The Lion & The Lamb
by Peg Keeley

Part 10

Back at the command center in the airport parking lot both Camp and Steve had heard all the happenings. Camp snatched up a machine gun and started across the lot towards the last chopper that sat, running, awaiting orders.

Steve grabbed his arm. "We need to get him cover!" He shouted over the sounds of the chopper.

"He'll get his cover," Camp shouted back. "You've got the military clearance. You take over here and get those troops out there." He boarded the helicopter and issued an order to the pilot.

Steve turned back. "Let's get out there. I want police and troops on the west and east back. I will be right back." He stormed back into the FBI van where the prisoner sat still tied to the chair, being guarded by Levy.

"How many of your people are there?" Steve demanded hotly.

He grinned. "Enough."

"How many." McGarrett took off his tie and tied it about the terrorist's neck.

"If you kill me, I will be glorified," the man said.

"Who said anything about killing you?" Steve tightened the tie, cutting off the man's air.

He gasped, struggled, the just as he was about to pass out, Steve released the tie.

"How many?"

He shook his head. Again Steve cut off his air and he thrashed and gasped, eyes wide, face red.

"How many?"

On the fifth time, the man gasped. "Three, three."


He shook his head.

Steve began to squeeze again. "We can do this all day if you'd like. I will always bring you back," he whispered into his enemy's ear. "Where are they?"

"Don't know - tanks of some kind - don't know!" he answered gasping for breath.

"Here we go. God be with you," the pilot told Danny. The chopper banked forward and charged for the bridge. The airman at the bay door swung out the cable and even before they had reached the top of the bridge, Danny was dropping as fast as he dared towards the bridge scaffolding below.

It seemed a lot farther than it had at a distance. There was nothing but bridge structure which seemed like a very small target and the great expanse of water far below. The steel beams rushed up as the cable whistled through the harness. He squeezed on the handle bringing the drop to a quick halt. The scaffolding was just three feet below. Praying he would not loose his balance, he hit the release and dropped. His booted feet skidded on the slippery metal, he gripped the steel structure tightly -the chopper was already escaping from the scene. Danny quickly dodged behind the edge of the huge concrete upright, praying he was out of range and view of the terrorists. He paused for a moment, trying to catch his breath and refusing to look down. He would need to work his way down through the steel girders towards the spot they supposed the bomb to be.

And if it isn't there? He shivered. The wind blowing across him was cold and wet. The steelwork around him was slippery from dampness. It took several desperate minutes to work his way down, keeping against the concrete support. At last he could see the object they had spotted earlier. It was a rectangular steel box, about four feet long. The lid was shut, Danny hoped not locked or booby trapped but he knew he would have to expect the worst. He gently began to work his way towards the box from the concrete wall.

There was a loud whine as a bullet struck close by. Great, they are shooting at me. He hoped the chopper could get a reference and protect him. A second shot struck within a foot of him he dodged back against the wall. He could not see a chopper, but could hear the engines and rotors - they were not far away.

Another helicopter was dodging in close to the bridge. Danny tried to take the opportunity of their distraction and get to the bomb. He managed to climb through two supports. The bomb was less than ten feet away. Suddenly there were shots before and behind him. He could not go back, he could not go forward and he assumed he was pretty much exposed. He looped his line through the truss and flattened himself against the diagonal girder as much as he could. At least if they shoot me, I won't fall all the way to the river. Of course if that nuke goes off, what will it matter? I will precede about eleven million people in death by just seconds.

There was new gunfire, he could not tell the source - but did realize it wasn't firing at him. Someone else was present.


He gasped and saw Camp near the concrete pillar. "Camp?"

Marten had the machine gun in both hands. "Decided you couldn't get all this credit. Besides, you need to live to get to your trial for treason!" He shouted. "I'm coming to you." He began to work his way through the metal supports, firing as he came which seemed like a pretty remarkable feat. "They're in the refinery - on top of the second tank. I sent McGarrett the coordinates!" Together they scrambled towards the bomb. Camp squatted between Danny and terrorists position, facing out towards the refinery, firing randomly for cover. "Hurry up, I can't hold them off for long."

Danny hunched down over the box, suddenly realizing he was still wearing the Goofy baseball cap. He turned it around backwards to get the bill out of his way. He quickly examined the exterior of the box for trip wires. He forced his complete attention on the device - a Russian made suitcase bomb - and attempted to shut out the gun fire and the sounds of aircraft. He unscrewed the hinges around the box rather than risk the latch. One by one the small screws disappeared through the air, dropping into the nothing towards the river 135 feet below. There was the sound of approaching military craft. At last the box was open.

"Hurry up!" Camp shouted, "I'm almost out of ammo!"

