by Mel Odom
“That wasn’t a grenade,” Danielle said, peering back at the fiercely bright destruction. The rain hissed as it touched the cherry red Dumpster.
“Yeah. It was. Thermite grenade,” Goose said. “Burns up to five thousand degrees and capable of destroying any equipment it’s placed on. That’s what they were designed for. Pretty amazing. You can pop those things underwater and they’ll burn for forty seconds.” He looked at Danielle. “We need to go. Even in this rain, this will draw someone’s attention.”
Danielle nodded, then turned and followed him back into the shadows. “What do we do now?” she asked.
“We look over the material,” Goose said. “See what we have. Then we make a plan.”
She trotted, catching up to him to walk at his side. She hunkered her shoulders against the rain and thrust her hands into her jacket pockets. “We’re still talking about the CIA here.”
“Cody’s group,” Goose said, wanting to cut down the odds they stood against as much as he could.
“And Nicolae Carpathia and his organization, which seems to be spread around the world.”
Goose hesitated. “There’s more going on than what you think, Danielle. There’s more at stake than you realize.”
Danielle glanced at him. “So now you’re going to go all mysterious on me?”
Goose shook his head. “I’m just not the guy to explain it to you.”
“Then who is?”
“Corporal Baker.”
A look of surprise filled her face. “Corporal Baker as in Baker’s Church Corporal Baker?”
“Yes.” Goose let out a breath. “He needs to be in on this with us.”
“This is my story.”
“Baker isn’t a reporter, ma’am. And I think, after you talk with Baker, that you’re going to see that you’ve got a bigger story than you thought you had.”
“Bigger than Nicolae Carpathia’s not being the golden boy everybody thinks he is?”
Goose looked at her. “Ma’am, you have no idea how bad Nicolae Carpathia can be.” His headset beeped for attention. He stepped into an alleyway as a jeep filled with Rangers on patrol rumbled down the street. The headlights flashed across the street and narrowly missed him as he pulled Danielle out of sight. “Phoenix Leader.”
“Phoenix Leader, this is Dispatch.”
“Go, Dispatch.”
“You’ve been instructed to return to base, Phoenix Leader.”
The announcement sent a cold chill through Goose. He had to wonder if Remington had already somehow found out about the assault on the CIA safe house.
“Affirmative, Dispatch. Phoenix Leader is en route.” Goose took the portable hard drive from his LCE, still wrapped in its protective sleeve, and handed it to Danielle. “Take this and find out what’s on it. Get with Baker and tell him I told you to bring it to him. Tell him I want him to tell you everything we figured out.”
Danielle took the drive. “What have you guys figured out?”
Goose shook his head and looked back down the street where the jeep had pulled in at the flaming Dumpster.
“There’s no time, ma’am. I’ve got to go. If the captain’s not wanting to see me because of this, then it’s something else I’ve got to move on.” Goose was already thinking that Remington was ready to spring whatever plans he’d been forming since the rain had hit. “I can’t say when I’ll be back.” He looked at her. “Trust me, ma’am. The story you’re really after is the biggest thing anyone has ever seen.”
She wanted to ask more questions. Goose saw that in her face.
“Baker,” he reminded her. Then he was gone, double-timing through the night to find out what Remington wanted, hoping that his secrets were still hidden from the Ranger captain. Goose knew that Remington couldn’t deal with everything Goose already knew and was beginning to suspect.
Crossroads Shopping Center
Columbus, Georgia
Local Time 2225 Hours
Joey stood frozen like a deer in headlights.
“What you two boys doing in my store?” the Asian man demanded again. He looked at the pry bar Joey held and shook his head. “You boys no good boys. You thieves. That why I sleep in back of shop. I know thieves come here, try to steal. But I have gun.”
Nausea swirled through Joey’s stomach and he thought he was going to throw up.
“You boys keep hands where I can see them,” the man ordered.
