Covert Christmas (19 page)

December 24, 2100 Zulu

J
ack worked his way up a frake tree almost two hundred feet tall. Using his night-vision scope, he scanned the jungle valley below, but saw nothing more. Wherever those men had gone, a dark canopy now hid them.

But he tensed suddenly, panning back as he caught a faint glimmer through the foliage. His chest tightened—they were gaining fast with their huge spotlights, moving with a dogged and lethal sense of purpose. They probably had an expert jungle tracker with them as well, someone who knew this terrain like he never could.

He checked his watch, GPS. The border was still some miles out and moving farther in this darkness would be really dangerous. However, if they hid and waited for dawn, Jack had little doubt they'd be tracked down like sitting ducks within the next few hours.

His only hope in saving the boy was to keep going, as fast as they possibly could. There was one other option, but it was
not something Jack wanted to contemplate, not with a small child to bear witness.

He shimmied down the tree, landing with a soft thump. Cass immediately touched his arm in the darkness. “Is everything okay?” Jack cupped her neck, firm, reassuring. “Everything's fine,” he lied. “We're doing great. As long as we keep moving.”

“Christmas is shivering, Jack. He's stressed. I—”

Jack lowered himself to the child's eye level, took both his little shoulders in his hands, and he spoke in Kigali. “It's Christmas Eve, do you know that?”

He shook his head.

“When we get a bit higher, up on that ridge over there, the forest canopy will be thin, and if you look up you will see one very bright star in the east. It's the same star that, many, many years ago, guided three wise kings to a small manger and a little baby born on Christmas Day.” Jack made it up as he went—he had no idea which star it really had been, hadn't ever really thought about it. But he felt the tension in the child's body ease as he spoke, so he kept talking, conscious of the precious seconds slipping by.

“Tell me,” he said quietly to the boy, “how did you get your name, Christmas?”

The child was silent for several beats, and more seconds ticked by. Jack could almost sense the intent of the soldiers coming towards them.

“My mother,” he finally whispered in Kigali. “She likes Christmas Day.”

Emotion ripped through Jack—the child still spoke of his mother in the present tense. He did not yet know that he'd lost his entire family.

Jack had to pause to gather himself, to not project any negativity in his voice. “And why does she like it?”

“My mother says there is goodness at this time. People must remember to be kind to each other. And…it is my birthday.”

Jack flattened his mouth, thinking about the crowded shopping malls and hysteria back home, the fake fat Santas, the
piles of presents and all the commercials for toys and food and clothes, but here, in this dark jungle, stripped to the basics, the true meaning of the season was being spoken in the innocent words of a child, on Christmas Eve.

It was about humanity. Love.

And more than ever, for completely different reasons than when he started on this desperate flight into the jungle encrusted hills, Jack wanted to make things right for this child. Not just save him—but show him that humanity
could
be kind, to find a way to give the child the faith he would need in the days to come. To show him that a soldier could be good.

Even if he didn't follow orders.

“What did he say?” Cass whispered, squatting down beside Jack and the boy.

“He…” Emotion hitched his voice. “He said tomorrow is his birthday.” Jack paused, gathering himself. “We're going to get him across that border, Cass, goddammit,” he said, eyes burning. “He's going to turn six tomorrow, and we're going to make damn sure of it.”

“I'm glad we're here, Jack,” Cass whispered against his ear, her lips brushing his cheek with a soft kiss. “Because even if we don't make it, it gave me a chance to see who you really are. It reminded me why I really have always loved you.”

For the first time Jack was glad the night was black as a pitch—no one could see the soldier's tear that leaked from the corner of his eye.

He put his arm around Cass, took Christmas's hand. And he led them into the dark, steep jungle. Together.

December 24, 2145 Zulu

Jack swung his machete, skin glazed with sweat as they burst through tangled vines and dense understory onto the ridge. Cass caught her breath. Savannah grasses blew gently in hot wind between tall trees, the scene silvered by clusters of stars that formed a bright band of light spanning the heavens. Never had she seen anything so beautiful.

Cass halted for a second, falling back, stunned by the magnitude of the celestial wonder, the surreal sense that they were part of something bigger, a planet, a world. A universe. Then she caught sight of one bright, shining star to the east.