He stared at the contraption before him. The small digital device was rapidly counting down a sequence of minutes. Three minutes. I have just three minutes! He forced his concentration away from the time to the configuration of wirings that lay before him. A suitcase bomb. I know something about suitcase bombs. How did they do this? If I disconnect the timer will that stop the sequence or accelerate it? He counted the wires, traced them to their seeming sources.

There was more gunfire close at hand.

"Williams -" Camp turned towards him.

He looked up. "I can't back off - no time."

Marten pulled the cable he had used to arrive on the bridge through a cross beam. "Can you stop this?"

He nodded. "I need the time."

Several shots struck the steel beams. One ricocheted and struck Camp's lower left leg, but he gave no sign that he noticed. "It's about the mission - it's always about the mission."


Marten raised himself up part way to cover Danny, wrapping cable around his arms to keep himself steady. "Hurry," he uttered.

Danny stared back at the wiring, focusing on the job of disarming the bomb and refusing to allow himself to think about what was happening beside him.

A series of shots sounded and Danny heard Camp give a grunt. He did not look up, but kept working his way through the maze. Two minutes. He could hear sounds of patrol boats below. More shots. Blood sprayed across his face and hands and the workings of the bomb. The yellow wire. That one. He very carefully snipped it with the wire cutters. Blinking back tears, he ran his blood covered fingers down to the next wire - the black one.

There was another series of shots, more blood. Danny heard Camp slowly exhale and the cable clicked as it took on the total of the man's weight. One more wire. Danny slipped a finger under the final blue wire, watching the small red light on the timer. Wiping the congealed blood from the tip of the wire cutters so as not to create a contact, he slowly slipped the tip around the blue wire and, holding his breath, squeezed the handles. The wire made a small snap. The little red light faded out. Danny felt the last of his energy that had kept him going the last three fays fading as well. In great relief, he clung to the girder, too tired to move, shielded by the body of Marten Camp hanging from the beam before him.

The military had little trouble routing the terrorists once their location had been nailed down. A group that had never worried about escape since their goal had been to be vaporized along with most of the eastern seaboard, they would make an interesting group of three to be interrogated for a considerable time to come.

Marten Camp will just love these guys, Steve thought. "Any word from the bridge?" He asked, realizing that capturing the terrorists did not assure safety.

At just that moment a red flare streaked from the bridge structure and exploded overhead.

"There's your answer," said the group commander.

Mission accomplished, Steve thought, awash in the sensation for relief. He borrowed a pair of field glasses and trained them on the bridge. O my God.

It was the Jersey City Police suicide retrieval team that was best prepared, and it was they who assisted Danny from the bridge work onto the empty concrete highway of Rte 9 where Steve was already waiting. As soon as Danny's feet touched the road, Steve threw a blanket over his shoulders as he collapsed in exhaustion to the ground. The deactivated bomb was lowered into a lead container belonging to NRC and they immediately removed it from the scene.

Steve crouched down next to where Danny sat on the roadway. "Good work, Danno."

He gave a tired smile. "It's been an interesting last couple of days."

Steve gave a quiet smile. "It sure has. You all right?"

"Most of this blood isn't mine - just the shoulder."

"We'll get you fixed up. Maybe we can be on a flight home by tonight," Steve commented with great gentleness. His mind lingered over the fear, the suspicion and exhaustion of the last few days - he was ready to go home and put his sailboat in the water. He smiled to himself - I expect the work to be so backed up it'll take a month to get out of the office.

Danny also found his mind drifting to the thoughts of getting back to Hawaii. "I suppose I'll have to face federal charges somewhere down the line," he remarked.

"Considering that it is thanks to you there is still a country to be tried in, I don't think you have anything to worry about," Steve commented. And seeing as your accuser has finally met his well deserved fate.

They both watched as the black body bag was reverently hoisted up onto the roadway. There was a CIA van waiting. No man of theirs would lie in a city morgue. Four men in navy blue nylon jackets with no lettering lifted the bag and slid it into the back of the van.

Danny got to his feet. "Just a second," he called approaching them. "I - I just want a minute."

They nodded and stepped away.

He slowly unzipped the top of the bag, revealing and pallid dead face of Marten Camp. It has been a long time coming, but I always somehow knew this was how it would be. Camp would never have wanted to die any other way than in the line of duty. He was true to his word: he would let nothing stop him from completion of his mission - not even his own life. He was a monster in many respects, but he loved his country. Danny gave a military salute. "Farewell." He re-zipped the bag and stepped away.

Steve placed a supportive arm around his friend's shoulder. "Okay?"

He nodded. "I'm ready to go home."

End part 10

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