by Mel Odom
But only if they acquired their targets.
Goose’s plan was simple. The 40mm phosphorus rounds did some damage to the Syrian tanks as the burning chemical clung to the tanks, but primarily Goose intended to use the phosphorus to mark the tanks.
As Remington watched, three flaming hulks closed in on the hospital.
“Nighthawk Leader to Nighthawk Two, I have the point tank. Close down the retreat.”
“Will do,” the second helo pilot replied over the headset.
The helicopter decreased speed and tilted down to bring its weapons to bear. In the next instant, the marine pilot unloaded his turret gun and fired rockets into the fiery tank. Explosions ripped across the street. Not all of them hit the tank, but enough did.
Slammed again and again by the 20mm cannon and the 2.75-inch antitank rockets, the Syrian tank crumpled and died. Before the other vehicles had a chance to scatter, the second Whiskey Cobra ripped into their flank and put down the rear vehicle.
“Hoo-ah!” a Ranger yelled over the headset.
Despite the desperate straits his team was still in, Remington couldn’t help smiling. Goose had come through again. The first sergeant wasn’t a master tactician—more of a paint-by-numbers soldier in planning—but he was at his best when his back was up against the wall. He was the most dependable man Remington had.
“All right, Rangers,” Remington said. “Isolate your targets and coordinate the strikes with the marine wing. We’ll see if we can hold the line against the rest of the rabble waiting outside the gate.”
“Affirmative, Control,” the marine helo pilot replied. “We’ll get other birds in the air now that we know we can be effective. Let’s turn this thing around.”
Remington gave orders to the various units scattered around the city, then turned his attention to the specialty squad he’d assigned to mark the forward line of the Syrian cav waiting out in the darkness. Captain Mkchian of the Turkish military had managed to bring some heavy artillery pieces into the city that Remington hoped might yet provide a nasty surprise for the Syrians.
Remington’s headset chirped for attention while the second set of helos swooped down to attack another group of Syrian rolling stock.
He switched over to the other channel, prepared to sound irritated if it wasn’t important.
“Control, this is BirdDog.” Birddog was Lieutenant Nick Perrin, the man Remington had put in charge of keeping tabs on the CIA agents.
“I’m listening, BirdDog.” Remington waited impatiently, knowing there were a hundred things he needed to do.
“Spotted our guy, Cap’n.”
“Who?”
“The primary. Couldn’t get to him in time to stop him. Had to waylay a member of the competition.”
Stifling curses, Remington asked, “Do you still have the primary in sight?” The primary was Icarus, not one of the CIA agents.
“Negative. The primary had a vehicle. My squad and I are on foot. But I’m pretty sure I know where he’s headed.”
“Where?”
“The hospital. He was carrying wounded. Men from Phoenix Leader’s squads.”
Goose? Remington couldn’t believe it. Goose knew Remington wanted Icarus for questioning. Goose was under orders after their face-to-face in the bar two days ago to bring the man in no matter what.
“Phoenix Leader saw the primary?” Remington asked, still believing that there was some other explanation.
“Affirmative, Control. They talked while they loaded wounded. There’s no way Phoenix Leader didn’t know who he was talking to.”
Anger swelled up over Remington like a tidal wave, rising high above him then crashing down. He didn’t know why Goose had betrayed him, but he was going to find out.
7
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 2143 Hours
“I came alone,” Megan pointed out to Leslie Hollister as she stood across the bedroom from the girl. The audience of male rock stars and actors kept silent watch. “Just like you asked.”
Leslie nodded. The pistol shifted in her hands with the slight motion. Megan’s breath caught in her throat, and she resisted the instinctive impulse to retreat into the hallway. Just go easy, she admonished herself. Talking to kids is always the same. Doesn’t matter if they don’t like something about themselves or if they are holding weapons. Even though Megan knew what she was telling herself was true, she also knew that a teen who had a weight problem or an esteem issue generally wasn’t equipped to take the counselor’s head off with one shot.
The realization was sobering.