From the corner of his eye, Joey saw that Derrick had his pistol up and was pointing it at the shop owner. “Don’t, man!”
“I’ve got a gun,” Derrick said. “Just put your gun down and nobody will get hurt.” His hands trembled violently.
Joey wondered if Derrick had even thought to take the safety off, but he knew for a fact that Derrick was going to get both of them killed.
“No!” the old man shouted, swiveling his gun on Derrick. “You put gun down or I shoot you!”
“Don’t,” Joey pleaded in the calmest voice he could. It wasn’t very calm, he knew, because his words sounded scratchy and thin even to his ears. “He won’t shoot you, mister. The gun’s probably not even ready.”
“You put gun down!” the old man yelled. “You put gun down right now!”
Over the old man’s shoulder—the movement slowed down as time dragged because Joey’s senses were spinning so rapidly—Joey saw Zero step out of the darkness. Zero’s face caught part of the bluish cast thrown off by the TV that was once again showing a story about Megan Gander. He looked like a swimmer surfacing out of the shadows, like something evil that had stepped into view.
“I kill you!” the old man shouted. “You put gun—”
The cannonlike reports of Zero’s .357 Magnum blew away the old man’s voice. All of the shots struck the man. Joey saw his frail body jerk with each impact.
The gun fell from the old man’s hands. Then he stumbled forward, crossing the short distance to Joey. Blood dribbled from his mouth and coated his chin as the television glow caught his face. In two more staggering steps, the man grabbed Joey’s shoulders and held on tight. Then his knees buckled and he fell. His grip remained tight and he almost pulled Joey down with him. Joey bent, barely remaining on his feet as the man hooked his fingers into his jacket.
The old man stared at Joey, and his eyes looked sad and scared, like he couldn’t believe what had been done to him.
Zero stepped forward and kicked the man’s arms, knocking his hands from Joey’s shirt. Roughly, Zero grabbed Joey’s neck and pulled him into motion. “Get moving,” Zero ordered. He cursed and shoved at Joey until Joey headed out of the shop at a dead run. Derrick ran at his heels.
Dropper, Maxim, RayRay, and Bones fell in with them, all of them racing for the receiving door that led out into the alley. They didn’t stop until they reached the Cadillac.
Joey slammed into the Cadillac and nearly fell over. Then the nausea swirled up inside him and he stayed bent over, throwing up so hard that he got light-headed. Spots spun in his vision.
Bones cursed, breathing hard from running. “What happened?” he demanded.
Zero stood there with the .357 Magnum in his fist. “I killed a guy in there. Had to. He was going to blow these two jerks away.”
“You killed somebody?” RayRay asked in disbelief. “The police are going to be looking for all of us. We’ve got to get out of here.”
“You didn’t have to kill him,” Joey said, somehow finding the strength and conviction to stand and face Zero. “He didn’t shoot Derrick or me.” Joey was angry and scared, and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Everything that had happened was so unfair. “I don’t think he was going to shoot us.”
Zero stepped up into Joey’s face. “I say you’re wrong. I say I saved your life.” He cursed and called Joey names. Without warning, he slapped the pistol across Joey’s face hard enough to knock him to the ground.
Blinded by the pain, almost knocked out, Joey pushed himself up to his hands and knees. He sucked in a breath and tried t
o block the agony. Before he could recover, Zero kicked him in the ribs and knocked the breath out of him, then reached down and took the 9mm from Joey’s jacket pocket.
“You’re stupid, Joey,” Zero said, holding up the gun for display. “You didn’t even try to use this on me. You don’t have what it takes to survive. You had a gun when that man ‘fronted you in the store, too. You should have blown that guy away, not waited on me to come save you. When the aliens get here, they’re not going to want a weakling like you as their ambassador.” He stomped Joey mercilessly.
Joey felt two of his fingers break as he tried to protect his head during the vicious beating. He rolled onto his side and pulled into a fetal position.
