by Mel Odom
“Yes, Chaplain?”
“Have a security detail come to my office and remove Mrs. Gander.”
“Of course, sir.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Megan said. “You need to let God into your heart. The very fact that you’re here proves it. And the way you’ve just treated me proves it even more. Remember Jesus saying, ‘If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown in the sea’? You’re tying that millstone around your neck right now. Please, think about what you’re doing. Don’t make another mistake.”
“The only mistake I made was in thinking I would be able to help you.”
“God help you then, Chaplain Trimble,” Megan said, still almost heady from being filled with the Spirit, “because I don’t think you can help yourself.” She turned and headed to the door.
By the time Megan had the door open, two MPs were in the waiting room. Margaret silently pointed an accusing finger at Megan.
“I’m going,” Megan told the two MPs.
“See that she leaves the building,” Trimble said from behind her. “And make certain that she isn’t allowed back in.”
Megan walked and kept her head up. The MPs fell in beside her. They escorted her to the main exit. The people standing in lines out in the hallway fell silent and gazed curiously after her.
Lieutenant Doug Benbow was coming through the front doors. Spotting her, he stopped and waited outside with his hat in his hands.
Megan went through the doors, flanked by the MPs.
“Stand down,” Benbow told the MPs.
“Sir,” one of the MPs said, “we were given orders to escort Mrs. Gander out of the building.”
“She’s out of the building. Now back off.”
The MPs hesitated as Megan came to a stop beside Benbow.
Benbow stepped forward, inserting himself between Megan and the military police. “Privates, do you see that bar on my collar?”
“Yes, sir,” one of the MPs said.
“Then acknowledge it.”
Both MPs snapped off salutes.
“And leave,” Benbow ordered.
Reluctantly, the MPs turned and reentered the building. They took up positions just inside the doors and stared through the glass, looking like two well-trained attack dogs.
Benbow turned to Megan. “Now I have to admit, the last thing I expected to see when I got here is you accessorized with MP bookends. Again. Especially after last night.”
Megan looked out at the sunshine, feeling more energy than she had any right to after the days she’d put in. Somehow, what had happened in that office had changed her forever. There was a lightness to her, a wellness she hadn’t felt in a long time. She was ready to get back to doing what she knew she needed to do.
Trimble’s referral, if the chaplain really followed through on the threat, would take days to get through channels. Even if he did carry out his threat, counseling services were severely strapped. Her supervisor wouldn’t like the idea of losing someone when he needed every person he could get his hands on.
It would work out. She knew this because she knew God was with her. Somehow, this had all happened to let His plan for the world move forward. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name.
She started for the parking lot.
Falling into step beside her, Benbow said, “On the phone before you went into Chaplain Trimble’s office, we did discuss the whole low-profile concept, right?”
“That didn’t work out for me,” Megan said.
“Judging by the evidence of those MPs,” Benbow said, “that would be an understatement.”
21
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 1412 Hours
Seated behind the wheel of the Hummer, Goose’s back warmed uncomfortably from the weak afternoon sunlight piercing the fog of dust and smoke hovering over the city from the debris thrown into the air and the areas that still burned. The tang of chemicals and charred rubber left a taste on even the shallowest breath he took through the cloth mask that covered his lower face.
Under his armor and LCE, his BDUs were drenched with sweat. His eyes burned from the chemicals and the lack of sleep. He sipped from the canteen and turned to survey Icarus.
Icarus was lying on his stomach on the rear deck of the vehicle. Green ordnance tape bound his hands behind his back and his feet together. His clothing was ripped and stained with dirt and blood. At least some of the blood was his.
Goose had stored the M-4A1 in front of the passenger seat out of easy reach of his prisoner. He kept his M9 pistol on his knee. Shifting, he capped the canteen and tossed the container into the passenger seat.
A quick glance around the alley where he’d chosen to confront the rogue CIA agent revealed that they were alone. At present, Captain Remington had cut Goose loose, leaving the first sergeant to his own devices. With his captive in hand and no one the wiser, he intended to make use of the time.
A heap of broken rock and glass spread over a cargo truck blocked one end of the alley. The other end opened onto a little-traveled street off the main path the military teams used to ferry wounded, dead, and supplies.
Goose looked at his prisoner. “You can stop faking. I know you’re awake. I saw your breathing pattern change five minutes ago. Lying there like that is just going to waste the time you have to talk to me.”
Icarus kept his eyes closed a little longer. Dried blood formed a comma from the corner of his mouth to his chin, then darted down his neck like an exclamation point. The blood had come from the damage Goose had delivered with his punch.
When he opened his eyes, Icarus said, “You punch like a mule, First Sergeant. For a while there I thought you’d broken my jaw.”
Goose barely marshaled the fury that resided within him. Icarus was the reason Goose had fallen into disfavor with Remington, and he was the reason the captain was risking his career warring with Alexander Cody’s CIA team instead of focusing on the holding effort going on in Sanliurfa.
“I can’t say that would have been an altogether bad thing,” Goose said.
