most of it directed at the chopper itself, while Moore was on the radio, trying to call in fire support from the patrol ship; however, the request was denied and he was ordered to extract immediately.
The chopper pilot echoed those orders: “Mako One, this is Seabird, taking fire, taking fire! Need you out of there NOW, over!”
“Roger that, Seabird. Roger that!”
The Chinook’s fuselage came alive with the flashes of ricocheting rounds that were quickly lost in the mist. Moore turned back toward the platform and saw Carmichael at the railing with Electronics Technician First Class Billy Hartogg, Mako Six.
“Frank, we’re running out of time here, buddy!” Moore reminded his friend.
But Frank Carmichael understood that in life or in death no man should be left behind. He and Moore had learned firsthand that that wasn’t some jingoistic cliche uttered in war movies. It was truth, and Carmichael’s actions reflected the kind of steel he had in his back and the quality of his character. He picked up the lifeless form of Electronics Technician First Class Hartogg and was determined to bring the SEAL home.
SEALs like Carmichael did not take the easy way out, not during INDOC, not during BUD/S, not anytime. The only easy day was yesterday. However, before Carmichael could make it over the edge, gunfire ripped across the railing, pinging and sparking, driving him back and away.
And then more salvos punched into the water between the Zodiac and the platform, and Moore found himself looking up into the eyes of two guardsmen, now leveling their rifles on him.
Gunfire boomed from behind him as his men lifted their own rifles and took out the two Iraqis, who fell back and out of sight onto the platform.
A loud splash stole Moore’s attention. Carmichael and their fallen colleague had dropped ten meters off the platform and had hit the waves—
But they were on the other side, near one of the largest pilings, some twenty meters away.
A hand rose above the waves …and a voice that was only in Moore’s mind echoed:
“We have to go back!” shouted Gary Brand, the platoon’s leading petty officer, seated in the Zodiac beside Moore.
Moore looked at Carmichael, then back at the helicopter.
“Mako One, this is Seabird! I cannot wait for you any longer!”
Moore cursed and shook his head. “You wait for me! You will wait!”
“Damn you, Mako One!” cried the pilot. “Thirty seconds!”
The gurgling outboard that had been resting in idle wailed as Moore speeded off after Carmichael, telling his men to get ready on the rope.
Moore then took a deep breath and held it.
All Carmichael had to do was catch the line and slide the loop up his arm. They’d drag his ass onto the Zodiac if it was the last thing Moore did.
He steered them closer to Carmichael, who was trying to hang on to Hartogg’s body. They motored up beside him—
The rope went out.
Carmichael had only one good arm to make the catch.
He missed.
Moore turned the boat so tightly that it felt as though the craft were on rails. He believed he had time for another pass. Then he looked back at the Chinook.
Seabird was beginning to pull away.
And suddenly seconds were years. There was no noise save for Moore’s heartbeat, no sensation save for salt water in his mouth.
Carmichael bobbed up and down near the piling.
The chopper’s ramp sent a waterfall back into the gulf as the pilot throttled up.
A fresh volley of fire wrenched Moore out of his daze and sent his gaze back to the chopper. “He’s taking off! We have to go!”
He wasn’t sure who replied, the voice distorted by the wind, the gunfire, the rotor wash, but he heard enough: “Don’t do this, Max! Don’t do it!”
But he realized in that moment that he couldn’t save them all. Not all of them. Not Carmichael. “No choice. We’re leaving!”
When he looked back at the platform, Carmichael was still there, waving not for help but signaling for them to go.
Gunfire ripped across the side of the Zodiac, and that was it. Moore wheeled the boat around once more and throttled up the outboard, sending them skipping across the wave tops and toward the chopper.
“Seabird, this is Mako One. We’re on our way!”
