04 Apocalypse Unleashed

by Mel Odom

  Hanging from the rafter, the electric lantern shimmied. Light wavered throughout the cellar. Uneasiness descended on Goose. He checked his watch.

  “It’s morning outside, right?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We got clear visibility?”

  Miller nodded and looked slightly puzzled.

  The lantern vibrated again. A puff of dust descended from the wooden crossbeams that shored up the earthen ceiling.

  “What’s wrong?” Miller asked.

  Goose nodded at the lantern. “Vibration like that, coming steady, means we got armored cav moving around somewhere.”

  “We don’t have many tanks or Bradleys here.”

  “I know. I’m crossing my fingers that it’s just earth tremors.”

  “Wouldn’t they be noticed by someone else in the camp?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “I thought the nearest Syrian armor was days from here.”

  “That was according to the last reports.” Goose stood. The pain in his leg flared to renewed life, and he winced. “Captain Remington’s kept the scouts pulled back, and we’re not doing any air recon because our pilots have been sitting ducks for entrenched Syrian ack-ack guns.”

  The antiaircraft guns had knocked down five scout planes in the last two weeks. Air support was as hard to come by as armored cav, and Remington didn’t want any of it squandered.

  “We’ve been working blind south of the border,” Goose went on. “Satellite recon has been iffy.”

  The lantern swung wider this time.

  “Excuse me,” Goose said. He limped up the stairs carved into the earth. At the top, he rapped on the door with a handful of knuckles.

  “Who is it?” one of the guards demanded.

  “Sergeant Gander.”

  The hole the men had drilled into the door darkened as someone stuck his eye to it. “Back away from the door.”

  Angrily Goose took two steps down the stairs.

  “What do you want?” the guard asked.

  “I need to talk to Lieutenant Swindoll.”

  “Can’t let you out, Sarge. It’ll be best if you go on back down and have a seat. Where’s the chaplain?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “You need to let him see Lieutenant Swindoll,” Miller said from behind Goose.

  “No can do. I’m under Captain Remington’s direct orders.”

  “Then get the lieutenant here.” Goose used his command voice.

  The guard banged against the door with the butt of his assault rifle. Goose identified the heavy thump immediately.

  “You don’t give any orders here, Sarge. Not anymore. Now you back away from the door. Chaplain, your visit’s over. You’re coming out of the hole.”

  Goose retreated down the steps. Miller had to go first because there wasn’t room to step past. Back in the cellar, they traded places, and Miller went up.

  “I’ll get Lieutenant Swindoll,” Miller promised Goose.

  Goose nodded. The lantern swung as another puff of dust dropped to the floor.

  “You’d better make it quick,” Goose growled.

  “I will.” Miller hurried up the steps.

  Bright sunlight stabbed into Goose’s eyes when the door opened. Then Miller passed through, and the darkness returned.

  Goose sat on the steps and watched the lantern as it danced again.

  12

  Downtown Sanliurfa

  Sanliurfa Province, Turkey

  Local Time 0605 Hours

  SCUDs and missiles had destroyed many of the downtown buildings. Bombing runs by Syrian planes and the attack on the city only weeks before accounted for other damage. Remington had put Rangers on cleanup detail to make sure the streets were clear enough to navigate in case they had to. They’d been aided and abetted by the United Nations teams that had survived the attack along the border and had regrouped in Sanliurfa. Eventually citizens had joined in.

  For the most part, the cleanup detail had amounted only to shoving debris to one side of the street or the other. They didn’t have time to haul the remains of the broken buildings away, and there was no real place to dump everything that had been destroyed.

  Earthmovers roared and snorted like mechanical beasts all around the city as they labored to continue clearing streets. With the Syrian army and air force mostly intact, Remington had had no choice except to figure out fallback positions within the city. If they were pursued from Sanliurfa, they were going to be targets while they raced to the next city.

  A moment later, Remington reached the street he wanted. It took some scouting to find streets because he was having all the signage torn down as well. In case an invading Syrian ground effort reached them and had maps, directions would be harder to figure out without neatly labeled streets and thoroughfares.

  He stopped at the intersection and spotted the restaurant he was looking for. It was open. Bright flags—Turkish, United States, British, Canadian, French, and Russian—flew above the open-air café.

  The fact that the restaurant was open didn’t surprise Remington. War zones brought capitalists swarming like flies to honey. Everywhere he’d served, there had always been a thriving black market and local entrepreneurs willing to risk their necks to make a profit.

  He turned onto the street and took a space out front next to a station wagon loaded down with chicken crates. Evidently not everyone had finished leaving. There were still a few rats deserting the ship.

  Felix Magureanu’s midnight blue Mercedes sat nearby. Though a patina of dust covered the city, the luxury car looked freshly scrubbed. The personalized license plate on the back read, DEALZ.

  Local Time 0609 Hours

  The restaurant’s interior was clean and well lit. The power was out; electricity throughout Sanliurfa was generally absent, except in key locations like the hospital and the mess area, where food perishables were kept refrigerated. But there were plenty of candles. The burning wax filled the air with a sweet, heavy scent.