Icarus worked his jaw. “Well, I wouldn’t have enjoyed the experience.” He shifted a little. “You have me tied up?”
“Yeah. Ordnance tape. Works about as well as handcuffs. Unless you have a knife to cut through it.”
“Which I don’t,” Icarus said.
“No,” Goose said. “You don’t. I made sure of it.” He’d found two knives on the man: one scabbarded on the inside of his left arm and one in his right boot.
“I’m thirsty.”
“I don’t care,” Goose said. “A few days ago, you confronted me in a bar. You were wearing a bomb, which you said you would set off if I attempted to restrain you. I’m not inclined at this juncture to cut you any slack.”
“I wouldn’t have exploded the bomb.”
“I don’t know that.”
“It was just a threat,” Icarus said in a dry voice. He broke into a fit of coughing. “I just needed to get your attention.”
“You got it then,” Goose promised. “You’ve still got it.” He worked to keep his tone harsh and aggressive. He felt badly about tying the man up and leaving him in what had to be an uncomfortable state.
“Could I have some water?”
“After we talk. You want water, you’ll earn water.”
Icarus squirmed. At first Goose thought the man was trying to free himself from his bonds; then he saw that Icarus was only trying to turn so he could better face him.
Icarus’s eyes darted around the interior of the Hummer. “We’re the only ones here?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Goose hesitated, letting the silence draw out till it became threatening. In the distance, truck engines whined and men shouted.
“I wanted to talk to yo
u,” Goose said.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
Icarus laughed, but there was no mirth in the effort. Instead, he sounded bitter. “I can’t tell you everything, First Sergeant. If I did, I’d have to kill you.”
“That,” Goose said, “would be a mistake to try.”
Icarus looked at him. “Do you know why I approached you in the bar? Why I helped you with those wounded men this morning during the attack?”
Goose waited. Men who were at a disadvantage had a tendency to talk during gaps of silence.
“Because I saw something in you that I thought I could trust,” Icarus said.
Goose still said nothing.
“I need someone I can talk to.” Icarus’s statement was plain, without inflection, but his reddened eyes looked haunted. “But you have to know that the minute I say what I have to say, your life will be forever changed.”
The solemnity with which the man announced his claim created a chill in Goose’s stomach.
“Have you met the CIA agents yet?” Icarus asked. “They were watching you.”
“We’ve met,” Goose said.
“You’ve talked to Special Agent-in-Charge Alexander Cody?”
“Yeah.” Goose decided to throw his prisoner a bone. “We didn’t exactly get along.”
A pained smile twisted Icarus’s lips. “Even under the best circumstances, Cody isn’t a good man. These circumstances we’re under right now? These are as bad as they can be.”
Goose waited.
“Why didn’t you turn me over to them?” Icarus asked.
“I may still.”
Icarus nodded. “If you do, they will kill me.” He paused. “You know that, don’t you?”
“No.”
“They will.”
“Maybe they’ve got reason,” Goose said. “I’m not overly fond of you after the bomb threat.”
Icarus gazed at the canteen lying in the passenger seat. “Haven’t we talked enough yet?”
Without a word, Goose picked up the canteen, opened it, and poured water into Icarus’s mouth. The man drank greedily, then had a coughing fit and spewed water over the rear deck.
“Sorry,” Icarus apologized.
That small thing, an unconscious social amenity, made Goose feel horrible about what he was doing. Still, he steeled himself. This guy knows what happened to Chris and the others who disappeared. You can’t cut him any slack. You need answers.
Goose capped the canteen and put it away again. “Why does Cody want to kill you?”
“Because I know too much. I learned more than they ever expected me to. I wasn’t supposed to live after they blew my cover to the PKK.”
The announcement caught Goose by surprise. “The CIA blew your cover to the terrorists?”
Icarus grinned. “Yes.” He shook his head in wonder, then sighed in exasperation. “You don’t know anything about what you’ve gotten involved with, do you, First Sergeant?”
“Cody talked with Captain Remington,” Goose said. “Cody persuaded the captain to send me and my team after you.”
“Only because the PKK didn’t kill me instantly. That’s what Cody was hoping for, you see. I did the job they sent me into the terrorist cells to do, but they hadn’t counted on my finding out the things they were doing. Once my cover was blown, Cody and his team couldn’t allow me to end up in Syrian hands. If you’d turned me over to them, Cody would have killed me and buried me as soon as we were out of sight.”
“All I hear right now is a lot of lip service. Make me a believer.”
Icarus grinned. “It’s ironic that you should say that, First Sergeant, because making believers is what this is all about.” He paused. “How much time do you think we have?”
“I don’t know,” Goose said.
“Your captain doesn’t know you have me, does he?”
“Not yet.”
“You and Remington are supposed to be close.”
“We are,” Goose said and felt guilty instantly. “Cal Remington is like a brother to me.”
“You must not have any brothers.”
The man’s words bit into Goose. After he’d been born, his mother hadn’t been able to have any more children. Only a few years later, she’d died from a degenerative heart condition that wasn’t discovered till she was already gone. He and his father had struggled through alone.
