by Mel Odom
According to information Cody gave Remington, the terrorist cell Icarus had infiltrated was responsible for a failed assassination attempt on Israeli statesman Chaim Rosenzweig’s life. After discovering the traitor in their midst, the terrorist organization had transported Icarus toward Syria. Goose’s mission to rescue the young agent had triggered the frantic satellite phone call that had precipitated Syria’s no-holds-barred attack on Turkey.
Since the Rangers had pulled back into Sanliurfa, CIA agents had searched for Icarus. Remington said the young agent had possibly gone rogue. Corporal Dean Hardin, one of Remington’s go-to men for dirty operations, had taken point on the search for Icarus inside the city.
Only two days ago, while Goose was still reeling from Megan’s news that Chris was among the children who had disappeared, Icarus had met Goose in a bar. While there, Icarus had revealed that two of the CIA agents had caught up to him and he had killed them both while escaping. Icarus also told Goose that everything that had happened—his capture and the rescue attempt—was part of a carefully designed plan. The agent had spoken of the seven years of lies and subterfuge and unspeakable horror that remained ahead for the world.
Goose hadn’t known what Icarus was talking about then, but after attending Corporal Joseph Baker’s services in the tent church these past two days, he was finally beginning to catch on. It appeared to Goose that they might all be caught up in something that had impacted the whole world, something that had been predicted in the Bible. Baker called those seven years the Tribulation. Icarus hadn’t called them by any name at all.
“What are you doing here?” Goose demanded.
Icarus glanced at the wounded Ranger at Goose’s feet. “At the moment, I’m attempting a rescue. A medevac chopper won’t get here in time to save these men. You can’t drag your wounded after you and expect to hold a defensive line.” His eyes held the sergeant’s. “Then I want to talk to you. It’s time.” Icarus shook his head and looked doubtful. “It may already be too late.”
“You’ve got one thing right. I’ve got to hold this line.” Goose listened to the sounds of battle drawing closer.
“Then we talk. After this.”
Goose wanted to shake his head. Icarus was demonstrating an unfounded optimism regarding the current situation. As far as Goose could see, there were no guarantees that “after” was going to happen for him. Icarus was living on borrowed time, too.
“The CIA is still looking for you,” Goose pointed out. “I’ve seen Cody.”
“I know. And your captain’s men are looking for me.” Icarus dropped his hands to his sides. “Do what you will then. It’s up to you. Help me save your men, Sergeant, or shoot me.” He started forward.
Goose aimed at the center of the young agent’s chest for a long, measured beat. Trapped in the war-torn city with enemies just outside the gates, Goose didn’t know whom to trust. But under the open uniform jacket Icarus wore, it didn’t look like he had on a Kevlar vest.
Unless the agent was superhuman, a bullet through his heart would kill him.
Fear showed in the young man’s eyes, but so did his determination. Goose lowered the assault rifle and called over his shoulder. “Tango One.”
“I got your back,” Wake said calmly.
“Stand down,” Goose said. “He’s here to help with the wounded.” He bent and took hold of the Ranger he’d dragged to safety. With Icarus’s help, they muscled the wounded young soldier into the back of the pickup.
Wake’s Tango squad gave up four more men. One was already dead, and another didn’t look like he would survive the trip to the hospital. But Goose refused to abandon any of the men. That retreat from the border when they’d left so many dead behind still hurt his warrior’s spirit.
Icarus clambered back into the pickup. “Want a ride, Sergeant?”
A 120mm round impacted against a building on the other side of the street. The structure swayed for a moment, then crashed down in a loose tumble of rock. A few of the stones slammed against the pickup and narrowly missed Goose and the surviving Rangers.
“No,” Goose said. “I’ve got to finish this up.”
Icarus nodded. “I’ll get these men to the hospital.” He put the pickup in gear. “Come check on them. I’ll wait for you there. But only for a short time.”
“Understood.” Goose slapped the pickup’s top. “Get moving.”