The star Jack had told Christmas to look out for.

Star of wonder, star of light
…emotion balled in her throat. It was like she'd been given a vision, a new way to see. And she felt the presence of her son. With the feeling came a deep sense of peace, as if she could finally let Jacob—and the physical pain she felt over losing him—go. She was finally allowing herself to remember Jacob, the good times, without the accompanying crushing guilt, the fear that she was betraying him somehow if she wasn't hurting at the same time.

Tears of release streamed down her face. Exhaustion, she told herself. She was fatigued, being ridiculously emotional, but in lagging behind Jack and Christmas, things had fallen strangely still. And in the unnatural silence, she heard a noise, carrying up through the forest behind her. Cass tensed, listening. It was a voice—she heard it again. And the sound of rocks clattering down the gorge they'd just climbed

She stumbled ahead. “Jack!” she hissed, grabbing his arm. “They're right behind us!”

He swore, checking his GPS, a green glow in the dark. “We're still a quarter-mile out—we're not going to make it, Cass.”

“What do we do?”

The one thing he didn't want to do.

December 24, 2150 Zulu

I
t was almost midnight and a strange silence hung in the humidity. Even the wind and crickets had fallen quiet.

Jack had hidden Christmas inside the rotten trunk of a monstrous kapok tree. He'd covered the entrance with thick vines and told Christmas not to move, not to come out, not even to try and peep through the vine curtain, because light might glance off his eyes, and someone might see him.

He touched his head of dark tight curls. “I will come and get you when it is safe,” he whispered. “We will cross the border and then tomorrow, when the sun comes up, it will be your birthday.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Jack. I will be happy for that. And to see my mother.”

The words tore through Jack's chest like something physical, and the voice sounded so like Jacob's for a moment. Crap, he must be tired. This whole business of timing—his wedding anniversary, the season of Jacob's death. This child called
Christmas who'd come into his life like a haunting little guardian angel to lead him and Cass down a twisting path into their past, and into the jungle…it was all playing tricks with his mind, he thought as he made his way to the clearing where Cass was hiding in the grass with his assault rifle and one of his knives.

Jack swung himself up into a tree, vines dangling down around him. With him he had his knife, machete and sidearm.

Sweat beaded along his brow as he waited, ready like a jungle cat, ears attuned to the deathly silence.

Cass, on the other hand, heard only the boom of blood pounding in her ears. Her entire body was wet with perspiration, her hands shaking. She was no stranger to shooting—she'd done survival courses, put in her time at ranges. She'd wanted to be prepared for anything a war or disaster zone might throw at her.

But an assault weapon was unfamiliar.

And she'd never killed a man.

Never even aimed at one.

Aim to kill, Cass, center of body mass, do not think, or you will be dead. Remember, it's them or us.

Jack's warning curled through her mind as she felt something crawl over the back of her leg. She fought the urge to move, prayed it wasn't a snake, scorpion or something equally deadly. The scent of grass was pungent where her body had crushed it and she could smell fear on herself, in her perspiration, taste it in her mouth. Sweat dribbled into her eyes.

She heard a rustle, and clacking of fat leaves, saw a flash of a light, then another as the men began to emerge. The cadre was moving swiftly and silently.

The tracker moved up front, ebony skin gleaming under the light of stars and slice of moon. He bent down, examined the grass, motioning for a second man to aim the big flashlight at the ground. He studied the ground, looking for tracks. His body stiffened. He looked up, held out three fingers.

Cass's pulse quickened. He knew they were here!

Did he suspect they were lying in wait to ambush them?

Through the long blades of grass she saw the tracker point to the left, showing two fingers one way, then one the other—in the direction of Christmas's hiding tree.

Cass swore to herself as men started running in a crouch, weapons leading, going the way Jack had taken Christmas. Now or never. Heart jackhammering, she squinted her eye, focusing on the center of mass of the dark shadows. Releasing her breath slowly, she squeezed the trigger.

Keeping her finger down she fired, moving across one shadow to the others.

The men shuddered, another yelled, immediately returning fire to her spot in the dark grass.