“I’m sorry,” Icarus said. “I can see I touched a nerve.”
“Get to it,” Goose growled.
“Why doesn’t the captain know I’m here?”
Goose hesitated. “Because we’ve got different agendas.”
“Are you going to turn me over to Remington after we finish talking?” Goose didn’t answer.
Icarus rolled over and lay more or less on his back, partially propped up by his bound wrists. “I need to know, First Sergeant.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Then holding me here, finding out what I’m worth, isn’t about career advancement?”
Goose struggled, trying to figure how best to answer the question. A quiet calm descended over him, like during those times he’d talked with Bill Townsend. You’ve got nothing to lose with the truth.
“I’ve got a son,” Goose said. “His name is Chris. He’s five years old.”
Icarus’s eyes locked on Goose’s. “Chris has disappeared.”
The pain Goose felt nearly swelled his throat shut. “Yes,” he said hoarsely.
“And you thought I might know something about that.”
Goose felt a single tear run down his cheek. He didn’t try to hide it, didn’t try to brush it away. “I love my boy. I want him back.”
“God help you find peace, First Sergeant,” Icarus said. “I can’t help you with that. No man on this planet can help you get your son back.”
Anger returned to Goose full force. He felt shamed that he had revealed his weakness to his prisoner. He struggled to find words, to make his voice work again in spite of his tight throat.
Silence stretched between them for a long time, punctuated by the rumbling trucks in the distance and the noise of Goose’s radio headset.
“If I could help you,” Icarus said finally, “I would.”
Without a word, Goose slipped his combat knife from his LCE and leaned across the seats. Icarus drew back from him. Roughly, not trusting his voice, Goose grabbed the man’s shoulder and rolled him onto his stomach. Icarus kicked and flopped, evidently thinking he was about to have his throat slit. Instead, Goose cut the tape binding the man’s wrists and his ankles. Freezing instantly, Icarus gazed up at Goose.
Slumping back into the front seat, feeling torn and worn completely out, shamed on several fronts, Goose returned his knife to his LCE.
Icarus massaged his wrists. “What are you doing?”
“Letting you go.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe Cody and his people will kill you if I turn you over to them.” Goose breathed out his pain and bored through his feelings to the dead center of himself—the part he sought when he needed to be cut off from all things mortal and weak. That dead space, without even a will to survive or hope for a tomorrow, was the most dangerous part of a professional soldier on a battlefield. Death became an abstract; losing, an illusion. Nothing touched him.
Icarus sat up. “Are you all right?”
“No. Go.” Goose leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Sleep, he commanded himself. You need it. Just sleep and do whatever you need to do next.
“What do you think happened to your son?” Icarus asked.
“I don’t want to talk about this,” Goose said in a flat voice.
“I think you need to.”
Slowly, feeling the distant nudge of irritation at the man’s callous stupidity or death wish, Goose lifted his head and looked at Icarus. Goose lifted the M9 and pointed it at the man’s face.
Icarus held his hands up.
The pistol
felt like an anvil at the end of Goose’s arm. Memories of Chris tangled in the roiling violence that demanded release from within him.
“Your son,” Icarus said in a quiet voice, “is safe.”
Goose willed himself to pull the trigger. He wanted to feel the buck of the pistol against his palm. A line would be crossed if he did, and he knew it. But something had to be done. He was stuck. He couldn’t go on. He couldn’t accept.
“Chris felt no pain,” Icarus said. “God came and took your son up as He took all the other children.”
“Go. Away.” Goose kept the pistol centered.
“First Sergeant, I know there are people in your group who have talked about this. About the Rapture. I’ve heard Corporal Baker talk about it in his tent church.”
Goose thought about the way Baker’s little church had grown over the past few days. A lot of soldiers from the Rangers, the marines, the U.N., and the Turks had ended up there. When he wasn’t on duty, Baker preached there constantly, offering guidance, support, and understanding of everything that had happened.
Icarus has been hiding out there, Goose realized. He knew the tent would have been a perfect spot. No one checked the soldiers gathered there. The sheer numbers and desperation of those who went there offered anonymity.
“Don’t you believe in God?” Icarus said.
The question pushed at Goose on a physical level he’d never before experienced. He kept the pistol leveled. “I believe in God. And I hope you do, too, because you’re four pounds of pressure away from becoming a footnote in history,” Goose said. “Get away from me.”
Icarus was quiet for a moment. “I can’t.”
“Then you’re going to die.”
“I was drawn to you, First Sergeant,” Icarus said, “by something greater than myself. I know that now. There’s a reason we’ve been put in each other’s path.”
“No.”
“You found me today. When no one else has been able to. When I least expected it.”
“Luck,” Goose said. “All of it bad.”
“You’re not turning me in.”
“I know. I already regret it. You’re just lucky that I don’t have it in me to care any more than I do.” Goose knew that was true. He felt empty, totally bereft due to his pain over the loss of Chris. And now the absence of any hope he’d had of getting his son returned to him. “Get away from me or I swear I’m going to kill you.”