Hesitation flickered across Icarus’s features. “Sergeant … ”
“I’ll be there,” Goose said.
“Do that,” Icarus said. “We have to talk. There’s a lot you need to know. The enemy isn’t just the Syrians.”
“I’m beginning to suspect that. But right now—” .50-cal machinegun fire ripped across the front of the alley—“they’re my biggest problem.” Goose and the Rangers dove for cover. Turning his head toward the pickup, Goose shouted, “Move!”
Tires shrieked as Icarus threw the vehicle into reverse, laying rubber on the road as he raced back along the alley. Garbage cans scattered in his wake. He swung wide at the other end and spun out. Then he jammed the transmission into a forward gear and sped from sight.
Lying on his stomach, Goose switched his headset back on and peered out into the street. The lead Syrian tank rumbled by, bumping into the other tank Goose had disabled, then rolling past without concern.
“Control,” Goose called over the thunder of the passing heavy cav.
“Go, Leader. You have Control.” Remington sounded more on edge. “I lost you there for a moment.”
“Momentary glitch,” Goose replied and hoped that was all the decision turned out to be. Icarus might have fled if Goose had reported his presence there, and the wounded Rangers wouldn’t now be en route to the hospital.
“Have that headset checked out when this settles,” Remington ordered.
“Affirmative.” Goose knew his friend and commanding officer despised ops that went beyond his control. “You’ve got Cobras still in the air.”
“That’s affirmative, Leader. For all the good they’re doing us. With this amount of smoke and debris in the air, they can’t pick our guys out from the Syrians.”
“Yes, sir.” Goose gazed at a flare hanging in the air overhead. “But I think I have a way of beating that.” He prayed that his desperate plan would work and that he would have the opportunity to meet with Icarus at the base hospital later. Too many mysteries remained in Sanliurfa for him to feel safe, and Goose didn’t know if the greater danger lay outside the city or within its walls.
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 2129 Hours
Before the sound of the shot faded, Megan shoved herself forward, leaving the relative safety of the military police jeep as she headed for the Hollister house. Images of Leslie Hollister, dead at her own hand, filled Megan’s mind and urged her to greater speed.
“Mrs. Gander.” Corporal Kerby caught Megan’s arm and brought her to a sharp stop.
Megan turned on the young man.
“You need to stop,” Kerby said, maintaining his hold and stepping around to shield her from any possible gunfire that might come from the home. Light blazed through all the windows, but there was no movement inside.
“I’ve got to go in there,” Megan said in as reasonable a voice as she could manage under the circumstances. God, help me keep it together. “Leslie needs help.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Gander,” Kerby stated evenly. “I can’t let you do that.”
Megan tested the young corporal’s grip on her arm. She couldn’t match his strength. Wordlessly, two other MPs created a human shield between her and the house. She knew they wore Kevlar body armor under their slickers, but all of them were risking getting shot. They served as protection, but she knew they stood as a barrier as well.
Eyeing the corporal fiercely, Megan put steel in her words. “Let me pass, Corporal.”
“No, ma’am. I—”
“I came out here to help that girl,” Megan interrup
ted. “And I’m going to help her.”
“I’m not going to throw away two lives,” Kerby stated. “Not when I can save one.”
“She could be hurt.” The words came thickly to Megan. She’d seen pictures of people who had died from self-inflicted gunshot wounds.
“Yes, ma’am. I know that. But right now you’re safe.” Kerby lowered his voice. “I know Goose, Mrs. Gander. And I know he wouldn’t like it if I allowed any harm to come to you.”
“Mister—” Megan kept her tone calm despite the fear that thrummed through her—“you can get out of my way and let me do my job, or I’m going to walk right over the top of you. If you can stop me, you’re going to have to hog-tie me to keep me down.”
Shock registered on Kerby’s face. “Ma’am?”
Megan stood her ground. “You heard me, Corporal. This is my situation. My mission. You called me into this. I’m here to help that child, and I’m not going to let you stop me. I won’t hesitate about filing a grievance with your superior officer if you continue to get in my way.”
