Chapter 4
Alec had been called in after he'd finished his own mission, a quick sniper job. He had nothing against that fast and distant sort of wetwork, but it was a little boring. He preferred jobs with a bit more of a...personal touch. And maybe with more fire and explosions involved.
Regardless, he had called in to HQ to report after his target had been eliminated. He had been told that communication with 002 and his Q-Branch partner had been lost. They had been working on bringing down the central intelligence hub of a criminal organization in Niger, which was why they had needed the tech on site.
However, things had somehow gone wrong and there had been radio silence from the pair for the last four days.
Alec, as the closest operative, had been ordered to board a flight from where he was in Medina to the airport in Niamey to find out what had happened to the team.
Four days!
Alec had fought the urge to curse at Tanner, who had relayed the information. There was no use berating the messenger for the higher-ups waiting so long to send someone in.
Besides, if it had been only 002, four days wouldn't have been considered long at all. It was only the fact that he had a tech who had no experience in the field (who was also Alec's friend) with him that made Alec see red.
It was all very well and good to treat field agents like equipment to be discarded when no longer useful and immediately replace them with newer versions as needed, like parts of a machine. They knew what they were getting themselves into. They knew that the life expectancy of a double-oh agent wasn't very long and that their chances of dying were something like 70% in the first year, with the number decreasing marginally with every successive year as they became more experienced..
But to treat that amazing, brilliant kid like that? No, Alec wouldn't have it.
He'd seethed as he'd sat on that flight to Niger, the anger masking his worry for his young friend.
Danny was...Well, he was tougher than he looked, but he was still young, and he wasn't trained to handle field emergencies. Alec had wondered if the pair had gotten captured or if they had been killed instead. MI6 knew that the boffin had been able to complete his mission of installing the virus in the server at the hub of the organization that spread throughout the chain to all of the lesser groups associated with the main syndicate, but beyond that, they knew nothing.
That had been four days ago. There had been no word and no movement from the criminal group to suggest that the two men were alive.
Then, five hours ago, there had been a large explosion at the warehouse in the middle of the Sahara desert where intel said that the criminal organization had its central server. Three small aircraft had been spotted escaping from the building.
According to satellite imagery, the planes had attacked and damaged each other enough to cause all three planes to crash in succession.
However, the aircraft had all been experimental high-speed machines, so they had been able to travel a fair distance away from the initial site and then quite a distance from each other when they had crashed.
Alec had boarded the medevac helicopter (of which there were two) with determination and trepidation warring with each other in his stomach - something that hadn't happened to him since he was a trainee.
What was this kid doing to him? He wasn't the kind of person to form attachments like this to anyone, except maybe Bond. But the other agent was different, and, as far as returning Alec's sentiments went, was very low-maintenance.
This relationship, whatever it was, with Danny, however, was completely different from anything he'd had with anyone before. It was almost like...like he had adopted a kid brother or something. Or a kitten. Something small and cute and unable to fend for itself.
Not that Danny Drake couldn't defend himself. The first thing Alec had done after Danny had started working at MI6 (after feeding him, the scrawny little bugger) was to take him to the gym to put him through his paces and make sure that he could at least dodge a hit.
Danny had proven that he could do much more than that. In fact, he had rolled his eyes and thrown Alec on his ass twice in twelve minutes. The first time had been as a result of Alec's surprise. The second time had been due to real skill, combined with a small amount of surprise. The kid was fast, and instinctively knew exactly how much force to apply to unbalance his opponent with the minimum amount of effort on his part.
Of course, Alec had then shown the kid what was what, but he'd been able to leave the mat with confidence that the scrappy little pipsqueak wouldn't end up mugged or something.
Still, a controlled environment like the gym was different than fighting in the real world. It was really life or death then, and one's opponents wouldn't be holding back on their punches.
And there was nothing that could save a man from dying in a plane crash if he was destined to do so.
Alec had arrived at the site of the first crash while it was still smoking. The two...passengers (it had been impossible to tell if they were men or women from the blackened remains) had died on impact and burnt to a crisp inside of their metal coffins.
"No survivors," the medic had reported with a wooden voice.
'No shit,' Alec had wanted to say.
He couldn't tell if they were Woodslow and Danny or just random henchmen. They wouldn't be able to tell for certain until experts looked at the remains and the DNA analysis was completed.
Until then, Alec had to hope that the next crash site would have, at the very least, recognizable remains. Alec had to hope that his friends were still alive.
The second aircraft had burst apart in midair from what looked like a small missile.
They had found one man, or what had once been a man, gobs of pink flesh scattered kilometers apart. There had been just enough to tell that the man had been blond - not 002 or Danny, who were both brunets.
There had been no trace of other passengers. That wasn't a guarantee, of course, that there hadn't been someone else on board the aircraft, but still, there was that third site, the one furthest out from the destroyed warehouse.
Maybe at the third crash site, they'd find Woodslow and Danny.
They were about to take off again when they were radioed a report of an incoming sandstorm.
Alec swore.
For one thing, they wouldn't be able to take off until it passed. For another, more urgent reason, the sandstorm had the potential to kill any survivors of that third plane crash. They'd be vulnerable, perhaps even unconscious, and there was no cover for miles, except for the remains of the plane. Even if they'd survived the initial crash, they could very well die from the storm. And even if they'd survived all that, the cold of the desert night could take them out, if Alec and his rescue team couldn't get there in time.
They sat in the safety of the enclosed helicopter, watching the sand swirl around them. The force of the storm slammed sheets of dust against the side of the aircraft like a wrathful god screeching with rage.
