Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 79

Five Days, Seven Hours, Three Minutes

"It won't work."

Ramsey glanced up from the makeshift map table, staring past the surprised expression of Yuri Ivanov, into the sparkling green eyes of the man's daughter, Svetlana. She stepped forward, gripping her father by the shoulder, and gently moved him aside.

"Here," she said, pointing to the crude map they had scrawled with black marker ink on the canvas. "I'm telling you, Mr. Ramsey. I flew the Havoc over the base before I landed there a few hours ago. Also, I flew the recon missions around your precious Zulu. I'm telling you that if you want to bring all of these men and their guns over that ridge then you'll be committing suicide." Her English was broken, but she carried it quite well. "There are too many places for this other team – this secret helicopter team – to be hiding. With a single sniper, they could take out almost all of your men before you made it to the first structure."

Smirking, the director mumbled, "That sounds like old school Russian pessimism, if you ask me."

"It may be old school, Nathan," Ivanov joined in, "but Svetlana is right. There is no room for an ambush, but there is far too much ground to cross before you would have suitable cover."

"You can cover us from the air," Ramsey argued, "in the Havoc."

"Nyet," Svetlana answered quickly. "Flying all the way here has put the girl low on fuel as it is. We were counting on being resupplied for the trip back home …"

"And I promise you," the director interrupted, "you will be … once we take back Zulu first."

She cocked her head at him. "With this plan?"

Ramsey stood upright. Glaring at her, he said, "You know, I'll be damned if you don't remind me of another Russian I work with every day."

"Dr. Vukavitch?" she asked.

"Yeah!" he exclaimed. "So you've heard of her."

"Please," Svetlana gasped. "The United States can keep her."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nathan!" Ivanov shouted over the two of them. "This is no time for another Cold War! It is already cold enough!"

"You're not kidding," the director spat.

"May I suggest something?"

Turning, Ramsey watched as Nolan Murphy walked up to the table. Close behind him, Trace Hightower edged forward, glancing down at the map.

"Of course, Agent Murphy," Ramsey replied. "Right now, we need more inspiration and less agitation."

Murphy smiled. "Well, in my line of work, a little bit of both makes for a happy medium." Reaching out, he traced the northern perimeter of the base where Ramsey had intended his charge of the compound. "Miss Ivanov is correct, director. This is no disrespect to your plan. It's a good one, but Mr. Hightower and I stayed at that base for four days in preparation for this little adventure of ours. She's dead accurate in saying that a single sniper – strategically placed – could probably bring down most if not all of your men before they made it here." He tapped his finger on the nearest building. "Besides, we don't know if this structure is safe. There's no telling where this strike team may be housed. We don't know how many men they have, and we certainly can't be convinced that the other soldiers – General Nash's troops – won't fire on us. Their lives may be at stake. They may have no choice." Thoughtfully, he reached up and scratched his chin. "But I'm inclined to agree with you … let's let them think that's where you're coming from. It's the most logical choice, so it's going to be the most likely guarded direction. We are north of them, after all."

Sliding his finger across the map, he touched the area between two squares – two hangars adjacent to the base's small airstrip. "Given our fuel situation, we can count on limited support from the air from one of the two larger Russian helicopters, and I'd have the Havoc make a quick run for this spot … there … between those two hangars." He held up his hands, showing a short distance between them. "Like I said, I've been there. We stored our gear in the southernmost of those two hangars, and I know – for a fact – that there's just enough space between these two buildings to squeeze that Havoc."

Ramsey glanced at the map, considering the possibility. "That may be the case, agent, but setting the Havoc down there would make it a sitting duck from two directions. All it would take is one shoulder missile, and Svetlana would be going home in a body bag … no insult intended."

"I didn't say put her down, director."

Lifting his eyes, Ramsey glared at the younger man. "What are you talking about then?"

"If Svetlana can put her bird between those hangars, then we've easily enough cable to rappel down to the ground," he explained. "We could be from the bird to the ground in less than ten seconds, maybe five … if we're good."

"If we're good?" Ivanov asked. "Has the United States military grown so fixed in its complacency that it no longer sees the need to teach its soldiers to rappel?"

Grinning, Murphy nodded. "Of course, we do, Mr. Ivanov."

Correcting, the man said, "General Ivanov."

"Aren't you a colonel?" Ramsey asked.

"I can dream, can't I?"

"Of course, these soldiers have had the necessary training … uh … General … Colonel Ivanov," Murphy assured him, "but I would imagine that Zulu isn't a short rotation. Most of these soldiers have probably done very little rope work." He glanced over at Hightower. "I, on the other hand, have been tried to my physical limits keeping up with the President's son-in-law. Not six months ago we were rappelling down some peaks near Mount Rainier … for several days. I think I'm more than up for it."

"That's one," Ramsey countered. "One does not a strike force make, agent."

"Is it dangerous?" Hightower suddenly asked.

Shaking his head, the director immediately said, "Don't you even think about it …"

"Now, wait a minute," the young man insisted, stepping up to the table. "Murphy's right. I can do this. You need a man who can get to the ground in a matter of seconds, and I happen to be one of the two best candidates."

"Absolutely not," argued Ramsey. "Son, I just took the two of you out of harm's way. Do you really think I'm going to keep my job if I send you into the middle of this?"

Hightower shrugged. "From the sounds of it, there may not be much of a job to go back to if we don't succeed."

"The President's yearling has a point," Svetlana quipped.

Pointing at her, Ramsey shot, "You stay out of this!"

"Me?" she asked. "Who is going to fly the Havoc, if not me?"

"I can do it," Ivanov tried.

"I am the better pilot."

"I would never argue otherwise," her father agreed.

"Then that is settled," she stated flatly. "You are not flying my bird."

"Director," Murphy insisted as he moved closer to Ramsey, "it isn't as if we have any other options. It's simple. Mr. Hightower and I will rappel down to the ground from the helicopter. We'll secure the ropes. Then, I'll get him out of there. We'll take shelter in one of those hangars, and I'll keep him there until you've been able to secure the base." He pointed back to the map. "Have the men come over that ridge to serve as a diversion. That strike team will stay busy trying to stop them. In the meantime, Ms. Ivanov flies between these hangars, we hit the grounds, secure the cables, let the remainder of our own team down, and now we have two fronts to work from. If they flew in that modified Apache, then they can't have a very big crew. Seven, at the most. If they plan on flying it out with … well … with whatever it is you're thinking they came to steal, then they sure as hell aren't planning on having room for everyone on that return trip."

Ramsey grimaced. He couldn't tell them about the Sarcophagus. It would violate his oath. But after reviewing Stoddard's files, the director was certain that Pendley's team had one objective: secure that time travel device, and fly it to wherever the senator demands.

Looking around at their faces, he shook his head.

"Someone in Washington is sure gonna have my hide for this," he muttered.

"Nonsense," Svetlana offered. "It sounds like vacation."

END of Chapter 79