  “Welcome,” a young woman greeted. She wore black slacks and a white dress shirt. “Will you be dining with us today?”

  “I’m looking for a friend.”

  “You are Captain Remington?”

  “Let me guess,” Remington said irritably. “The uniform gave it away.”

  “I am sorry, but I see many uniforms. They all look the same to me. It’s hard to tell American soldiers from British and the others.”

  “I’m Remington.”

  The hostess smiled. “Good. Your friend was wondering how long he would be kept waiting. This way, please.”

  Remington followed the woman across the restaurant’s floor space. Only a handful of patrons sat at the tables. A ragtag family that matched the station wagon sat near the front windows, obviously concerned about their chickens. A handful of soldiers, all of them wearing blue berets of the United Nations, occupied other tables.

  A moment later, the hostess showed Remington to a private dining room in the back.

  She knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” a booming voice called from within.

  The hostess slid the door open and ushered Remington inside. The wood paneling and tables were old and dark, looking black as ink in the uncertain shadows created by the wavering candlelight. “Would you like anything to drink?” she asked.

  “Coffee,” Remington said.

  “Of course.” The hostess left.

  “Good morning, Captain.” Felix Magureanu sat in front of a superthin computer. He waved Remington to the chair on the other side of the square table. Candles stood at attention in an elegant centerpiece.

  Remington removed his hat, set it on the table, and took a seat.

  The long fingers of one of Felix’s hands trailed through his red goatee. His head was shaved and pale as milk, matching the rest of his complexion. He looked like a man who’d never been out in the sun. As always, wraparound sunglasses with ruby lenses hid his eyes. His black suit was Italian and tailored to his
lean, hard physique. A gold Rolex gleamed on one wrist. Rings adorned his fingers.

  “You’re late,” Felix said.

  Irritation gnawed at Remington. Although he’d learned to work with Felix, he hadn’t learned to care for him. The man was too arrogant to be likeable. Remington kept his expression neutral. “You asked for this meeting, not me.”

  “True.” Felix leaned forward and accessed the Internet on his laptop. A small satellite unit sat near the computer on the table. “I wanted to talk to you about Sergeant Gander.”

  Remington waited just a beat, making sure he had Felix’s full attention. “Sergeant Gander isn’t any of your concern.”

  Felix frowned like a disappointed child. “In that regard, Captain, I’m afraid we disagree. I feel that the sergeant is very much a threat to what we’re trying to do here.”

  “Before we explore that possibility,” Remington said, “maybe you’d like to clarify exactly what it is we’re trying to do.”

  “What do you think you’re trying to do?”

  “Survive. I’ve got the Syrian army waiting to pounce across the border and encroach on Turkey. If they do, they intend to kill anyone who tries to stop them.” Remington paused for effect. “That would be me.”

  “Good, good.” Felix rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. “Deep resolve. A show of force. It’s reassuring to see that you’re taking this matter so personally. War, with all the technological advances, has become too dispassionate for my taste.”

  “What do you know about war?”

  “A challenge, Captain?” Felix grinned mockingly. “Do you think I’ve never been in a war? never killed? never had blood on my hands that wasn’t my own?”

  The threat hung naked and ugly in the air. For just a moment, a primitive fear touched Remington, and he despised the weakness he felt within himself. He couldn’t see anything in Felix to be wary of, but the fear was there all the same.

  “Killing is easy,” Remington said. “Fighting someone to the death, when they have just as good a chance of killing you as you do of killing them—that’s different.”

  “Do you give all your enemies chances?” Felix looked delightfully appalled.

  “They all have whatever chance they can make for themselves.”

  “If that’s your attitude, I’m surprised you’re still alive and walking around.”

  “I’m good at what I do.”

  “Why give them any chance?”

  “I didn’t say I gave them chances.”

  Felix shook his head in obvious disapproval. “You take a risk of dying. That’s foolish.”

  Quick as a wink, Remington unleathered the Beretta M9 from his hip and took direct aim at Felix’s right eye. The barrel never wavered. The captain’s forefinger was on the trigger, ready to fire, not along the guard.

  “I don’t take kindly to being called foolish, especially by a fool,” Remington said softly.

  Felix didn’t move. His grin never faltered. “I guess not.”

  “I don’t like you.” Remington stared hard at the other man. “I didn’t like you the first time I laid eyes on you. It wouldn’t be much of a decision for me to ventilate your head.”

  “Then do it.” Felix’s voice was low and throaty. His eyes gleamed excitedly. “Pull the trigger and let’s see what happens.”

  Remington wanted to. The temptation within him was strong. Not just for himself but for Goose too. Felix represented an obvious threat to Goose.

  “Why choose to threaten me like this?” Felix asked. “Aside from not liking me?”

  Remington didn’t answer.

  “Is it because of the sergeant?”

  “Leave him out of this.”

  Felix shook his head. “Your attachment to Sergeant Gander may well be your downfall, Captain.”

  “I can handle Goose.”

  “From where I’m sitting, it doesn’t look like it.” Moving slowly, Felix tapped a key on the notebook computer’s keyboard.

  Immediately the LCD screen changed. A segment of OneWorld NewsNet flashed on.