Kerby blinked at her but didn’t move.
“Take your hand off my wrist, Corporal,” Megan ordered. “Do it now.”
With obvious reluctance and a little anger, Kerby released his hold. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’ve got Leslie Hollister under surveillance with thermographic sights?” Megan asked.
“Affirmative.” The corporal’s reply was grim and officious.
Megan felt her heart hammering within her chest. “Confirm her status.” Find out if she shot herself. But Megan couldn’t bring herself to say those words. Even the thought of the deed was too horrendous.
Kerby clicked the walkie-talkie handset on his shoulder but never moved or looked away from Megan. “Eyes, what’s the sit-rep?”
The walkie-talkie blared a reply that Megan heard. “The subject fired a round into the wall.”
“What’s the subject’s status?”
“She appears to be unharmed.”
Kerby dropped his hand from the walkie-talkie.
“Why did she shoot the wall?” Megan asked. Kerby relayed the question.
There was no answer.
“Eyes,” Kerby prompted.
“I don’t know the answer to that.”
Megan let out a pensive breath. She locked eyes with the corporal. “The only way I’m going to do that girl any good is to get inside and talk with her.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kerby opened the flap of his pistol holster. “Maybe you shouldn’t go in there empty-handed.” He started to remove the pistol from the holster.
In sick disbelief, Megan caught the man’s hand and stilled it upon the pistol butt. “So what? If she doesn’t harm herself, I’m supposed to do it?”
“Ma’am, that’s not what I—”
Megan got control of herself. “I know that’s not what you meant. But harming her isn’t an option.”
“With all due respect, Mrs. Gander, I don’t think you know what that girl is currently capable of doing.” Kerby’s eyes turned wintry hard and bright. “During the last two days, I’ve worked three murders and six suicides here on base. I’ve never done that before. Most of them were people I knew in mess hall or from around the family areas of the base.”
Megan had heard about the murders and suicides. Her current caseload dealt with three teens whom the horrible events affected. Like the corporal, she had known most of the people involved.
“She won’t hurt me,” Megan said.
“You don’t know that.”
“I’ve known Leslie for months.”
“And she’s been a troubled kid. I know. I was warned on my way here.” Kerby held the pistol out.
“Corporal,” Megan said in as level a voice as she could muster, “I have no intention of entering that house armed.”
“I could go with you.”
“You could not.” Megan stepped forward, taking one step to the side around the corporal. One of the other men reached for her.
“No,” Kerby said. “Let her go.”
“Doug,” one of the other MPs said, “we let her go in there and she gets hurt, it’s gonna roll over on us.”
Kerby looked at Megan. “My decision, then. Anything rolls downhill on this one, it rolls on me.”
“Thank you, Corporal,” Megan said.
Kerby shook his head. “No, ma’am. I won’t take any thanks from you. Not until you and that girl walk back out of the house in one piece.” He touched two fingers to his helmet in a salute. “Just make sure you do that, ma’am.”
“I will.” Megan turned and walked up the short sidewalk to the porch. On either side of the walkway, yellow and red tulips stood tall and proud. The life expectancy of a fully blossomed tulip was only a week, two weeks at best. But they were a great way to start an early spring after a long winter. Now, however, the cheerful and hopeful flowers seemed out of place.
Anxiety knotted a greasy ball in Megan’s stomach when she caught scent of the sickly sweet smell of marijuana on the other side of the door. What Corporal Kerby had said made sense. Megan didn’t know what she was walking into. And with drugs in Leslie Hollister’s system, Megan didn’t know what frame of mind the girl was in.
Yes, you do, Megan chided herself. She’s scared and hurt and confused. You’ve seen a lot of teenagers like this over the last two days.
But none of those had held a gun in his or her hand.
The thought was at once chilling and sobering. Megan’s hand felt as heavy as an anvil as she lifted it to knock on the door. Knocking somehow seemed more homey, more relaxed, than ringing the doorbell. Her knuckles rapped against the door.
