The Devil's Footprint (82 page)

"I should
live so long," said Fitzduane.

Flying five
feet off the ground, the Kiowa Warrior entered the gorge and vanished under the
overhang.

High up above,
Viper Two flew in parallel.

In the
distance up ahead, Viper Two could see the shapes of a flight of C130s.

As he flew
closer he could see that the sky was filled with the ‘chutes of the Airborne.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

The dry
riverbed twisted and turned, and Oshima fought to keep her speed up over the
irregular surface.
 
The rock had been
worn smooth enough, but the surface was strewn with pebbles and boulders.
 
The noise of the motorbike echoed off the
rock walls and pounded back at her.]

The silencer
had been punctured in a skid a few kilometers back, but the deafening noise was
something she could live with.
 
It would
only be a temporary inconvenience.
 
In a
few minutes she would be in her hide for the day and then could repair the
damaged machine at her leisure.

She
sideslipped around a patch of gravel and with relief saw the light of the open
space ahead.
 
The riverbed widened at
this point and the gorge fell away, but shortly afterward there was a cave
system.
 
A quick dash across the open
space and then she would be under cover.

She skidded to
a halt under the final protection of the overhang.
 
The noise was still deafening.

She looked
ahead.
 
The open space appeared to be
clear.

Out of
routine, she looked behind.

As she looked,
a helicopter flew around the last bend and hovered a few hundred meters behind
her.

Oshima's mouth
went dry.
 
She made an animal sound and
gunned her machine into the open space.
 
She was a small target traveling at speed, and if she moved very fast
and zigzagged she could still get away.

She was
halfway across when a salvo of 2.5 rockets blew the rock away from under her.

Oshima flew
through the air and crashed into the ground.
 
Dazed but still conscious, she saw that the natural amphitheater made by
one side of the gorge and the riverbed was ringed with paratroopers.

She tried to
move, but her legs would not respond.

She raised her
head and saw that one leg was twisted and broken.
 
The other limb was missing below the knee.

A figure had
dismounted from the helicopter and was walking toward her.

Oshima
struggled to draw her pistol, but her hand arm would not respond.
 
She raised her arm, and her hand just hung
there from its broken wrist.

The figure
came closer, and now she could recognize him.

Fitzduane.

She tried to
move her left hand, and with relief felt some movement in the fingers.

She eased them
around to the small of her back and felt for her backup pistol.

She saw
Fitzduane bend down and pick up something.
 
He made a move, and she saw the scabbard cast aside and the blade glint
in the sun.
 
Her
katana
, kept always strapped to her back and now torn loose in her
fall.

How many
people had she killed with that blade?
 
Too many to recall.
 
One of them had been Christian de Guevain,
Fitzduane's closest friend.
 
It would be
good to add Fitzduane himself to the list.
 
If he was going to use the sword, then he would have to come close, and
she could not miss.

Oshima was
still bringing up the pistol when Fitzduane raised the sword and severed her
head.

29

Fitzduane
jogged through
Arlington
Cemetery
.

Autumn was in
the air.
 
It was cooler to run.
 
That evening he would board the aircraft that
would take him back to
Ireland
with Kathleen.

It was a nice
feeling.
 
He would miss
America
, but it
was time to go home.

Home.
 
The best of words.
 
The best of places.

At home you
could build.
 
In life, so often you had
to destroy.
 
You might not want to, but
that was just the way it was.
 
You had to
fight to preserve what was worthwhile.
 
And fighting, no matter how you did it, meant destruction.
 
But there were times when, despite the
consequences, you had to take a stand.

Freedom was
not free.
 
That pretty much said it all.

He saw
Cochrane as he approached Nick Rowe's grave.
 
They ran the last few hundred yards together in an easy silence
..

Fitzduane
placed several stones on Nick Rowe's headstone.

"From the
Devil's Footprint?" said Cochrane.

Fitzduane
nodded.

They walked
together.
 
Arlington
was quiet and nearly empty and very
beautiful.

"Well,
you got me fitter," said Cochrane.

Fitzduane
laughed.
 
"How is the fight going to
save the Task Force?"

"Lots of
promises and little action," said Cochrane.
 
"Counterterrorism isn't much of a
vote-getter, and the average person thinks it's covered."

But it isn't
, thought Fitzduane.
 
And with the Cold War over
America
was
dropping its guard.
 
Forgery,
economic terrorism, infiltration, selective assassination, the threat of
weapons of mass destruction, the emergence of a whole host of new nuclear
nations, fundamentalism in its various forms.
 
Third
World
countries wanting a piece of the
pie the easy way.
 
There were some
seriously bad people out there.

The list of
real and immediate threats was a long one.
 
But the new dangers were complex, interwoven, and frequently not readily
apparent — unlike the clearcut simplicity of the Cold War.
 
And people wanted to get on with their lives,
collect the peace dividend, and hope for the best.

Only a few
really understood.

Human nature.

"We're
getting through to some people on the Hill," said Cochrane, "and it
doesn't take too many to make a difference.
 
Meanwhile, we'll hang in there.
 
We'll just show up."

Fitzduane
smiled.
 
"I guess that's how this
country
get
started."

He shook Cochrane's
hand.
 
It was a stronger grip than he
remembered.

"Hell of
a thing, Lee," he said.
 
"You
are
fitter."

"Keep the
faith," said Cochrane.

"There's
not really much else to do when you come right down to it," said
Fitzduane.
 
"But right now, Lee,
stop plotting.
 
I'm going home."

They ran
together to the
Iwo Jima
memorial and then
headed their separate ways.

—
THE END
—