The seconds ticked away, each long minute joining the others, one after another, in slow succession.
When the wild winds finally subsided, the helicopter was half-buried in sand. The men got out to shovel the sand away from the landing skids so that the craft could take off.
As the rotor blades powered up, flinging sand off in all directions like a sandstorm in miniature, Alec sent up a silent prayer to a god he no longer believed in.
Please.
Please.
. . . . .
It was dark by the time they got there.
The temperature was dropping quickly, and the men knew without speaking of it that it was imperative that they find any survivors before hypothermia set in.
Their searchlights scanned the sands below them, looking for the crash site in the murky half-light.
The bulk of the aircraft wasn't difficult to find. Alec descended from the helicopter to search the torn husk of the cockpit to see if there was anyone in there, dead or alive.
"Clear!" he shouted with both relief and apprehension as he climbed out.
The searchlights continued to sweep the storm-smoothed landscape for signs of life.
"There!"
Someone had spotted the odd-shaped lump in the sand. With all of the lights trained on it, they could see that it was two people lying huddled together. One figure was stretched out on top of the sand, but the other was half-buried beneath it.
Alec ran over, slipping and sliding in the loose sand in his hurry to reach them.
As he got closer, his heart hammering in his chest, he began to be able to make out the dark mop of unruly curls that was so covered in dust and sand that it looked gray in the harsh artificial light.
Danny.
Each step took him closer, but it wasn't fast enough.
Every second- Every moment was crucial.
He skidded to a stop on his knees, throwing up sand in his rush to reach the too-still (please don't be dead) body of the young man.
Danny was lying on his front with one arm stretched out towards the other man, evidently having dragged himself to this place from somewhere else after the storm had passed. The scuffed line of disturbed sand led away into the dark.
A dark, blood-stained suit jacket was wrapped around him. Alec's heart skipped a beat as he recognized it as something 002 would wear.
The collar of the jacket obscured Danny's face, so Alec couldn't see if the boy was alive. He had evidently survived the storm and had even crawled out here to dig his companion out of the sand, but he wasn't moving now. There was a tourniquet tied around his right leg, which was bent at an odd angle and caked with sand and dried blood.
Alec paused and looked at the man submerged in the sand, in case there was a chance that he was alive. His nose and mouth were still half-covered with sand. It was plain that the agent was dead.
Whether Danny was, however, was yet to be discovered.
The kid was still and unresponsive, and looked entirely too much like the corpse whose shoulder was grasped tightly in his left hand.
The hand that reached out to check Danny's pulse was steady, but Alec felt the world spinning around him as he fumbled for the heartbeat. He felt a small sense of relief come over him as he felt the feverish heat of the dry skin under his fingers, but even then the worry did not ease.
A man only minutes dead would feel nearly as warm to the touch as a one living. If he was alive, dry skin and a fever were sure signs that he had stopped sweating and was suffering from dehydration, especially having been in the desert heat for hours injured and without water.
There. A pulse, weak and thready, but there.
"He's alive. He's alive!" he shouted, prompting the men with the stretchers to pick up their pace.
"Come on, kid," he muttered, "Don't you die on me."
Alec carefully rolled Danny over onto his back to see what injuries were hidden under the jacket. The leg, obviously. Bloody and definitely broken in more than one place.
Danny had been clutching his right arm to his chest. Probably broken as well, judging by the way it bent unnaturally.
"Sir," a medic said, gesturing to the stretcher.
Alec got out of the way so they could do their job.
Another medic reached into the shallow hole and checked Woodslow's pulse. He shook his head after a few moments.
Dead. Dead some time too, from the looks of it.
As Danny was loaded onto the stretcher, the jostling of his broken limbs woke him.
"Danny?" Alec darted forward at the first cry and leaned over him to try to make eye contact if the kid's eyes were open. He'd be disoriented and a familiar face or voice would help...hopefully. "Danny, it's okay, kiddo. You're safe now. It's okay."
The kid shuddered and cracked open swollen eyelids. His face was beginning to swell from the sunburn.
"'Lec?"
Alec winced at how hoarse his voice sounded. The dry lips cracked and bled again.
"I'm here, kiddo. You're safe. I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"
"Clive. He needs- help him. Please." Danny's left hand was still clenched around Clive's shoulder in his futile efforts to get him out of the hole. "Please, Alec."
Alec bit his tongue before he could tell the kid that Clive was dead and he was the one who needed help, but he looked at the young pleading face and said as gently as he could, "Alright, but you're going to have to let go of him first, okay? Let go of him, so they can take care of him, okay? That's it."
He motioned for a medic to start digging 002 out of his shallow impromptu grave. Alec winced at the large chunk of bloody metal that the man pulled out of Woodslow's gut.
"Okay," Alec said once Danny had relaxed at the knowledge that his companion was being taken care of. "You're gonna let them put you on this stretcher now, okay? We're going to get you to a hospital as soon as we can. You're going to be okay. Danny? Hey, Danny, kiddo, it's okay."
The kid's eyes had opened wide, looking almost black in the harsh light of the flashlights. "No," he whimpered, nearly gagging on the sand in his throat, choking him as he shook his head feverishly and shuddered, "No, oh god, no. No fly. No fly. Not. Can't."
'Oh no,' thought Alec upon hearing the hysterical babbling. Brilliant Danny, who could rattle on for hours on end about specialized aircraft, was terrified of flying now.
The medic reached into his bag and uncapped a syringe. They needed to get their sole living patient onto the helicopter to transport him to the nearest hospital, and sedating him was their only option now.
Alec looked away as the sedative took hold and swore.
. . . . .