  “Sergeant Gander is turning out to be something of a celebrity, isn’t he?” Felix taunted.

  Although he didn’t want to, Remington’s attention took in the computer screen. He kept his eyes locked on Felix, but he tracked the news story on the computer.

  Footage of the attack on the convoy played. The icon of Goose that had become one of OneWorld NewsNet’s most recognized symbols flashed on the screen: it was the silhouette of an American soldier.

  “Isn’t that precious?” Felix asked. “Goose has his own icon on the television network. Millions of people around the world are getting to know him. He’s a hero, isn’t he?”

  In that moment, Remington hated Goose. He knew Goose hadn’t sought out the celebrity status. The Vinchenzo woman had assigned it to him. Remington coveted that attention. He had been the one who had managed to save all those men and machines along the Turkish-Syrian border.

  “That’s television,” Remington snarled. “He’s just a man.”

  “You and I know that, Captain.” Felix ran his fingers through his beard. “But there are other people out there who aren’t so sure. A man like Sergeant Gander, at a time like this, can be dangerous.”

  “I can handle Goose,” Remington said again. He put as much emphasis in his words as he could muster.

  “By putting him under house arrest?”

  Remington didn’t say anything.

  “Surprised I knew that?” Felix cocked an eyebrow that was just as fiery red as his beard. “You shouldn’t be. It’s on the news.” He tapped another key.

  On the notebook’s screen, Danielle Vinchenzo appeared. Remington watched in silence and left the pistol aimed at Felix Magureanu.

  “Things are tense here in Harran, Turkey,” Danielle said, facing the camera. “These American soldiers have dug in to try to hold back the advancing Syrian army and help the Turkish military shore up their defenses.”

  The camera swept across the war-torn cityscape littered with damaged historical buildings. It focused on a lone tower in the distance.

  “But there’s more tension than just soldiers awaiting an attack or orders,” Danielle went on. “The army Rangers stationed here in Harran are confused. Sergeant Goose Gander, whom many of you have gotten to know through these reports, has been placed under house arrest by Captain Cal Remington, the man who’s—at least for the moment—in control of the 75th Rangers in Turkey.”

  Footage of Goose helping carry a hospital litter flashed on the screen. He looked worn and tired. Remington spotted the familiar limp that told him Goose had stressed his bad knee again.

  “Wow,” Felix said, then laughed. “Doesn’t sound like you’re going to be on her Christmas card list anytime soon.”

  The camera cut back to Danielle. “According to the stories being told by the men I’ve talked to, Captain Remington—”

  “And she makes your name sound like something unpleasant.”

  “—placed Sergeant Gander under house arrest for disobeying orders. Sergeant Gander was assigned to provide security on a supply caravan from Sanliurfa when he stopped to help a village under attack from a local warlord.”

  “All she needs is a few orphans to really sell this story.” Felix grinned hugely.

  “Maybe she’s the danger,” Remington suggested.

  Felix kept his attention on the screen. “No. You can’t touch her, Captain. That woman’s strictly off-limits.”

  “Says who?”

  “Nicolae Carpathia.” Felix eyed Remington directly. “He gave me strict orders regarding her part in this little drama.”

  “He didn’t tell me.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I’m here.” Felix focused on the pistol for a moment, then back at Remington. “The hostess is on her way back here. Things are going to look strange if you’re holding a gun on me when she comes through the door. There are still a few policemen in this town. At the very least, her screams m
ay draw some of the United Nations soldiers in the next room.”

  Remington didn’t say anything.

  “Decide what you’re going to do, Captain. You’ve got only a handful of seconds.”

  “Leave Goose out of this.”

  “Then you’re going to have to find a way to get a handle on him.”

  “I will. But if you hurt him in any way, I’ll kill you. That’s a promise.” Remington put his pistol away.

  Felix grinned at him with a thoughtful expression. “You are a most curious man.”

  Remington glared at the man, gained no ground, and shifted his attention to the computer. In the next moment, the hostess returned to the private dining room with drinks.

  “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” Remington picked up his coffee and sipped. Then he asked the hostess for a menu.

  “The menu won’t be necessary,” Felix said. “I’ve already taken the liberty of ordering for both of us.”

  Remington didn’t care for that either. It was too invasive, too controlling.

  “Your food will be out momentarily,” the hostess said when she left.

  “No.” Felix swirled his wine, peered at the color against the candlelight, then drank with obvious gusto. “I came here to tell you that Nicolae Carpathia is going to persuade the secretarygeneral and the White House to combine forces over here. As well as throughout the rest of the world.”

  “Combine forces how?”

  “When Nicolae is through, there will be only one military throughout the world. And he will control it. Anyone who doesn’t side with him is going to be viewed as an enemy.”

  “He’s wasting his time. The DOD chiefs will never agree to anything like that.”

  “Nicolae can be quite … persuasive.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  Felix smiled again. “You’ll be seeing it, and believing it, soon enough.” He sipped his wine. “In the meantime, you need to find an effective way to deal with your sergeant.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “Handle it. Soon. Before this thing gets any further out of hand.

  Nicolae would like to see you keep your command intact. He doesn’t want the forces over here to become splintered.”