by Mel Odom
Captain Remington stepped from the Hummer’s passenger seat and walked purposefully into the building. The private made the necessary adjustments to the camera feeds to stay with Remington.
Interest and a little trepidation thrummed inside Goose. The captain hadn’t mentioned that he planned on visiting the hospital.
Remington hadn’t communicated on the way over either. Usually the captain stayed with the nerve center even after the close action was finished. And usually nearly every move Remington made Goose knew ahead of time, either by knowing the man or by being kept informed.
Remington’s presence now was a surprise.
Somebody bumped the table stakes, Goose guessed. He hadn’t relayed the information that he had one of Cody’s agents in custody. That fact wasn’t a salient point during the battle for the city. Cody and his team were an internal problem, small when compared to the effort required to hold Sanliurfa.
Only Remington’s presence testified that wasn’t true. He wouldn’t have come to the hospital to inspect the wounded and the dead. That wasn’t his way. He would wait until the company officers made the reports their staff sergeants gave them.
Goose’s mind cleared as anticipation filled him. From over his shoulder he studied Winters. The CIA agent’s eyes showed bright hope. Catching Goose staring at him, the man smiled.
“Officer’s coming,” Barnett bawled. “Button it up and dust it off.”
The Rangers inside the security office attended to their attire out of habit.
Goose walked to the doorway and peered out.
Remington moved briskly down the hallway in stained BDUs. Enlisted saluted him as he approached. His jaw was a hard, clenched line.
“Captain,” Goose greeted, firing off a quick salute.
“First Sergeant,” Remington returned as he came to a halt in front of the door.
Goose noticed there was no immediate command of “at ease,” the way Remington normally handled their relationship. He stayed at attention as did the enlisted men around him and inside the security office.
“You’ve got a man in custody in this room, First Sergeant,” Remington said.
“Yes, sir,” Goose replied, keeping his eyes locked and level.
“Why wasn’t I informed?”
“Sir, this man’s arrest had nothing to do with the battle, sir.”
Goose replied in crisp tones, maintaining the complete professionalism Remington demanded.
“That was your assessment, First Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you chose not to bother me with this detail?”
“Sir, not while you were otherwise engaged in maintaining the safety of this post, sir.”
Remington gave a grudging nod. “Point taken, First Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nodding toward Winters, Remington asked, “Have you identified this man?”
“He says his name is Winters, sir.”
“And who is Winters?”
“He won’t say, sir, but CIA Section Chief Alex Cody tells me the man belongs to him.”
Remington’s eyebrows lifted. “Cody did, did he?”
“Yes, sir. He asked that I remand Mr. Winters to his custody.”
“Asked, First Sergeant?”
“Captain, Section Chief Cody made it plain that he was dissatisfied with my reluctance to hand Mr. Winters over to him.”
“I suppose he would be.”
“Yes, sir.”
Remington studied Winters. From the corner of his eye, Goose noted that the CIA agent no longer looked as hopeful as he had.
“Have you seen this man before tonight, First Sergeant?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you believe that he is a CIA agent?”
Goose considered that, wondering if Remington knew something that he didn’t. “I decided that wasn’t my decision to make, Captain. Thought I’d leave it up to you.”
“You were holding Mr. Winters here for me.”
“Yes, sir. I planned to notify you of Mr. Winters’s arrest when you signaled an all clear.”
“Have you talked with Mr. Winters?”
“Mr. Winters is reluctant to talk, Captain.”
A cold, cruel smile spread across Remington’s lips. “All right, First Sergeant, I’ll take over.”
“Yes, sir.”
Remington stepped into the room. Barnett and the privates manning the security station remained at attention.
“At ease,” Remington said.
The enlisted men relaxed.
Goose followed Remington into the room, staying at the captain’s six almost two strides behind.
Remington turned around and locked eyes with Goose. “I’ll take it from here, First Sergeant.”
“Sir?” Goose stood his ground. As fatigued as he was, comprehension came slowly. He’d fully expected to be present while Remington dealt with the prisoner.
“You’re dismissed, First Sergeant. Get my squads back together and get the defense of this city back in shape. I want the security perimeter reestablished, and I want to know how badly we were hurt by that attack. And I need that information five minutes ago.”
Stung by the unexpected dismissal, Goose saluted. “Yes, sir.” He put the toe of one boot behind the other and executed an about-face that strained his injured knee. He kept his head up as he walked out of the room. Remington was angry over the situation and was taking some of that out on him now, but it didn’t make sense for the captain to send Goose away. Remington’s dismissal was meant as an insult, a reminder of who was in charge.
As Goose stepped into the hallway, he spotted CIA Section Chief Cody making a beeline for the security office. His three agents followed in his slipstream.
Limping slightly, Goose continued toward the main room. It was going to be interesting to see who won the battle of wills between the captain and the CIA agent. But it was a grim reminder that more was at stake than Goose knew.
The tensions inside the city were building as quickly as those outside the city. Goose wouldn’t have wanted to take bets on which one was going to blow first.