Finally, exhausted or maybe realizing the police might arrive at any second, Zero stopped. He breathed loudly, cursed some more, then ordered Dropper and Bones to put Joey into the Cadillac’s trunk.
Joey tried to fight back, but Zero pointed the .357 at him.
“You’re going in the trunk for now,” Zero said. “Maybe later I’ll let you beg for your life. Or maybe you can figure out how you’re going to convince me you won’t rat us out.” He spoke louder, for the benefit of all the others. “If anyone finds out that we were here tonight and that I shot that guy in the mall, we’ll all be tried for murder.”
The others didn’t say anything. Not even Derrick.
“So we all stay together,” Zero said. “When we get back to the house, we’ll figure out what to do with Joey.”
Dropper and Bones threw Joey into the trunk and closed it.
Hurting and out of breath, Joey lay still for a while and tried to recover. He knew once they returned to the house where they were currently crashing, he was dead. He’d seen that in Zero’s eyes. The others wouldn’t stop Zero from killing him because they were afraid of Zero and they were afraid of getting charged with murder.
Desperate, Joey pushed aside the pain and took out his flashlight. He knew several luxury edition cars had trunk releases built into them. Shining the light around, he located the release on the left, waited till the car slowed. Then he popped the release, shoved the trunk lid up, and rolled out.
He fell, tripped up by the car’s forward momentum. But he pushed himself back to his feet and started to run toward an alley to his right. Brake lights flared ruby red behind him.
Pistol shots rang out. Bullets ricocheted from the street near his feet, then from the alley wall as he ran inside. Sparks jerked into motion, then flared out and died.
Joey ran, ignoring the tearing pain in his side, knowing if he stopped even for a second they would catch him and kill him. His friends weren’t his friends, and he was in more trouble than he’d ever imagined in his life. All he wanted was for everything to be normal again.
But it seemed like the whole world was against him.
Rubber shrieked behind him, letting him know someone had turned the car around or they’d taken off. Joey didn’t know which. He didn’t look. He just ran.
13
GAP International Airport
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0606 Hours
They didn’t call it a suicide mission. None of them talked about the fact that many of them—maybe all of them, if the op really turned sour—wouldn’t come back. They were Rangers of the twenty-first century, some of the best fighting men the United States of America had ever turned out.
More than that, they were the team of professional soldiers First Sergeant Samuel Adams Gander had chosen for the op behind enemy lines. Sixty men strong, they’d been bloodied in wars and conflicts long before the current action that ran from the Turkish-Syrian border to Sanliurfa.
As he stood watching them load into two CH-47D Chinook helicopters, Goose felt proud and scared. He’d handpicked the men for the mission, disagreeing with Captain Remington’s calls for the team only occasionally because he had more information regarding the men’s current physical health than Remington did. And Goose had had that edge only because the captain hadn’t yet called for or received his morning report.
After Goose reached the command center thirty minutes ago, Remington had ordered him to the airfield with the briefing to follow later. By the time Goose reached the airfield, thirty of the men he and Remington had agreed on were already there.
Remington’s investment in this mission was considerable. The 75th had originally fielded roughly six hundred men for the peacekeeping mission that had turned into a war. Those men had been divided along the front line and fallback positions before the border skirmish had escalated into war. Two hundred and eight of those men had vanished across the board just days ago, leaving behind their empty uniforms and dropped weapons. Another hundred and seventeen were casualties, either dead or too wounded to stand a post. The unit had a lot of walking wounded, too. The Rangers had been taking hits ever since the initial battle along the border, and they’d had major damage from the last attack two days ago. Remington had assigned sixty of the healthiest men to Goose’s mission.
The Rangers stood in the rain, their ponchos covering them and the seventy-pound packs they carried. All of them had stripped their gear down to water, light rations, ammo, and medkits. If the op went as planned, they’d be away from the city for fourteen hours. Of course, they all knew that ops never went as planned.