She waited, aware of the silence after the sound of the last knock faded. Security lights pinned four of her shadows to the front of the house. She remained aware of the stares of the silent neighbors just outside the perimeter the MPs had established.
She made herself be patient. She tried to listen for movement inside the house, but she couldn’t hear over the noise pollution of the MPs’ radios.
Dry-mouthed, her knees shaking slightly, Megan lifted her hand again to knock. During the first day after the disappearances, Megan and the other counselors had gone in after kids who had barricaded themselves in their homes. None of them wanted to believe some unknown force had taken away their families and friends.
Then a young girl’s voice called out, “Who is it?”
Thank You, God. Thank You for Your mercy. Megan breathed out a sigh of relief and felt her eyes brim with hot tears. She tried to speak, found herself choked, and tried again. “It’s Megan,” she replied. “Megan Gander. You know me, Leslie.”
Only silence answered her, interrupted by the undercurrent of walkie-talkie white noise and idling jeep engines.
“Leslie,” Megan tried again, “can you hear me?”
Another long silence ensued. Just as Megan was about to try again, Leslie called back, “I hear you.”
“Are you all right?”
A painful mewl came from the other side of the door. “No,” Leslie choked out. “No, I’m not all right.”
“I came to help you.”
“I just want to wake up, Mrs. Gander. I swear, I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but I can’t wake up.”
“Leslie,” Megan said in a soft but firm voice, “I want to talk to you.”
“Can you wake me up? I’m trapped in this nightmare, Mrs. Gander. I’ve had nightmares before, but nothing like this. I need someone to help me. I’m just so afraid.” Her voice ended in a mournful howl.
Megan pressed her palm against the door and willed herself to be strong. She felt overwhelmed. Ever since Gerry Fletcher had slipped from her grip atop a base apartment building and seemingly fell to his death four stories below—except for the fact that only his clothes hit the pavement—her whole life seemed out of control.
“It’s okay,” Megan said. “We’re all a little afraid right now.”
“We don’t need to be afraid!” L
eslie shouted. “We all just need to wake up!”
“Leslie, I’m coming in there. I want to talk to you.” Megan reached for the doorknob and found it unlocked. She twisted it and walked inside.
6
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 2136 Hours
Even though lights glowed throughout the structure, the Hollister home filled Megan with fear so cold the effect made her shiver. Away from the protection of the MPs, anything could happen now.
Movement on her left startled her. Her heart exploded into action in her chest as she turned around to face the perceived threat. Panicked, Megan raised her arms to shield herself from attack.
Instead of Leslie Hollister, though, Megan found herself facing her own reflection in a mirror on the wall. Evidently Linda Hollister had placed it behind the couch to make the room seem larger. Still, the unexpected movement had proven horrifying and Megan had overreacted. Adrenaline charged her system, almost making her nauseous and causing her hands to shake.
That was when Megan realized she was in over her head. A teen with a gun and a death wish probably ranked high as one of the situations a family counselor least wanted to face.
Or is least equipped to handle, Megan thought. She turned from the mirror, striving to calm herself with a slow and careful breath. She wanted to leave, and she wanted to leave now. Kerby’s assessment of the situation was correct. She didn’t belong here. Feeling guilty, she turned to the door, hoping she could make her way outside and have the time necessary to think of another plan.
“Mrs. Gander.” Leslie’s voice coming from the back of the house was shaky and sharp.
Megan halted, then tried twice before her own voice worked. “Yes.”
Leslie spoke in a hoarse whisper. “I was just … you know …checking.”
“Checking?” Megan echoed.
Leslie sniffled. “Checking to see if you were still coming. To see if it was just you.”
The pain and loneliness and confusion in Leslie’s voice nearly broke Megan’s heart. She felt defeated. There was no way she could walk away from this girl. She turned toward the back of the house, knowing she was probably driving the MP squad crazy. “It’s just me, and I am coming.”