Leslie blinked back tears. Her hands twitched uncontrollably. “Mrs. Gander … ” She tried to talk further, but her voice deserted her.
Megan waited quietly and tried to show confidence. There was nothing she couldn’t handle. Leslie Hollister had to feel that. Every time Megan worked at counseling a child, she had to make that child feel that way. Usually that appearance started because she honestly believed she could handle the situation. She’d never had to work so fiercely to generate that feeling within herself.
“Mrs. Gander,” Leslie tried again. “I just don’t … don’t understand.”
“I know,” Megan said softly.
Leslie yanked a hand back and covered her mouth in an effort to control herself. “My mom … three days ago, my mom … ”
Megan forced herself to wait. “I’m right here, Leslie. Take your time.”
Leslie’s hand holding the pistol shook violently. The .45 slid from her knee and fell. She yanked the big weapon back up, narrowly avoiding contact with the floor.
Releasing a pent-up breath, Megan asked, “Leslie, would you mind putting the pistol down while we talk?”
Suspicious paranoia darkened the girl’s face. She pulled the pistol closer to her chest. “Why?”
“Because having it here makes me nervous.” Megan carefully chose not to call the weapon what it was anymore. Referring to it with a bland pronoun robbed the pistol of some of its importance. It became an object, not an invincible force. Not something that can’t be overcome if we work on it together.
“It makes me feel safe,” Leslie declared. She tightened her grip on the pistol butt. Rebellious defiance shone in her bloodshot eyes.
“Why?” Megan asked.
“Because as long as I have it, I have a choice.”
“A choice about what?”
Leslie scrunched her eyes closed. Tears leaked down her sallow cheeks. “About whether I keep dreaming or I wake up.”
Megan pointed to the floor. She ignored the bed; too much clutter rested there that might fall and prove a disastrous distraction. “Can I sit?”
Leslie hesitated then nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Okay. I mean, this is my dream.” A weak smile played across her lips but never touched the hurt in her eyes. “But I gotta tell you, Mrs. Gander, never in a million years would I have figured you’d ever be sitting in my bedroom.”
Slowly, keeping both hands visible, Megan lowered herself to the floor in a lotus position. She’d studied yoga for the relaxation techniques. For the past few years, since Chris’s birth, spending time at that pursuit proved impossible. But the skills remained.
“You believe you’re dreaming,” Megan said.
A troubled look formed on Leslie’s face. “Of course I am.” She worked her jaw. “I mean, there’s no way all this is real. My mom couldn’t just … just … disappear in the middle of the night like I dreamed she did.”
“Do you remember being in group the day after your mom disappeared?” Megan had gathered all of the base’s surviving kids together with help from Jenny and the other counselors who hadn’t disappeared and had been on base.
Leslie shook her head. “I dreamed that.”
“What did you dream about that meeting?” Megan knew she couldn’t force the girl to remember everything to realize that what was going on now was real. Leslie bordered on being hysterical at the best of times, a
nd the drug abuse and the recent events hadn’t helped her faulty grip on reality. She had to be led back to the now.
“You got us all together.” Leslie’s brow furrowed. “Told us that the disappearances didn’t just happen on base. That they’d happened all around the world.”
Megan nodded encouragement. “That’s right. I did, and they did.”
The statement caused Leslie to shake her head vehemently. “No. This is just a dream.”
“You were watching television that night,” Megan stated calmly. “Up past your bedtime.”
“I do that a lot.”
“You and your mother argued about that earlier.”
Leslie stared through Megan, nodding and starting to rock herself. “Yeah. We argued about that a lot. She hated—hates—trying to get me up in the morning.” She hugged herself with her free arm and gazed around the room. “Now I can hardly wait till she comes and gets me out of bed. Out of this. I can’t believe it’s taking so long.”
Megan ignored that and kept pushing Leslie forward. “You heard a noise that night.”
“My mom,” Leslie agreed. “I swear I heard her call out to me.”
“You thought you were in trouble.”
