Page 69 of Freedom Fighters
“I can’t?” Nick raised a brow. It was a mild reaction, although Duardo knew he had gone on alert.
“Sir, Flores was right, this is as high risk as it gets. Only, that’s my job. Now you’ve told him the decision is out of his hands, the General will throw himself into executing the plan, too. You can’t be a part of it. You’re the temporary president and the spokesman for everyLoyalist here. You have to go back to the big house and get everyone there to shelter. You have to talk to the United States and keep that dialog going. I can’t do that and the General can’t. It has to be you.”
Nick stared at him, then rubbed the back of his neck. “You have a point,” he said reluctantly. Duardo relaxed.
Then Nick smiled. “I thought you might play the family card. Tell me thatCalli would castrate you if you let me come along.”
Duardo grinned. “I was going to try that next.” He waved toward the door. “This is the fastest boat we have in the fleet. Flores and I will move to the next fastest and you can use this to get back to the house. If you leave in the next five minutes, you’ll be there by three.”
Nick nodded and held out his hand. “It’s going to be a long nightfor all of us. I want to be able to take your hand again, come the dawn.”
Duardo shook it and held Nick’s gaze. “I’ll do my best.” He paused. “Minnie….” he began.
“I’ll know what to say, if it comes to that,” Nick said quietly.
“Thank you.”
Nick surprised him by pulling him into a hug. “Take care,” he said roughly, then turned and leapt up the stairs to the main deck.
The next three hourswere a blur of frantic preparation and detailed briefings. Equipment was the biggest challenge, although Emile was sanguine. “Any steel wedge will do for pitons. We can split the heads and bend them to take rope. It’s rough, but it’s effective. Hell, we used ice pitons once or twice in a crunch, on Kilimanjaro. If it can be driven into a crevasse and will hold tight, it will do.”
Someone discovereda bag of fishnet repair needles. The little runabout taxiing between boats brought them over to the dory Duardo and Emile were using to pull the team together. Duardo looked over Emile’s shoulder as the private turned one of the six-inch long metal needles over and over in his hand. One end was a blunt point. The other was a large eye, about an inch wide.
“It’s almost perfect,” Emile declared.“If we split the eye at the side here and bend the metal up slightly, it will make a hook. The climbing rope can be slipped into it.”
Duardo whistled sharply and his aide snapped off a salute. “Sir?”
“The sergeant who made the tent poles, the one who repairs the stairs to the big house,” Duardo said.
“Macias, sir?”
“Did he bring his tools with him?” Duardo asked.
“I will find out, sir.”
“Bring Macias and his tools here. We need these pitons made pronto.”
“Yes. sir!”
Fifty minutes before dawn, the team assembled and the equipment was parceled out, along with Emile’s detailed instructions, with many repetitions of the advice to do everything the man above did.
They used an inflatable dinghy with an outboard motor to circle the island and come to the cliffs from the sea. Fromthe little dinghy, the cliffs looked huge. So did the waves. The inflatable sides and lightness of the boat would help cushion the impact with the rocks.
The private steering the engine moved them closer, watching the waves behind him. “Now!” he called, as the waves subsided after the big seventh one. He revved the engine and the boat leapt forward, right up to the base of the cliffs.
The wholeteam was already roped together. As the dinghy nudged up against the cliffs themselves, Emile stepped over the gunwale and thrust a boot into a crevasse Duardo hadn’t seen until that moment.
The rope leading from Emile to Duardo held the boat steady. Duardo waited until Emile climbed out of the way and waved to him, then Duardo hauled on the rope, bringing himself and the boat closer to the flatwall of the cliffs. As soon as he was close enough, he thrust out a hand and a foot and grabbed the same piece of rock Emile had. He transferred his weight and found himself hugging the cliffs, the sea surging around his boots.
He reached up for the handhold Emile had used and climbed. Behind him, the team repeated what he had done, until they were all clinging to the cliffs. The boat driftedaway, pulled by the backwash of the waves, then the motor fired up and the dinghy turned and headed back for the fleet. They were on their own.
Duardo lifted his chin and studied Emile’s movements, blanking out any thoughts about the rocks below, the unforgiving sea and how far above them the top was.
The next three hours were a test of mind, sinew, nerves and muscle. As the day grew, the windpicked up force and speed. It whipped at them from the side, trying to peel them from the cliff, tearing at their exposed flesh and making their eyes water, blurring their sight. The high screaming one-note song the wind made blanketed thoughts.
Shortly before the two hour mark, Adjuno, the sergeant just behind Duardo, slipped and fell. He was brought to a halt, dangling in mid-air, held up bythe rope, which yanked heavily at Duardo’s torso.
Duardo gripped the rock, gritting his jaw, as he took Adjuno’s full weight, for there was no piton between them. Rickardo, behind Adjuno, reached out to help Adjuno swing back toward the rocks and find grips once more. After what felt like a year, the weight on the rope lessened and Duardo looked down. “Sergeant?”
