by Mel Odom
“Even before the disappearances,” Remington said, “we were facing a new world. The United States has become a target to many terrorist factions. You don’t get anywhere in this life by lying back and letting someone kick sand in your face.”
“Do you think you can hold Sanliurfa against the Syrian army?”
Grimly aware that the broadcast feed was going out live, Remington kept his poker face on. “I’ve been ordered to hold this city against hostile incursion. Until I’m ordered to do anything else, that’s what I’m going to do. The Syrians have attacked before, and we held them.”
“Pardon me for pointing this out, but the Syrian forces that attacked earlier weren’t as prepared as the reinforcements staging in Harran are going to be. If the Syrian army starts pulling SCUD missiles into that town and launching from there, isn’t that going to be tremendously different from what you’ve faced in the past?”
“That depends on whether the Pentagon chooses to allow the Syrians to build up arms in that area.” Remington shook his head, still wondering what Cody had been up to. The captain was certain the CIA agent had recognized Icarus as well. “I’m not in favor of allowing the enemy to strengthen its position.”
“Surely you’re not talking about attacking the Syrians in Harran after you’ve retreated from there.”
“Not retreated,” Remington said. “ Repositioned. Soldiers are more important than hardware in a battle. I needed those men here. I didn’t need them lost.”
“Sir,” Archer called. The lieutenant stood looking over a computer tech’s shoulder at one of the monitors. A worried expression filled his face.
Remington made a mental note to discuss wearing his feelings on his sleeve in front of the media. He told Campbell, “Excuse me.”
“Certainly. OneWorld NewsNet looks forward to speaking with you again.” Campbell stepped back.
Remington immediately regretted losing the camera. He liked the attention focused on him. He crossed to Archer. “What is it?”
“We’ve got a bogey in the field, Captain,” Archer said in a low voice.
Remington automatically scanned the sky but didn’t see anything. Then he noticed the two Land Rovers streaking across the open terrain headed south. They were off-road, traveling too fast for the broken countryside.
“Who are they?” Remington demanded.
“We don’t know, sir.”
“Can you tighten the view on them?”
The computer tech rapped the keyboard with his fingertips. The view on the television monitor zoomed in on the two SUVs racing south toward Harran.
“When did you pick them up?” Remington asked.
“Just now.”
“Where did they come from?”
“The road.” Archer moved to another computer. “Roll back the sat-feed a couple minutes,” he instructed the tech.
Remington divided his attention between the two computer monitors. He glanced at Cody, but the CIA section chief was keeping his distance. On the second monitor, Remington watched as the two SUVs sped along the road. At 0809 hours, by the time-date stamp at the bottom of the screen, the SUVs suddenly altered course and went cross-country.
What had caused them to veer off the road? Cold dread twisted through his stomach as suspicion took root in his mind. The Land Rovers hurtled along like predators with the scent of prey in their nostrils. Going top speed like that, they weren’t hunting anymore. They were moving in for the kill.
Remington focused on the first monitor. “Pull back the view on those SUVs.”
The computer tech started doing that. “How far, sir?”
“I want the bogeys and the Black Angel squadron on-screen at the same time.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain,” Archer called. He was pointing at the monitor where the focus was on Harran. “The Syrians had SCUDs in some of the supply trucks. They’re setting them up.”
Curiosity fled Remington as he took in the new threat. The Syrians hadn’t come prepared just to take Harran. They’d also come to unleash destruction on Sanliurfa. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. It was something he would have done.
The UN commander standing nearby cursed. So did the Turkish commander.
“Sound the alarms in the city, Lieutenant,” Remington snapped. “Put everyone on red alert.”
“Yes, sir.” Archer turned away, already giving orders to get it done.
The warning cry of the alarm Klaxons ripped through the morning.
Remington felt uneasy. The command post was safe enough against SCUDs armed with high explosives, but biological weapons- or nuclear, if it came to that-were a different story.
Most of the people had cleared out of the city streets once the attack began in Harran. Everyone had known that it could spill over into Sanliurfa.
“Captain,” the computer tech said, “I’ve got the Black Angels and the bogeys on-screen.”
Remington studied the monitor. He wasn’t surprised to see the Land Rovers were headed straight for the helos. He turned from the computer and headed over to Cody.
The CIA section chief stood his ground.
“Are those your men?” Remington snarled.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cody replied.
“I’m talking about those two Land Rovers on an intercept course with my helos.”
“No,” Cody replied flatly.
Remington knew the man was lying. There were no tells, no mannerisms, and no voice inflections to give the falsehood away. But nothing else made sense.
“What are you after?” Remington asked.
Cody hesitated. “Believe it or not, Captain, the same thing you are.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Captain Remington,” another lieutenant called, “we’ve just confirmed multiple Syrian launches. We’re tracking eleven SCUDs in the air. All of them are headed for us.”
Remington returned to the computer tech. “Tell the Patriot missile systems to engage when they’ve got target lock. I don’t want any of those blasted things getting through.”
“Yes, sir.”
Remington looked again at the helo squadron and the Land Rovers. “How far away is Black Angel squadron?”
