by Rene Fomby
“Mommy, Mommy!” Maddie screamed, burying her now increasingly auburn locks in her mother’s stomach, her little arms squeezing Sam’s waist in a tight embrace.
“Mi dispiace, Samantha,” Margaret apologized. “She got away from me before I knew it.”
Sam laughed, fighting to extricate herself from her daughter’s grip so she could raise Maddie up to eye level. “No, that’s perfectly all right. She’s a handful, for sure.” Sam finally managed to wrap an arm around Maddie’s little legs and pull her up. “So, peanut, what have you and grandma been up to while I’ve been away?”
“Mommy, I was so afraid! These big army men came and told us we needed to leave the castle because it wasn’t safe, but I told them that was stupid, because it’s a CASTLE, you know? But Grammy told me you said it was okay and we were going on a big ADVENTURE, so we got on this HUGE helicopter, and it was so scary, but I helped Grammy use the seat belt so she was safe and wouldn’t be afraid, and then we took off and we flew like FOREVER, and then we winded up here, and they have televisions and a big movie theater and a cafeteria and EVERYTHING, and the captain said you were okay and you would be here soon and I was so scared, but I made sure Grammy didn’t get scared or anything, and then the captain told me you were coming RIGHT NOW and I couldn’t WAIT! And then you came in a helicopter, too, and can we PLEASE go get some ice cream?”
Sam checked her watch, laughing under her breath at Maddie’s non-stop outburst. Some things never seemed to change. “Honey, I think it may still be a little early in the day for ice cream. Have you had breakfast yet?”
As Maddie pouted, Margaret shook her head. “She wasn’t interested in anything this morning but being out on the flight deck when you arrived. I could barely keep her still long enough to get her dressed.”
“Okay, that’s perfect then,” Sam said, still laughing lightly to herself. “I haven’t had a bite to eat yet, either. Let’s all head up to the—did you say there was a cafeteria on board, Maddie? Let’s head that way and see if we can’t find us some corn flakes and fruit. Sound good? I promise we’ll get some ice cream later.”
Maddie was still grumbling as her mother steered her toward the exit from the flight deck, where an officer of the ship was now standing and waving, waiting to escort them all safely into the bowels of the ship.
※
The president had authorized the use of the Carl Vinson as the staging platform for the assault. It was already stationed off the coast of Turkey, and it was well equipped with extensive electronic counter-measures to disrupt Turkey’s inbound radar and other air defenses long enough to get a team in and out of their target area, deep inside the country. In addition, if anything went wrong during the operation, it was also fully capable of warding off any counterattack Turkey might attempt to throw at them.
The assault team began dribbling in by twos and threes all morning long, and just after lunch a Sikorsky SH-60 Seahawk touched down briefly, quickly disgorging Bob Sanders and the commander of the Navy’s combined assault team. Carrying a small canvas bag apiece, they ducked down under the still-spinning blades and headed for the flattop’s bridge to meet up with the CO.
※
Gavin took a long look at the man he had been working closely with for nearly a month but had never yet had an opportunity to meet. Tall, with closely-cropped hair, a square jaw and a stiff posture, everything about Bob Sanders screamed military, and yet the assault team kept insisting that he was civilian. Well, maybe he was now, but Gavin would bet his right arm that Sanders had spent most of his life on the front lines of somewhere, fighting for his country.
He stuck out a hand. “Mr. Sanders. Good to finally meet you.”
“Likewise, son.” Sanders motioned for Gavin to take a seat. They were in a small planning room, with just a handful of chairs and a small metal table, bolted to the deck plates in anticipation of heavy weather. Or heavy action.
Sanders reached into his briefcase and pulled out some notes on the plans he and the assault team commander had agreed upon during the flight in, scribbled out in longhand on the pages of a yellow legal pad.