Cass gasped as bullets
thwocked
into the ground around her, one buzzing like a hornet past her ear. Then another man spun to face her, opened fire, but as he did, Jack dropped from above, taking him down with a thud as he slit his neck. It distracted the men enough for Cass, as she had been instructed, to rise up and fire again. This time she took another two men down before dropping back and rolling sideways into a gully as more slugs thudded and kicked up wet dirt around her.

She heard yelling, grunts. Thumping.

Then silence. Dead ominous silence. “
Jack?
” she whispered.

No response.

Shaking like a leaf, covered in sweat and mud and grass and bits of leaf debris, Cass shakily got to her knees. Nothing moved.

She could smell blood, the scent of fired weapons.

She tried to move, stumbling as her legs gave out under her. She crawled, got up again, walked like a pile of jelly to the motionless bodies.

She could make out Jack's arm under one of the big men.

And in that moment…under the vast, starlit African sky, Cass knew she'd move mountains to save Jack, and to have a second chance, a future with him.
Please dear God, just let him be alive.

She could not lose him now, not after having endured this strange flight through the Kigali jungle. She walked in a crouch, coming closer to the pile of men, knife at the ready in front of her, muscles shaking. She felt the neck of the first man—no pulse.

“Jack!” she hissed, eyes burning as she tried to heft the dead weight off him.

Underneath Jack lay still. Blood gleamed, black and shining, across his face and along a slash in his arm.

She dropped to her knees, lifting his head into her lap, pressing her palm firmly against the gaping wound on his arm, trying to stop the bleeding. “Oh, God, Jack.”

He moaned.

Her heart kicked, slammed. Hope—all the hope she'd ever lost suddenly burned furnace-bright, searing back through her body and soul, energy crackling into her. “Jack, can you hear me?” She wiped blood from his face, his eyes, trying to keep a firm grip on his wound, blood coming out from between her fingers.

He groaned again, and smiled. “You look like an angel.”

Relief punched through her. “Yeah. Right—I'm sure. One bloody angel. You get a knock on the head or what?”

He put his left hand to his temple. “Must've been concussed, out for a moment.”

“Put pressure here.” She moved his hand onto his arm, then took her knife, cutting through his sleeve to make ribbons of fabric. Fevered urgency drove her movements as she bound them tight in a bandage on his arm.

“Christmas?”

“They didn't get anywhere near him. Hurry up, hold this. I'll go find him.”

“No,” he crawled to his feet wobbled. “Wait. Help me. I'll show you where he is—you won't find him on your own.”

Arm over her shoulder, his weight heavy, Cass and Jack stumbled together through thick grass. The sudden aftereffects of adrenaline shuddered through her. She had to stop a moment and throw up, arms braced against a tree.

“You okay, Cass?”

She nodded. Wiping her sleeve over her mouth. “I've never killed anyone.” Tears began to stream down her cheeks as violent shaking took hold.

“You saved my life, Cass. You did good.” He lifted her chin. “Look at me.”

She did.

“We saved Christmas. Look, up there.”

The star.

“It's almost midnight,” he whispered. “We go in the direction of that star and we can get him over that border before his sixth birthday. It's only a quarter-mile. We can do this.”

They gathered themselves, found the kapok giant, bent down, opened the vine curtain. Two shining eyes looked out of the darkness. Jack opened his arms and Christmas lurched into them.

Cass saw tears on her soldier's face.

They carried the small boy through the savannah grasses growing high in a strip cleared for border patrol, a no-man's-land between Ivory Coast and Kigali.

Spotlights suddenly swung onto them, and an order was barked for them to stand still. Soldiers approached with weapons pointed at them.

Cass and Jack put their hands in the air and Jack called out in the native language. “We come in peace!” he yelled. “We need help for a small boy!”

More spots flared to them. A jeep engine started, and there was yelling as more troops emerged and men encircled them.

“Must've heard your shooting,” he whispered to Cass. “They were waiting for us.”

“United States Army?” A huge man in a maroon beret demanded, scanning Jack's military gear.

“I got separated from my team while evacuating the embassy of the United States,” he said, knowing the Ivory Coast government was sympathetic and had organized a staging area near the ocean.

“Who is the child?”

“The child is an orphan from a small village. He needs medical attention. We need to get him to the U.S. staging camp.”

“And the woman?”

He turned, looked at Cass. “This woman,” Jack said, “is my wife.”