“Almost fifty klicks, sir.”
“How close are the bogeys?”
“Five-point-eight klicks.” The corporal sat up straighter. “The bogeys have stopped, sir.”
Remington saw that for himself. The vehicles had stopped in tandem. Doors opened and ten men deployed.
“Zoom in,” Remington ordered.
The corporal did.
When the magnification was great enough, Remington saw the weapons two of the men carried were rocket launchers. The Black Hawks didn’t create enough heat to draw heat-seeking ordnance, but when they were flying only thirty or forty feet off the ground, a regular rocket launcher could bring them down.
If they weren’t expecting to be attacked.
“What’s the ETA on the Black Angels intercepting those bogeys?”
“A minute fifty-two seconds.”
“Open a channel to them.”
“You’re connected, sir.”
“Black Angel Leader, this is Base,” Remington said.
“Go, Base.”
“Alter your course to the west. I repeat, alter your course to the west immediately. You’ve got hostiles on the ground you need to avoid.”
“Roger that. Changing course.”
“Redirect to the north end of the city. Use the airfield there.”
“Understood, Base.”
Tensely Remington watched the screen. He wasn’t completely surprised when the men loaded back into the Land Rovers and took off again, headed once more on an intercept path with the helos.
They’re tracking them electronically. Remington knew it had to be true, but he didn’t know how it was being done.
“Black Angel Leader, this is Base. Be advised that the hostiles are tracking you. They know you’v
e changed directions and are coming to meet you.”
“That’ll be their mistake, then.”
Remington turned back to Cody, but the CIA section chief was already beating a hasty retreat through the front door.
For just a moment Remington considered ordering security to detain him, then realized it wouldn’t help. Either the helos would survive the attack or they wouldn’t.
“Incoming!” someone shouted.
Then the first of the SCUDs reached Sanliurfa and detonated.
28
Black Angels Squadron
Turkish Air Space
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 0809 Hours
“What are you doing here?” Goose growled. He dropped his hand toward the M9 on his hip.
“I came to see you.” Icarus talked only loud enough that Goose could hear him. They stood chest to chest, banging into each other as the Black Hawk slid and shifted through the wind. The younger man’s hazel eyes regarded Goose and never looked away.
“Why?”
“Because Corporal Baker is dead.”
Goose felt suddenly chilled. “What do you know about Baker’s death?”
“I know it was ordered,” Icarus said.
“By Remington?” Goose couldn’t believe he’d put his fear into words. After Baker was killed, Goose had wondered if the captain had had anything to do with it. He hadn’t wanted to believe that, but the possibility existed.
“No.” Icarus seemed so sure of himself, so calm in the middle of everything that was going on.
Goose looked at the other man and tried to figure out what to say next. He was still overwhelmed from the events in Harran and from the night before. He still didn’t know why Remington had chosen to take the hard road with him.
“I need to talk to you,” Icarus went on. “There’s a choice that will need to be made. Soon. You must understand what’s going to be asked. And why.”
“Why are you talking to me?”
“Because you’re in a place where your actions will affect others. You’re a leader.” Icarus hesitated. “Now that Baker is dead, perhaps you’re the only leader who can open the eyes of the men around you and keep them from selling their souls in the service of evil.”
The words caused Goose’s flesh to prickle despite the heat of the day. Icarus talked about evil with a capital E, and his words brought to mind dark things blacker than night.
“I know you’re not going to want to believe all of this, Sergeant.” Icarus was too young to look as tired as he was. “I wish that I had more time to convince you of what I’m saying. But our enemy has planned too well.”
Goose shook his head. “I let you go once. You should have stayed gone. When we get back to Sanliurfa, I’m going to turn you in.”
“If you do that,” Icarus said, “then you might as well put a bullet through my head.”
Outside Harran
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 0813 Hours
Marcus Allen rode in the passenger seat of the lead Land Rover. He held an RPG launcher across his thighs. Despite the airconditioning, sweat beaded under his shirt because he had the door open.
He was a big man, rawboned and rugged. Three inches over six feet tall, he was the kind of man who gave other men pause. He wore his black hair cut short, the way the military had cut it for him before he’d mustered out and turned professional soldier for hire. Some countries he’d worked in had called him an assassin. He supposed, in the end, he was both. While working for corporations, he’d pulled security details. His work for the Central Intelligence Agency section chiefs, men who wanted their assignments kept off the books, generally ran more toward things of a destructive nature.
Allen scanned the sky through tinted Oakley sunglasses. “We should be coming up on those helos soon.”
The driver, Weaver, nodded and tapped the GPS receiver mounted in the center of the dash. “Unless Cody’s GPS signature is wrong.”
“It’s not wrong,” Allen said. “One thing Cody does right is his toys. Man’s got a fetish when it comes to tech.”
Weaver-a smaller, thinner man with a mustache and brown hair that hung over the tips of his ears-grinned. “Can’t say that I blame him. I’ve got a tech-toy fetish of my own to feed. Besides, if the signature was wrong, we wouldn’t have picked up the helos’ change of direction.”