“So, Agent Larson, the tactical situation is still a bit unclear. We have several more satellite passes scheduled before we head in, plus some drone fly-bys, but with the heavy weather that’s settled in over there, visibility is less than optimal. Way less. That means a great deal of this operation is going to managed by the boots on the ground. Thankfully, the president has signed off on our using the best damned boots we got, so I’m cautiously optimistic.”
“What are the operational parameters, sir?” Gavin asked, studying the notes intently and memorizing what he could.
“We treat the entire facility as hostile. If anyone so much as scowls at our guys, they go down. Otherwise, this is a classic get in, grab our girl and get out kind of job. Andy is objective number one, followed by any intel we can snag on our way through. Ideally, of course, I’d like to get my hands on the three stooges—Tulley, his daughter and Boucher. But if they’re down in the hole, their fate is sealed regardless. They aren’t going anywhere anytime soon, trust me.”
“I like it, boss. But one idea, here—” He pointed to one of the notes on the second page of the legal pad. “My understanding is that the structure down there is pretty fragile, and one good explosion could bring down the entire house, so let’s revisit this part …”
※
With Maddie now full of breakfast and fully engaged in a new coloring book, Sam decided to steal a moment to check on how the preparations for the assault were proceeding. Stepping out onto the flight deck, she saw the assault team’s commander standing off to one side, supervising everything. To her surprise it was the same man who had led the rescue at Ostia Antica, so she sauntered over to say hello.
“Pleasure to see you again, ma’am.” He gave her a small smile even as his eyes kept careful watch over the aircraft that had begun unloading supplies onto the carrier’s flight deck. “The name’s Nick, in case you’ve forgotten since our last little get-together at Ostia Antica.”
“Nick?” Sam chuckled under her breath. “The last time we met you said your name was Jack.”
“Oh. Yeah. I must have misspoken. You’re right, the name’s Jack. The men just call me Captain Jack.”
Sam gave him a coy look, noting again his well-honed, well-trained body and the unmistakable gray flecks in his eyes. “Okay, Captain Jack. And I’m Sam, by the way. Not ma’am. Ma’am is for much older women, and I’m willing to bet I am way younger than you. Or most of the men on your team, for that matter.”
“You got it. Sam it is.”
Looking over his shoulder, she counted out the men standing behind him who had arrived to take part in the assault. Twelve, thirteen including Captain Jack.
“Only thirteen men?” she asked, astonished and more than a little alarmed. “Thirteen men to take on that entire underground city? Are you sure that’ll be enough?”
Jack laughed. “Ma’am—er, Sam—you ever hear the story about the Texas Ranger and the riot up in Fort Worth, right around the beginning of the last century?”
Sam shook her head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, it seems that some kind of ruckus broke out in the town, and things were getting so out of hand that the mayor wired down to Austin for a band of Texas Rangers to come shut it all down. The governor at the time wired back that help was on the way, and when the train out of Austin finally pulled into the station in Fort Worth, the mayor was astonished to see just one lone Texas Ranger step out on the platform. The mayor supposedly choked out, ‘They only sent one Ranger?’ Whereupon the lawman tipped his white Stetson and calmly replied, ‘One riot, one Ranger.’ And sure enough, he was all they needed to get things under control.”
He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the men who were busily unloading supplies off a white-and-gray CH-53K King Stallion.
“The way I see it, ma’am, every single one of my boys is as good as any ten of
those sissy Army Rangers. Or Texas Rangers, for that matter. So, yeah, we’re good to go with this.”
He smiled, and with a fingertip salute to his forehead, turned to join his men.
92
Venice
Carlo Rossi walked into yet another last-minute meeting with the Italian prime minister, something that had become almost an hourly occurrence over the past week.
“Please, Carlo, have a seat,” the prime minister said, setting aside a pile of documents he had been signing. “If you’re wondering whether we have a new emergency to deal with, then you’d be right, my friend. But that isn’t why I asked you here.”
Rossi cocked his left eyebrow. “Okay, so what is up? What’s on our plate for today?”
