Apocalypse Unleashed (20 page)

“I take it you weren’t looking forward to this meeting,” Remington said.

Cody’s answer was unflinching. “No.”

Remington glanced at the wave of advancing Black Hawk helicopters on one of the computers and raised his voice. “Lieutenant?”

“Sir?”

“Where are my helos?”

“Four minutes out from Harran, sir. Making good time.”

“Com.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Open a frequency to Black Angel.”

“Roger, sir. You’ve got a frequency … now.”

“Black Angel Leader,” Remington greeted, “this is Base.”

“Affirmative, Base. Black Angel Leader reads you.”

“I appreciate the haste. Those men there at the site will appreciate it more.”

“Affirmative, Base. Looking forward to spreading the love with those hostiles.”

“The Rangers there have orders to pull out shortly before your arrival.”

“Understood, Base.”

“Those Rangers need your support to effect a successful exfiltration. Equally important, we need to damage as much Syrian hardware there as we can.”

“We’ll do our best.”

“I’m counting on it. Good luck, Black Angels.” Remington glanced at the television feed again and watched Goose for a moment. “Now, Section Chief Cody, what brings you back to my watch? The last I recall, we weren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

“Since your sergeant wrecked my communications site, I haven’t had much cause to be exactly trusting of you.”

“Right back at you.” Remington didn’t look at the man.

“If I hadn’t been ordered to work with you, I wouldn’t be here.”

Remington smiled cruelly. “Just because you’ve been ordered to work with me doesn’t mean I’m going to work with you.”

“You will.” Cody sounded far too sure of himself.

“Why?”

“Because we share the same mysterious benefactor.”

Nicolae Carpathia. The name hung between Remington and the CIA man like a weeping sore.

As if on cue, Remington’s sat-phone vibrated. He hauled it from his BDUs and checked caller ID.
Nicolae Carpathia
showed on the viewscreen. The number was in New York. Remington knew Carpathia had recently been appointed as leader of the United Nations.

Feeling a little nervous, Remington flipped the phone open.

“Remington.”

19

United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0737 Hours

“Good morning, Captain Remington,” Carpathia greeted in his warm, ebullient voice. He made it sound like he’d waited hours just to speak with Remington, as if the captain were the most important person he’d speak with all day.

“Good morning, sir.” Remington resented the fact that he had to kowtow to the man, but there was no one else in the world who could give him what he needed to keep his efforts alive in Sanliurfa.

“I can see by the news that your people have their struggles cut out for them in Harran.”

“Yes, sir. We’re doing our best to work it out.”

“Excellent. I have the utmost faith in you.”

Just those few words suddenly lifted the weariness from Remington’s shoulders. He felt better than he had in days. “Thank you, sir.”

“I believe you are also aware of my appointment to United Nations secretarygeneral.”

“Yes, sir. Congratulations.” Remington still couldn’t believe how quickly that change had taken place. Carpathia had only come to New York to talk about all the disappearances and urge the world to work together. The previous secretarygeneral had stepped down, and Carpathia had been voted into office.

“We have not had a chance to talk since a few days after the disappearances around the world took place.”

“No, sir.” Although Remington was conscious of the clock ticking down as the helos neared Harran, and although normally he wouldn’t have allowed anything to distract him, he was strangely calm while listening to Carpathia.

“I regret that,” Carpathia said.

“So do I, sir.”

“I will make certain that so much time is not allowed to pass in the future.”

“I’d appreciate that, sir.”

“In the meantime,” Carpathia said, “I would like to make a request.”

“Anything.” The answer was out of Remington’s mouth before he knew he was going to say it.

“I know that you and Section Chief Cody do not exactly see eye-to-eye on things there.”

That’s putting it lightly,
Remington thought. He didn’t like the CIA section chief playing in his backyard without letting him know what was going on.

“However, Section Chief Cody has a problem—one that involves you—and I fear he has no one else to turn to in order to rectify it.”

Remington nodded. “I’d be happy to help.”

“Good,” Carpathia enthused. “Is Felix taking care of you?”

“Yes.”

“I am glad the two of you are getting along so well.”

“Yes, sir.”

The clock on the helos’ ETA now read fifty-two seconds. Remington watched the digital readout dropping numbers in heartbeats.

“I will be making some changes in the UN,” Carpathia went on. “Most of the changes will involve restructuring various military components around the world in order to bring everyone together. I take great pride in telling you that you and your men will be the beneficiaries of that restructuring very soon now. You just need to stay alive for a short time longer.”

“That’s our intention, sir.”

“Let me know if I can be of any further assistance in the future, Captain. I expect our partnership to encompass a long life and many successes over the coming years.”

“I’m glad you think that, sir.” Remington was surprised to learn how glad he actually was.

Carpathia said good-bye and hung up.

Remington folded the phone and dropped it back into his BDUs.

“Our benefactor?” Cody asked smugly.

“Yes.” Remington squared his shoulders. “What do you need?”

“Icarus.”

