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’ve 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
