A call to Gerry set everything in motion, including notifying the President.
Jack and Sands spent the next hour caring for the miners, first by getting them out of the rain and cramming them into the remaining bunkhouse trailers where the guards had been. Sands managed to fire up the heaters while Jack distributed warm blankets and spare dry clothing.
Sands learned in Spanish that all of these people were taken from clinics in Lima, La Paz, and a few other cities. These drug addicts, alcoholics, and prostitutes were all given promises of a brighter future and worthwhile employment until they arrived at La Hermana. Starved, beaten, and, in the case of the women, raped repeatedly, they had no recourse but to work or die digging. As society’s castoffs, no officials bothered searching for them.
The rain stopped just before dawn as the first of two MH-60R Seahawk (“Romeo”) helicopters roared into view, flown in from the flight deck of the Ticonderoga-class guided-missile cruiser, Belleau Wood (CG-74), docked at Lima’s naval port as part of a Latin American show-the-flag mission for the Fourth Fleet.
The helicopters were normally fitted out with antisubmarine gear and weapons. Because the choppers had to fly beyond their rated altitudes, only volunteers were allowed on the op. The captain ordered the ordnance stripped and the two ASW aircrewmen debarked. A half-dozen Spanish-speaking Marines and Navy corpsmen crammed into each aircraft with medical supplies, blankets, and MREs.
“I’ve got orders from the CMC directly to load you onto my chopper, sir,” the Marine lieutenant shouted over the idling turbines on the windswept plateau.
Jack shrugged. “Sorry, Lieutenant. My dad was in the Corps, not me. You can tell the commandant I’m not moving off this mountain until those people get their ride first.”
“He said you’d say something like that.” The lieutenant smiled. His lance corporal tapped the Stinger missile on his shoulder. “We’ll sit tight until the Peruvian Air Force arrives, but if the Halo or Cayuse you reported show up, Corporal Hernandez will send them a high-explosive greeting card.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Jack said. “Until then, I’m gonna find me a cup of coffee.”
* * *
—
An hour later, the first silver rays of the sun pierced the low-lying clouds.
Best sunrise I’ve ever seen, Jack thought. Mostly because he didn’t think he’d live to see it.
Jack stood at the place Cory’s father had been so many years before. He opened the small wooden amulet and said a silent prayer as the light breeze scattered the half-ounce of Cory’s ashes over the granite rocks below, then knelt down and buried the crumpled photo in the wet dirt.
Behind him, twin GE turboshafts roared as the Peruvian Air Force SH-3 Sea King helicopter lifted off, carrying the last of the miners off the mountain.
Sands and the Marine lieutenant approached.
“Does that satisfy you, Mr. Ryan?” the lieutenant asked hopefully. “My ass is already in a sling.”
“I’m ready to roll if you are. Hey, question. You bring a cell phone with you?”
“Yes, sir. Why?” He handed it to Jack.
“I’ve got some pics I need to snap. I’ll bring it right back. Five minutes, tops.”
The lieutenant nodded as he stepped away, calling up one of the Seahawks circling overhead to prepare to pick up HAMMER, Jack’s code name.
“You did good,” Sands said.
“Not good enough, but it’ll have to do.”
They stood on the edge of the plateau. Cielo Santo was a dirty smudge far down below.
“We’ll head back down there and grab your stuff, then we’ll catch my plane in Lima back to the States.”
“No, but thanks.” Sands pointed back down the mountain toward Cielo Santo. “I’m gonna make my stand down there. Maybe help turn things around for those poor folks.”
Jack understood. Sands had filled him in on a few details in the last hour.
The former Ranger’s personal descent into hell began years ago when an Iraqi translator and his family he had recruited were brutally tortured and killed before Sands could get them out of the country. He had blamed himself for breaking faith with the family he’d promised to protect. Their murders broke him. No longer caring about anything, especially himself, he drifted around until he washed up at Cielo Santo.
Sands told Jack he knew bad actors were up on La Hermana Alta, but he swore he didn’t know about the specifics. “Mostly because I didn’t give a shit,” he’d admitted, shame cracking his voice.
Seeing Jack reminded him of his younger self, and Jack’s determination to keep faith on a promise to a dead friend