“Oh, yeah. I hit the remote and blanked the TV quick as I could.”
“But your mom never came to check on you.”
Slowly, Leslie shook her head. “No. And she always checks on me when she thinks I’m up. When she knew I was up late—when she knows I’m up late.”
“But not that night.”
“No.”
Megan made herself breathe despite the desperate tension and fear that filled her and thrummed like a live thing. She kept her voice low and hypnotic, neutral and no threat. Leslie had experienced trouble sleeping lately. She looked worn-out now. Because of the drugs in Leslie’s system, Megan hoped the girl would go to sleep listening to her voice.
“You went to check on your mom,” Megan reminded.
“Yeah.” Leslie remained a knotted ball rocking against the wall.
“What did you find?”
“I thought she’d be sleeping. I mean, if she wasn’t awake checking on me, she had to be sleeping. But I thought maybe she was having a nightmare. I wanted to check on her, make sure she was okay. She’s had it rough since the Rangers deployed. My dad being over there in Turkey—it worries her, you know.” Leslie grimaced. “I mean, of course you know. Your husband is over there.”
“Yes, he is. I worry all the time, and I’ve gotten to talk to him.”
Leslie focused on her. “Has he said anything about my dad? About whether he’s okay or not?”
“He hasn’t,” Megan said. “Goose is in Sanliurfa. Your dad is with a team in Diyarbakir.”
“I don’t even know where that is.”
“It’s is the eastern part of Turkey. Diyarbakir is a large area. An important place. Goose’s team is being kept separate and out of close contact with the Rangers stationed in Diyarbakir and Ankara.” Megan knew that from the news coverage.
According to the media, primarily OneWorld NewsNet, Sanliurfa was a lost cause, a sinking ship that the Americans, Turks, and United Nations were struggling to get to in order to rescue the border militias that had gotten stranded there. She also knew from her infrequent conversations with Goose that the story wasn’t entirely true.
“I wish I could talk to my dad,” Leslie said.
“Maybe we can make that happen,” Megan suggested. “Communications around the world are steadily improving.”
Leslie shrugged. “That’s just in this dream. Maybe when I wake up I’ll find out I was dreaming that, too.” She scratched her leg absently with the pistol.
Megan waited a moment then said, “Could we put that away now?”
“No.” Leslie hauled the pistol back into her stomach. “I like holding on to it.”
“It’s a dream, remember? You have all kinds of powers in dreams. You could fly out of this room. You don’t need that.”
“No.” Her features turned hard.
Megan gave up that front for a moment. “You went to check on your mom that night.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you remember what you found?”
Leslie tried to speak, couldn’t, then swallowed hard and tried again. “My mom was gone.”
“Yes.”
“I thought maybe she’d gone to the kitchen for a drink of water,” Leslie whispered. She looked through Megan again, trapped by the memory. “But that didn’t make any sense because if she’d gone to the kitchen I’d have heard her door open.”
“You were watching TV.”
“She would have heard the TV. She’d have come into my room to check on me and probably ground me for a week.” Leslie shifted her attention to Megan. “I looked in her bed and found her pajamas. That was weird. If she’d left her pajamas in bed, that meant she was walking around the house naked. And that would be like … like … just gross.”
Megan took in a breath and let it out.
“But she wasn’t walking around the house naked,” Leslie said. “She was just … just … ”
“Missing.” Megan tried to keep her voice low to lessen the impact, but she knew at once that the effort was futile. She’d tried to find a new way to talk about the disappearances for two days.
Looking totally miserable, Leslie nodded. She squeezed her eyes tight again and shook as she cried silently.
Resisting her maternal instincts, so sharp now because Chris was missing and Joey had left and Goose was in danger, Megan made herself remain seated instead of crossing the room to put her arms around the girl.
“I found Mom’s wedding ring in the bed, Mrs. Gander.” Leslie snuffled and wiped her tears from her trembling chin with a hand. “Mom never took her ring off. Never. She said Dad had put it on her hand and she would never take it off.”