13
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 2241 Hours
Megan’s cell phone chirped for attention and roused her from her recurring nightmare of Leslie Hollister’s shooting. The unexpected sound startled her.
Over the last few days, cellular service had remained impossible.
The circuits that were still up after the disappearances were often taken over by FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Repeated interviews with FEMA spokespeople had assured listeners that the service would be returned as soon as possible.
Megan placed her coffee on the floor as she reached for her purse. She took the phone out and flipped it open. “Hello.”
“Megan?”
“Yes.” Megan recognized Jenny McGrath’s voice. Joey had brought her to the post during the night of the disappearances. He’d taken her out to a club that night, using a fake ID and staying out way past his curfew.
At first, Megan had partially blamed Jenny for Joey’s waywardness, but meeting the girl had changed that opinion. She was beautiful and outgoing, and only nineteen.
Jenny had told Megan everything about her relationship with Joey. There hadn’t been much to tell. She had known Joey liked her, and she’d liked him. But Jenny had no intention of getting serious about anyone because she didn’t have time or interest. Megan had intuitively known there was more to Jenny’s story, but she’d also known Jenny wasn’t going to talk about things until she was ready. For the moment, Megan was just glad that circumstances had placed Jenny there to help out.
Once the post was locked down and no one without military ID was allowed in, Megan had persuaded Jenny to stay with her. Jenny lived alone with her father. With the phones out, no way existed of knowing whether her father was at home. Megan hadn’t wanted Jenny to leave until they could be sure s
he would be all right. For the moment, the city was no place for a girl alone.
Jenny had proven to be a godsend. She had a natural affinity for other teens, and she seemed able to handle any crisis that came along. Surprisingly, she knew a lot about cooking and cleaning that aided in supporting all the teens who filled the Gander household.
Several people had opened their doors to kids who were left without parents or guardians and didn’t want to stay at home alone. At present, the Gander house was full nearly to bursting, but even in the packed home Megan still felt the absence of Chris, Joey, and Goose.
“Are you all right?” Jenny asked. Voices sounded in the background.
“I’m fine,” Megan answered. She tried to make sure her voice sounded confident.
Jenny hesitated. “I didn’t know if the cell phone was working. When I couldn’t reach you at the office, I thought I’d give it a try.”
“I’m glad you did. I hadn’t even thought of trying to use it. We’ll need to call around to the people helping us and let them know the cells are up. At least for now.” One of the first things Megan had done when she organized the support teams for the teens and adults struggling to come to grips with what had happened was put together a phone tree with home, work, and cell phone numbers.
“I will,” Jenny promised. “First thing after I get off the phone with you.” The voices in the background sounded louder.
“Is everything okay there?” Megan asked. She suddenly realized that she should have called to let Jenny know she wasn’t going to be home anytime soon. Guilt assailed her. Somehow she couldn’t seem to do anything right.
“Everything here is chaotic,” Jenny assured her. “But we’re good. Nothing to worry about.”
The voices dimmed a little and Megan guessed from the steady hum of the washer on spin cycle that Jenny had stepped into the utility room. The washer and dryer ran constantly, struggling to keep up with the need for clean clothes for the teens.
“What you’re hearing,” Jenny went on, “are the sounds of a Monopoly game in the kitchen and a DVD audience in the living room.” She sighed. “There’s popcorn everywhere.”
“It’s okay,” Megan said. “It’ll clean.”
“I know. I’m not really worried about it. It’s just constant, you know. No matter what, nothing ever really seems to get done.”
The guilt Megan felt cut more deeply. She should have seen this coming. Jenny was hardly any older than most of the teens there. Helping out around the house was a tremendous responsibility for the young woman.
“When was the last time you were out of that house?” Megan asked.
“I haven’t been.”
“I’m sorry. I should have thought to relieve you.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“I know, but—”
“Megan, I called to see how you were,” Jenny interrupted politely. “I just heard about the girl who was shot.”
“Leslie,” Megan said automatically. “Leslie Hollister.” It seemed important that people know Leslie’s name. Megan didn’t want her—Leslie—to just be a statistic.
“How is she?”
Megan’s throat tightened, and she had to work to force the words out. “I don’t know. She’s in surgery. They’re supposed to let us know. I’m sorry. I should have called. I should have known you would hear about—about—” She couldn’t say “the shooting,” and anything in place of that term seemed too dismissive.
“Calling here would have been like the last thing on my mind if I were in your shoes. How long until you know something?”
“I don’t know. I’m not going to leave—” her voice tightened up more—“I’m not going to leave until I find out how this … this is going to go.” She refused to let herself be negative. Leslie Hollister was going to make it. “Not until I hear that Leslie is stabilized.”
“Don’t worry about anything here. We’ve got things under control.”
Someone whooped enthusiastically in the background.
Megan felt an immediate backlash of anger at whoever sounded so delighted. Everything in the world had changed. Her family was scattered, some of them maybe lost … forever. There wasn’t a teen in her house who hadn’t lost someone. It just didn’t seem fair that anyone would be happy.