Kosheib leaned over the backseat and threw a thick forefinger toward the sky. The man was Sudanese but claimed Nubian blood. His black skin bore that out. Like Allen, he was big and tall, dressed in a sleeveless khaki shirt that showed the tribal tattoos that ran up his arms. If caught in Sudan or Chad, those tattoos alone would have identified him and gotten him executed.
“There,” Kosheib rumbled. “They are there.” His language held a British inflection, but it remained guttural.
Allen saw the helos then. He watched the GPS screen. “Drive under them. Let’s see if we can identify the ping.”
Weaver did as ordered.
“Owens,” Allen called over the radio.
“Yeah.” Owens was the second-in-command of the expedition. He rode in the second Land Rover.
“I read it as the fourth helicopter back.” Allen made a circular motion with his forefinger, signaling Weaver to turn around.
“Agreed.” Owens had spent half his life in one jail or another. The only way he’d maintained his freedom was by staying out of the United States and killing everyone who came after him.
Weaver brought the Land Rover around in a tight circle that threw up a large dust cloud. Then they were headed back in pursuit of the helicopters. Even the SUV’s special suspension was hard-pressed to keep the ride level as Allen pushed the door open and took aim with the RPG-7.
“When I touch this off,” Allen warned, “they’re going to know we don’t have friendly intentions. Take evasive action and let’s find somewhere to hide, then pick up the pieces.”
The “pieces” should be the man they’d been hired by Alexander Cody to kill.
A sudden curse came from the backseat. “The Syrians just launched a SCUD offensive against Sanliurfa.”
“Cody’s price tag on this piece of work just went up.” Allen straddled the open door and held the RPG-7 as steady as he could. Getting caught in a cross fire between the United States and the Syrian armies hadn’t been part of the deal. The CIA section chief didn’t have control over that, but he wasn’t getting a freebie either. Risk cost.
When he was certain he had target acquisition, Allen squeezed the trigger. The 40mm grenade ignited and whooshed away from the launcher. Allen automatically reached back inside for another grenade, and Collins slapped one into his hand.
The grenade sliced through the air and detonated against the ESSS on the helo’s side. The Black Hawk heeled over and lost altitude for a moment. Three figures tumbled free of the cargo area.
Allen tried to ready another shot, but a SCUD hit the ground nearby, and the concussive wave knocked him back into the Land Rover. The blast caught the SUV off-balance, and the vehicle flew onto its side. For a moment, everything turned crazy.
The Land Rover skidded on its side through rocks and underbrush. The windshield shattered and fell into the vehicle. The sounds of the crash drowned out all other noise.
Black Angels Squadron
Turkish Air Space
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 0813 Hours
An explosion sounded just outside the cargo door hatch, temporarily deafening Danielle as she worked on an interview with one of the Black Hawk crewmen. The live feed had ended, but she wanted more material that she could edit for human interest stories later.
The helicopter viciously swung sideways. Danielle instinctively went down and grabbed Robert Johnson’s litter. It had been secured to the deck.
“What was that?” someone yelled.
“Somebody’s shooting at us from below.”
Danielle’s first thought was that some of t
he Bedouin spies who had sabotaged Harran’s communications link had set up an intercept point. Then she thought maybe a Syrian jet had crept up on them despite the heat-seeking missiles the Black Hawk helicopters carried.
“Where’s Goose?” someone yelled.
Danielle’s head swiveled toward the other cargo door. The last time she’d seen Goose, he’d been standing there talking to another soldier.
He wasn’t there now.
“He fell out!” someone yelled. “When the helo tilted, he and two other guys fell!”
Not believing what she was hearing, Danielle shoved through the crowd of Rangers and made her way to the cargo door. She peered down, but she didn’t see any sign of Goose. Too many trees and brush covered the ground, and they’d kept moving.
“We’ve got to go back,” Danielle said.
“Can’t,” one of the soldiers said. “Just heard from Base. The Syrians have launched SCUDs and are on their way here. We’re going to be lucky to make it ourselves.”
Danielle gazed at the ground below. “How high are we?”
“Forty, fifty feet.”
She thought about all the news stories she’d read and covered. “You can survive a fall that high. People have done it.”
No one said anything, but she got the feeling no one believed her either. She stared at the trees below, then-for the first time- saw the crater left by a SCUD that had fallen short. They were still twenty or so miles from Sanliurfa. They were going to be lucky to make it.
Local Time 0813 Hours
Goose didn’t register what had happened until his fingers were torn from the doorframe and he was in a free fall. He toppled backward from the cargo door and saw flames clinging to the helo’s skin.
Somebody shot us. That crossed his mind just before he realized two other people were in the air with him. Icarus didn’t fly any better than his namesake, and David Miller screamed in terror, except that the wind and the noise of the helos washed it away.
Vaguely Goose remembered that Miller had staggered into him and Icarus when the explosion happened outside the helo. Goose had tried to maintain his hold on the doorframe, but he’d been precariously balanced after the blast and hadn’t been able to. Icarus had been caught in the same situation.