Page 22 of What is Lost

“Bodyguard.” The engine rumble had intensified to the point where she was shouting. “See how he’s letting the smaller guy lead the way?”

He’d noticed. That shorter guy was also…interesting. His eyes were invisible behind his wraparounds, a black-and-white shemagh pulled up tight over his nose.

Cupping his hand around his mouth, John bawled into Roni’s ear, “Those guys don’t look regular military!”

“CIA!” Roni shouted back.

“Evac?” When she shook her head, he said, “Why not?”

“The jocks!” She was so close, her lips brushed his ear. “You don’t bring four guys to take out only two people who can take care of them?—”

“Hey.” He pointed over her shoulder, back toward the civilian terminal. “Look.”

All along the edge of the tarmac, civilians were scrambling to their feet. The men who’d been perched on gangways were slithering to the ground on wheel struts like firefighters ready to battle flames. Others clambered onto the wings or simply hooked their hands into the cabin door’s edge and swung out, dropping to the ground. A second later, the terminal doors popped open, releasing a gush of people who instantly flooded onto the blacktop.

Roni, in his ear: “This feels like a disaster in the making.”

“They’re not going to get in the way of the plane. They’re not dumb.”

“Maybe not, but they’re something worse,” she said. “They’re desperate.”

The C17 dropped fast.The lower the plane got, the louder the crowd became, jabbering and pointing and snatching up rucksacks, bags, rolling luggage, children. He spotted one guy with two small goats in his arms bulling his way through the crowd, which had begun surging forward.

As they clamored and swarmed the tarmac, the Marines started shouting and pointing and motioning the crowd back. But no one paid themany mind at all and, as the enormous Moose finally touched down with a squeal of rubber, a burst of dust, a sudden throaty cough of deceleration, the watching mob roared.

“Maybe that’s the worst of it,” John said.

“You keep thinking that.” Roni’s tone was grim. “The cavalry had better get here fast.”

As the Moose neared the far end of the runway, the plane turned in a lazy half-circle to present the aft cargo bay and rolled to a halt. There was a puff of air and that high-pitched squall everyone swore was the bellow of a female moose in heat. At the noise, the jabber from the waiting throng ceased; a few children began to cry as people backed up in alarm.

Good.The whole scene was like something out of a science-fiction movie with Tom Cruise, gawking as a Martian death machine unfolded from a deep crater. If people only looked and stayed put, that would buy time forrealtroops to get here and secure the plane.

“What’s taking so long?” Roni murmured. “I don’t see anyone here to offload anything.”

“They’ll come,” he said, though he worried this wasn’t a given anymore.Which means someone else has to step up.“The important thing is everyone’s staying put.” Although, if the shuffling and rising swell of murmurs was any indication, that might not last. Inside the plane, he knew the C-17’s pilotand co-pilot were securing the aircraft while, in the cargo bay, the loadmaster would be waiting for the ground crew to connect them to external electrical power. The pilot had to have seen the crowd and radioed for help. So, maybe the lull was to give troops a chance to get here, but jeez, hurry up already?—

“There.” He looked toward a Humvee speeding across the tarmac from the hardened side of the airport. Although he knew how to count: a single vehicle might hold five troops, maybe six if everyone held his breath. “Got to be help.”

“Only sort of,” Roni said, as the Humvee screeched to a stop. Two men jumped from the back and raced for the waiting transport at a dead run. A third, holding a coiled electrical cord attached to a mobile generator, emerged from a ground crew’s station below the main terminal, pushed his way toward the nose of the plane, jammed in the plug, raced back, and flipped a switch. The generator came to life with a cough and splutter as if clearing its throat then settled down to a steady thump.

“Well, that’s three more guys than there were before,” he said, trying to stay positive. “And power’s good.” Power meant that the loadmaster inside could go through his prechecks: electrical, hydraulic fluid levels, everything required beforeopening that cargo door and them getting their supplies.

“There just aren’t enough troops here for crowd control.”

“Then let’s stop standing here and go get some help,” he said, already half-turning, wondering as he did so just where all the regular troops there only five minutes ago had gone. “We need to move those supplies out fast and get that transport turned around.”

“You go.” When he turned a questioning look, she said, “I don’t like the look of things here. The minute that cargo door opens, they’ll have a hard time keeping everyone back.”

“And then you do what, exactly? Come on, let’s go back. Help me round up—” He stopped at the high-pitched whirr of hydraulics followed by first a hush and then an excited gabble as the door came slowly down.

“Too late,” Roni said, as the crowd’s clamor became a roar a second before they stampeded—and the Marines started shooting.

“Come on.”Wheeling round, Roni dashed for the hangar where the jocks still clustered. “Come on!”

“Roni! Wait, what are you doing? Where…?” Alarmed, he caught up, flinching at every rifle shot, his shoulders hunching up around his ears. Snatching a quick glance over a shoulder, he saw that the Marines were shooting into the air. Which was pretty much the same as doing nothing because the crowd knew the Marines weren’t the Taliban. But what, exactly, did all these people think would happen once they reached the plane? They’d never get in.

At the hangar, the two Afghans moved to block them, but Roni ducked, shoved the smaller one aside and squirted under the big guy’s reach.

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