She took a breath, held it a moment, then let it and her anger out. What she was hearing, she knew after years of counseling and raising kids of her own, was the resiliency of youth. Nothing lasted forever in a young person’s life. Everything changed every day. They just made the adjustment and kept moving. Youth was a river, a constant stream that flowed wherever it could.
But not all of those young people can make those adjustments, Megan reminded herself. That’s why Leslie is here.
“How about you?” Jenny asked. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” she said. Yeah, right.
Jenny was silent.
Megan knew at once that the young woman didn’t buy into her fib. There was something about Jenny McGrath, some skill or sense that could see deeper than most people twice her age.
“Okay,” Megan said, “I’m not fine. But I’m holding up.”
“I could probably get away from here for a little while. Stacy and Richard can keep the household running. Not much to it, really. Just make sure everybody uses the popcorn button on the microwave and keeps spills to a minimum.”
Stacy and Richard Delmonico were two of the most responsible teens in the group. They were brother and sister. Their mother was a career drill sergeant currently assigned TDY to Fort Sill. Their father was in Nevada visiting his ailing mother. So far neither parent had called, but a lot of phone lines were still not functioning. In spite of their own worries about their parents, the two kids had stayed calm and helped greatly around the Gander household.
“I appreciate that, Jenny. Really I do. But I wouldn’t be good company.” “That,” Jenny said, “would be my part of the bargain. I could even bring you something to eat. I bet you haven’t eaten yet.”
“No,” Megan admitted. Around the house, she sometimes forgot to eat even though she helped prepare so many meals for the teens. Every time she did forget, Jenny always seemed to be there to remind her.
“I’ve got homemade chicken noodle soup. I could bring you a thermos.”
Megan’s immediate impulse was to say no.
“Is anyone with you?” Jenny asked before Megan could answer.
Megan glanced at the two young MPs. “No.” They weren’t her friends. The only friends she had at the hospital had disappeared or were swamped with emergencies.
During the past few days, Megan had greatly missed Helen Cordell, the night-shift supervisor who had worked at the counseling center and the base hospital. Helen had, like so many other people Megan had known, disappeared. Megan hadn’t seen the clothes that Helen had left behind, but she had heard stories of their discovery.
“You could use a friend,” Jenny said decisively. Another whoop went up from the Monopoly crowd as someone went directly to jail. “And I could use a break from Camp Gander. Just for a little while. Gotta be quieter at the hospital, right?”
“Right,” Megan said.
“I’ll nuke the soup. Be up there in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Jenny.”
“No prob. I’ll see you soon.”
Megan clicked the phone off and started to return it to her purse. Then she realized that if her cell was working Joey’s might function as well. She punched in her son’s number and listened, hoping that he would answer so she would know he was all right. Then she could open negotiations to get him back where he belonged.
United States of America
Columbus, Georgia
Local Time 2243 Hours
Joey Holder woke slowly, fighting his way through cottony layers of fatigue and a hangover. He was beginning to recognize the symptoms after the last couple days, but he still wasn’t used to them. He’d never been a drinker, and had never gotten interest
ed in overindulging—until two days ago.
Occasionally he’d sipped alcohol one of his buddies had swiped from home, but he’d never gotten inebriated. He knew his mom would probably know immediately, and he figured that Goose might just kill him on the spot.
Opening his eyes wide in the darkness, Joey stared up at the ceiling. Demons and devils stood out in glowing purple, green, and red on the walls. Horns and chains covered the fantastic and hideous creatures. Seductive women in wisps of electric blue clothing accompanied the monsters.
I’m in hell, Joey thought in wide-eyed panic. He surveyed the gruesome creatures. Then he calmed himself, remembering the posters on the walls and the ceiling in the borrowed bedroom where he slept. He just hadn’t noticed they were black-light posters. In fact, he barely remembered stumbling into the room at all that afternoon.
He rolled his head, noting that he hadn’t even made his way to the bed before collapsing. He lay on the floor within arm’s reach of the bed. A headache pounded at his temples. When he swallowed, he felt like he was trying to choke down a dead cat covered in talc. Most people probably didn’t know what it tasted like, dry and bitter and thick, but Joey could still remember when he was really small and had licked the talc container.
At least I didn’t puke my guts up tonight, he told himself. That had happened yesterday morning. He’d woken up in his own vomit and freaked out. He hadn’t even known he was sick; the whole night before was a blur.
He sat up slowly, knowing there was no avoiding the pain of the hangover. Once the room stopped swimming, he pushed himself to his feet and stood swaying. He kept a hand on the wall for balance and tried to remember where he was. The group he’d fallen in with moved around a lot, shifting from house to house, never staying in the same place twice. Generally, they’d worn their welcome out in each place.
The bedroom evidently belonged to a young person. Probably a teenager, Joey judged from the black-light posters and the drum set in one corner. A gun rack mounted on the wall held two bats, one wood and one metal. A skateboard and a BMX bike occupied space near the head of the bed.