The prime minister stood up and moved around the desk to sit down off to Rossi’s left, facing him.
“Carlo, I can’t tell you how much I’ve appreciated your support over the past several years. And all of your personal sacrifices. You could have risen to the very top echelons of the European Union by now, but instead you chose to stay here and help me put our country on the right path to prosperity.”
Rossi’s eyes narrowed slightly. What is he up to? Am I being sacked? “It was no sacrifice, Antonio, you know that. It was the best place for me, the best way I could serve our country. I only wish I had been a little more successful.”
“Nobody could have done a better job, I assure you. The situation is what it is. But, here’s the thing.” Antonio Beneduci stared down at his shoes. “I just got word that the rebels have taken over the Chamber of Deputies at Palazzo Montecitorio and have announced the formation of a new Italian Republic. We don’t have any more details on what’s happening there other than that, as yet.”
“Wow. That certainly complicates any chance at a peaceful reconciliation to all of this.” But you have something you need to tell me that’s even more important than that? “So, what are we going to do?”
“That’s just it. We aren’t going to do anything about it. A failure of this magnitude just can’t be ignored. A price has to be paid for it, heads have to roll. You know that.” Beneduci stood up and leaned over the front of his desk, plucking a sheet of paper up off the top of the tall pile of documents he had been fussing over when Rossi walked in. “Here. I think this says it all.”
Warily, Rossi took the document, turning it around and reading it all in a single glance. His eyes shot up. “Resign?”
“Yes, Carlo, I’m afraid so. I’ve discussed this with the rest of the cabinet, and with the other heads of the party, and they’ve all agreed.” He slumped back down in the chair. “Don’t act like it’s such a big surprise. We’ve all seen it coming. And not just this last week, it’s been going on for a very long time. Nobody looks to me for answers anymore. Instead, every time there’s a crisis, they turn to you. To the Finance Minister, for God’s sake. But that undermines my office, it weakens the authority of my leadership. Don’t get me wrong, I understand why it happened—I’ve been weak, indecisive, hesitant when I needed to be firm. But it can’t continue. So that’s why I finally decided to take action, to do something about it. As painful as this is, it’s the best thing for our country right now, our best path forward. And you know that as well as anyone does.”
“And I can’t say anything to change your mind?” Rossi asked, his hand holding the paper shaking just a little.
“No. It’s done. I’ve already delivered the original to the president—that’s just a copy—and he accepted it. I am leaving this office in your more than capable hands. The vote has already been taken, Mr. Prime Minister. Congratulations.”
93
Cappadocia
Simone Duval was used to handling difficult tasks, it’s how she rose to power so quickly in an otherwise male-dominated world. But the task she had before her now was not merely difficult, it was next to impossible. She had promised the emperor on multiple occasions that the move would take place Saturday—today—but the powerful storm that had settled over Istanbul made beaching the transport ships at the mouth of the Bosporus next to impossible.
She checked the clock on the wall. They were already four hours behind schedule, and the situation out west was likely to get much worse before it got better. And then the storm would almost certainly wind up parked over Göreme. Weeks of meticulous planning, with everything timed down to the minute, and now this. She swallowed hard and knocked once on the emperor’s door.
94
Houston
Locating the refinery worker at the heart of the case turned out to be a much bigger challenge than Harry had expected. At the end he’d been forced to cajole and then threaten a records clerk at the hospital where the worker had been treated after the explosion, which netted him the address where they were sending all the bills.
Driving into Highbridge, Texas, was like entering a different world. Both sides of Main Street leading into Highbridge from Interstate 10 were littered with junked cars, junked boats, and junk of every other sort. And even the cars and trucks that were still supposedly running weren’t far behind.
Supposedly, Clay Jenkins lived in some kind of trailer park, tucked in between Highbridge Elementary School and the Second Baptist Church. Harry saw the mangled, bullet-ridden sign for Wellville Road and made a right. The school came up almost immediately on his left, and then the trailer park, a one-road-in operation with run-down single-wides lying slumped to either side. Jenkins lived near the end, in a blue-and-white trailer with a rusting two-car metal carport, which currently held a well-dented ten-year-old white Ford F150 and a broken-down 1990s-era green Chevy Caprice, now up on blocks.