More Rangers arrived by jeep, RSOV, and cargo truck as Goose clambered out of the Hummer he’d been assigned. He walked to the back of the vehicle and took out his own pack. He secured the heavy weight across his back and shoulders and fastened it to his LCE, then checked the headset communications.
The op was set up through Remington’s new access to whatever satellite array he was currently using. Goose knew the array wasn’t the standard mil-sat set they were assigned to use. Having to depend on an outside source for communications unnerved Goose, especially when he remembered the way Nicolae Carpathia had so quickly and callously rescinded the satellite access he’d given Remington during the confusion immediately following the Rapture.
The Rapture, not “the vanishings” or “the disappearances.” Goose realized that was now how he thought of the event. The Rapture. You have come a long way in your thinking, he told himself.
But maybe not in his beliefs, he knew. Goose still had doubts there, about whether God really knew him or God cared. About whether a weary soldier could ever figure out how he was supposed to get closer to God. He wasn’t sure if he even showed up on God’s radar, or if God’s radar—like Remington’s—so often seemed to be focused more on the big picture than on one worn-out, noncom on the front line of a shooting war.
He wondered how Danielle Vinchenzo was getting on with Corporal Baker. During his last brief headset communication with his men, he’d made sure that Baker was standing down at the moment and could meet with her, though he hadn’t mentioned her by name. Baker had known Goose was spending time with her, and Baker knew whom he was referring to. It was hard keeping secrets from his unit.
And it was harder still keeping secrets from Remington. The whole time they’d handled the prelim brief, Goose felt that Remington knew something was up. But if he did have an inkling of what was going on, the captain had never asked. When it came to a mission—especially a mission the captain had put together—Remington was all about the mission.
But Goose knew that Remington was hiding secrets of his own. He’d seen the weight of them bearing down on his friend. Some of it, Goose had known, was from sending his troops into battle against superior Syrian forces.
That’s not all of it, though, Goose told himself. After years of serving together, they knew each other pretty well. The parts they didn’t know were the parts they had tacitly agreed were off-limits.
Limping only slightly, feeling the rain in his face, Goose approached the group, immediately spotting the soldier he was looking for. “Lieutenant Keller,” Goose called, raising his voice to speak over the noisy throb of the rotors.
Lieutenant Charlie Keller turned instantly. He was
trim and fit, and he had enough experience under his belt to be useful in a tight spot. “Yes, First Sergeant,” Keller responded.
“First Sergeant Gander reporting, sir,” Goose said, firing off a quick salute. He hitched his thumb in his rifle sling to make it more comfortable against his shoulder. “I’m designated to Alpha Detail. Your detail, Lieutenant.”
“Glad to have you, Sergeant.” Keller looked out over the two teams still loading into the helicopters. “You checked the troop manifests?” “Yes, sir.”
“I’m glad to know that.” Keller glanced at Goose. “No offense to the captain intended, Sergeant. The captain is good at what he does, but I’m glad to know you had a chance to eyeball the personnel. Never hurts to double-check.”
“Yes, sir.” Goose knew that statement was meant neither as a putdown to Captain Remington or as praise for him. As first sergeant, Goose served as Remington’s ranking NCO. He was the man who made sure that everything the captain wanted or needed was where it was supposed to be when it was supposed to be there.
“Nasty bit of business ahead of us, Goose,” Keller commented.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did the captain give this op a name?”
“Alpha’s part of the op is called Run Dry.”
Keller smiled a little. “Not exactly the weather for an op called Run Dry, is it?”
“No, sir.” Goose stared through the drizzle falling from the brim of Keller’s helmet.
“Who’s Bravo’s lieutenant?”
“Lieutenant Matt York, sir.”
Keller gave a satisfied nod. “York’s a good man.”
“Yes, sir,” Goose said. “When the time comes and we need him, he’ll stand tall.”
“We’re going to need him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who’s our radio operator?”
“Corporal Tommy Brass, Lieutenant.”