“I can only imagine how hard that was for you, Leslie.” Megan struggled with her own memories of finding Chris’s clothes after Joey had told her of the disappearances in the base child-care facility.
“It was terrible. Worse than when our cat had kittens and I found one of them dead.” Leslie shrugged, looked up at the ceiling, and wiped mascara from her eyes, smearing black across her cheeks. “I’ve dreamed some pretty horrible stuff before. I’ve dreamed my mom has died in a car wreck, drowned in the ocean, and was in the World Trade Center on 9-11. I’ve even dreamed she was killed by monsters that came out of my closet.” She paused and glanced at Megan for reassurance. “I guess every kid has those dreams.”
“Every child fears the loss of a parent.” Just as every parent fears the loss of a child, Megan thought. After each of her boys had been born, months had passed before she’d gotten a full night’s sleep. She’d constantly gotten up to check on them, afraid that they’d called out to her and she hadn’t heard them, afraid that they’d stopped breathing. Goose had helped her with Chris, something her ex-husband had never done with Joey.
“But maybe not to monsters out of the closet,” Leslie suggested with a slight grin.
“Maybe not to that,” Megan admitted.
Leslie looked around the room. “It’s kind of weird, you know. How long this dream has lasted. Usually they seem to last only a few minutes. No more than a few hours. But this has lasted for days. Somebody once told me that you always know when you’re dreaming because you can never see a clock in a dream.” She gazed at the digital clock on the small nightstand by her bed. “I’ve been watching clocks and watches for days.”
“I don’t think that’s especially true. I’ve had dreams where I could tell time.”
“When the clock thing didn’t work, I tried other stuff. Stuff I knew would usually draw my mom down on me in a heartbeat. Stuff she usually has like mutant’s powers for, you know?”
“A mother’s radar.”
“Yeah.” Leslie shrugged helplessly. “But it didn’t work. Nothing I tried did. I mean, I thought that me filling the bedroom with food and dirty dish
es would get my mom in here for sure.” Leslie paused. “She hated that.”
Megan surveyed the carnage. “Looks like you went all out.”
“I did.” Leslie gave an embarrassed grin at praise for something so blatantly wrong. “I figured even in a dream, Mom would be here in a second.”
“But she wasn’t.”
“No.” Leslie shook her head. “So I called Tori over.”
“Why?” Megan was curious about that, trying to put all the pieces together.
“Because Mom doesn’t really like Tori. Mom knows Tori smokes, which she doesn’t approve of.”
“But she didn’t know that Tori smoked pot.”
“No way.” A little calmer now, Leslie wiped her face. “If Mom knew Tori smoked pot, Mom would have never let Tori into this house.”
Megan was silent for a time. Rain continued to sluice down Leslie’s bedroom window. The amber lights mounted on the sawhorses outside streaked the running water as regularly as a metronome.
Lolling her head against the wall, Leslie yawned. She covered her mouth and said, “Excuse me. That one snuck up on me.” The effort seemed entirely normal except for the bullet hole in the wall that her movement had revealed.
The sight of the bullet hole jarred Megan. She tried not to focus on it. “You’re tired.”
“Yeah. Can’t hardly keep my eyes open.” Leslie shifted again.
“Have you ever gone to sleep in a dream?”
“That doesn’t make sense. You’re sleeping when you’re dreaming. So you have to go to sleep to dream.”
“No,” Megan said patiently. “Have you ever dreamed of going to bed and going to sleep? I have.”
“That would be too weird.” Leslie stifled another yawn.
Megan made herself smile, but she knew if she could get the girl to lie down for only a few minutes the present situation would defuse itself. After that, she’d have some time to think and plan on how to help her. “Maybe not. Maybe it’s like resting twice as much.”
Leslie struggled against the wall as if trying to find a more comfortable position. “That sounds stupid. I’m sorry if that sounds rude, but this is my dream. Maybe I won’t even remember it when I wake up, and I hope to God that I don’t, but I know for sure that you won’t remember it.”