Harry pulled into an open spot next to the carport and got out, double checking that he had the right place. It wasn’t always a smart idea to show up unannounced at places like this—in fact, it was usually a good way to get yourself shot. But Harry needed to lock down a final confirmation on what he had seen in the file he’d obtained from the FBI agent, so it was worth the risk.
Carefully testing each of the wooden steps leading up to the side door of the trailer, he knocked firmly on the glass outer door. After a second knock he heard some cursing coming from inside, then the sounds of someone moving around. Finally, the inner door opened, revealing a grossly overweight woman wearing a pink-and-white house robe, her hair unkempt and unwashed and her teeth badly yellowed by years of cigarette smoke.
“Yeah, what do you want? Can’t you see the sign?” She pointed to a ‘No Trespassing’ sign duct-taped to the inside of the glass door.
Harry gave her his best smile. “I’m sorry, ma’am. My name is Harry Crawford. I’m a lawyer working on the refinery explosion. I need to ask your husband a few more questions, if you don’t mind? It’ll only take a few minutes.” He had already decided not to let on at first blush what he was really up to—letting them think he was a lawyer working for the refinery was his best and only shot of ever getting through the front door.
A man’s voice echoed from someplace deep in the trailer, off to Harry’s left. “What is it, Carol Ann? Who’s at the door?”
“Lawyer, Clay,” she hollered back. “Says he’s from the refinery.”
“What the hell? I thought we’s were all through with them.”
“Well, he says he needs to talk to you agin. You want me to let him in?”
Harry checked his watch impatiently, trying to give her the impression that he was on a tight time schedule. “Just a few minutes, ma’am, and then I’m out of here.”
“Come on in,” she mumbled impatiently, opening the door and letting him ease inside. “Take a seat on the couch. I’ll go wheel Clay in to see you.”
Harry glanced around, taking it all in with one look. Saying the place was a complete mess was an understatement. Overflowing ashtrays were scattered about on almost every semi-flat surface, and a thin orange film of nicotine clung wetly to the furniture. He thought twice about sitting down, but decided it would look rude if he didn’t. But he did wipe the seat
just beneath him with the palm of his right hand, just in case.
“I hope yer bringin’ me more money. I ain’t got near half of it, yet. An’ I got bills to pay!” Clay Jenkins was being pushed out of the back bedroom in a wheelchair. One of his legs was missing, and his left leg poked uncovered out of the red plaid blanket covering his lap, raw blisters and rashes covering almost the entire limb.
“I’ll look into it,” Harry told him, mentally noting that whatever promises had been made to Jenkins, someone was clearly holding back the final payoff. And for good reason, he knew. He stood up and stuck his hand out. “But first off, Mr. Jenkins, let me introduce myself. Harry Crawford’s the name. We haven’t met before.”
“Sure. Clay Jenkins.” Jenkins clasped his hand briefly before letting it go. “And this here’s my wife, Carol Ann. The kids are at school.”
Harry smiled and nodded. “Good. Best to keep them out of all this, I reckon.”
“I reckon,” Jenkins repeated. “So, what you got for me? The rest of the money, finally?”
“No, Mr. Jenkins, but as I said, I’ll be happy to look into that for you.” Harry sat back down on the couch. “What I do have is a few more questions about that day at the refinery. The trial is coming up, and we need to close up the last loopholes. You understand.”
“What I understand is I need my money. Yesterday.” Jenkins motioned for Carol Ann to bring him a beer. “But okay, what kind of lies do you want me to tell now?”
Bingo. “Well, that’s kind of what I wanted to discuss. You see, I just picked up the case, and I was going over the statement you gave us, and how it matched up with the video.”