That was the code name of the mysterious agent the CIA had been trying to intercept since shortly before the Syrians’ initial attack. Remington hadn’t been able to learn much about the man. Icarus had infiltrated a terrorist organization called the Kurdistan Worker’s Party. The PKK had been set up to liberate an independent Kurdish state within Turkey.

To draw further notice to their goals, they’d decided to assassinate Chaim Rosenzweig, an Israeli botanist who had invented the synthetic fertilizer that had turned Israel into fertile ground and made that country rich almost overnight. Icarus had managed to foil the assassination plot, but his cover had been blown. He’d been marked for death and captured. Goose had taken a team and managed to intercept the terrorists before they’d gotten away.

Since that time, Icarus had been on the run. For reasons known only to him, he’d chosen to strike up a relationship with Goose.

“Icarus is your problem,” Remington said.

Cody pushed out an angry breath. “Icarus is a problem for all of us. Nicolae wants the man caught and disappeared.”

The idea of killing the man didn’t bother Remington. “Again, that’s your problem. Not mine.”

“I wish that were true.” Cody sounded genuinely saddened by the turn of events. “From what we’ve been able to ascertain, Icarus is no longer here in Sanliurfa.”

“Then I can’t help you.” Remington watched the screen. The Syrian tanks and APCs had reached the town’s limits. He raised his voice. “Falcon Leader, this is Base.”

“Go, Base. You have Falcon Leader.” Swindoll sounded rattled.

“Begin your withdrawal. Quickly as you can. Evac the wounded by air. Get the rest of your people out of there by convoy. The Black Hawks will provide cover.”

“Affirmative.”

“You’re going to have to help me,” Cody stated quietly.

“You just said Icarus isn’t here,” Remington reminded.

“He isn’t. He’s in Harran.”

Remington kept his face impassive with effort.

“We suspect that he’s trying to seek out your first sergeant again.”

“Why?”

“Because I had a team on First Sergeant Gander, in case of this eventuality. They spotted Icarus this morning and contacted me.”

“Then why don’t they bring him in?”

“After repeated efforts over the last forty minutes, I haven’t been able to reach them.” Cody pursed his lips and looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. “I’m fairly certain they’re dead.” He nodded at the screen. “Given that the Syrians are about to be in possession of Harran, I figure your people are likely the last chance I have of getting Icarus back.”

Remington stared at the destruction overtaking the ancient city. Tanks and APCs plunged through houses and buildings. Infantry jogged behind the mechanical behemoths. Other computer monitors offered views of the Rangers retreating through the streets in vehicles and on foot. Survival had become a deadly footrace.

“Do you really expect me to find Icarus in that?” Remington asked.

“You’re the best chance I have, Captain. That city is sinking. Icarus is going to be like any other rat. He’ll try to find a way out to safety. Circulate his image. Let’s see if he pops up.”

United States 75th Army Rangers Outpost
Harran
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 0736 Hours

Goose wished that Danielle and her cameraman had stayed back. Following him was dangerous. Then he realized that anywhere in Harran was dangerous for an American citizen. Even the people who lived in the town would be forfeit if the Syrians caught up to them.

“Falcon Three,” Swindoll called.

Goose didn’t respond. Two of the Bedouins still remained on the loose. He guessed that they would be listening for him.

When he reached the narrow alley ahead of him, he turned and looked down it. Nothing stirred, though the town seemed to vibrate with the rock and roll caused by the advancing Syrian cavalry. Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the house in front of him.

Goose whirled and hunkered down. His weak knee screamed in agony, but he somehow forced it to hold up under him. He brought the M-4A1 online and squeezed the trigger. Bullets ripped across the windowsill and through the thin curtains, where a rifle muzzle protruded. Rounds from the Bedouin weapon pocked the wall over Goose’s head.

The Bedouin tumbled backward without a sound.

“Goose!” Danielle yelled. “The rooftop!”

Glancing up, Goose barely made out another Bedouin atop the roof. Goose threw himself to one side just before bullets whipped through the space where he’d been. He fired again, emptying the carbine’s magazine in a final chatter of fullauto. The bullets stitched up the roof, easily piercing the thin cover, and tracked onto the Bedouin. The man lost his weapon and fell from the other side of the house.

Goose fed a new magazine into the M-4A1 and got up. It felt like a colony of fire ants had taken up residence in his knee.

“Falcon Three,” Swindoll tried again. “Goose.”

“Three reads you, Leader. I was sidetracked with a couple things.”

Goose limped forward and checked the two Bedouins. Both men were dead.

“We’re exfiltrating,” Swindoll said.

“Affirmative. I’ve got wounded here. I’ll get there when I can.”

Goose turned back the way he’d come. “Falcon Eleven, are you still with me?”

“Yes. I need help.”

“I’ll be there.” Goose walked past Danielle and the cameraman. “Ma’am, you two shouldn’t be here.”

Danielle didn’t say anything.

“Do you know where the airport is?” Goose asked.

“Yes.”

“Then get there. This town’s about to get turned inside out, and you don’t want to be here when it happens.”

“You’ve got wounded men back there.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of them.”

“It’ll be easier if
we
take care of them.” Danielle fell into stride with him, easily catching up to him. His leg throbbed and felt unsteady.