ricocheted from the body armor covering his back.
Goose sighted on the man’s face and pulled the trigger. The man stopped running and stood there swaying. A look of disbelief was frozen on his face. Goose fired again and the man’s head jerked back. Then he slumped forward on his knees and went face-first into the mud.
Not believing what had happened himself, Goose lay there and stared at the dead men around him. The rain came down harder, covering him in a gentle wash that cleaned him of the mud and the blood.
After he got his breath, he stood and walked, limping on his bad knee and trying to ignore the pain.
34
Downtown Sanliurfa
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 1039 Hours
Danielle covered her face with her hands and shoved her head down between her knees as glass from the fallen ceiling fan sprayed around her. Fragments pelted her, and she felt a few sharp stings on her forearms and the back of her neck. When the worst of it seemed over, she cautiously looked up again.
Pete had roped his arms protectively around the notebook computer on the table. He held his position for a few moments, then leaned back and studied the ceiling with some trepidation.
“You know,” he said, “I’m beginning to wonder if we should take this meeting down into the wine cellar.”
Shaking, Danielle studied the cuts on her bare arms. Glass fragments glittered on her clothing. She started to brush at it, then realized that she’d only cut up her hands. She took a napkin off the table and knocked the glass from her lap.
“If we go down there,” she said, “we’ll lose the Internet connection. We’re lucky we have it now.”
“Yeah, but part of me keeps wondering if the Syrians are using Internet hot spots as targets.”
The thought chilled Danielle. She swept her gaze over the people around them. She didn’t like thinking she was responsible for bringing death closer to them.
“That’s not what’s happening,” Pete said. “I didn’t mean to drop that on you. That wasn’t fair.”
Danielle nodded.
The screen pixilated again. This time the image reformed even sharper than before. She stared hard at the faces of the two men revealed in the video footage. The driver remained mostly hidden behind the glare reflecting off the windshield. The man on the passenger side of the vehicle held a rocket launcher over his shoulder.
Three-quarters of his face showed.
“That rocket launcher blocks a lot of his face,” Danielle said.
“We knew that when we started this. So did your friend. We all agreed that this was the best image we had.”
“I know.”
“If we don’t get anything from this photo, it’s not going to happen. And we’re lucky to get this much.”
Danielle glared at the image and willed it to give up its secrets. “Do those men look Syrian to you?”
Pete shook his head. “No. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t hired by the Syrians.”
“Whoever those men were, they singled us out. They knew which helicopter Icarus evaced on.”
“You’re assuming that.”
“It’s a safe assumption. No one else on any of those helicopters would have been a target.”
“What about you?”
“Me?” That thought hadn’t occurred to Danielle.
“Sure. You’re a reporter. OneWorld NewsNet. You’ve been hotdogging screen time out here, becoming the voice of the people of the free world. At least for American television.” Pete grinned sheepishly. “The Syrians might like the idea of taking out a significant member of the American press.”
Danielle hadn’t thought of herself in that way. It was flattering, she supposed. And maybe even a little true.
“You were doing spots from Harran,” Pete pointed out. “They knew you were there.”
“They wouldn’t hire an assassination team to come after me.”
Pete nodded at the image on the computer. “Like you said, those men don’t look like Syrian military. Somebody hired them. That’s why you wanted to take a closer look at them.”
Danielle knew that was true. But she’d also concentrated on the men because it was all she could do. Remington had given orders that the press were to stay out of the street and out of the way of his men. The Rangers had orders to take into custody any press members they found roaming and lock them up for the duration of the attack.
Many of the reporters felt certain that being placed under such “protection” would actually turn out to be a death sentence. All of them had cleared immediately.
Abruptly a line of script ran across the bottom of the computer screen.
Mystic:›TALK TO ME, MUCKRAKER.
Danielle slid forward, placed her hands on the keyboard, and opened up a chat application. She went immediately to a private room she’d arranged with Mystic.
Muckraker:›YOU THERE?
Almost immediately a response appeared on the screen.
Mystic:›YES. GLAD TO KNOW YOU’RE STILL ALL IN ONE PIECE.
Another nearby explosion shook the hotel.
Muckraker:›SO FAR. DOESN’T APPEAR HOPEFUL.
Mystic:›I’M WATCHING THE COVERAGE ON CNN.
Danielle knew that OneWorld NewsNet and others continued carrying the story through a few automated cameras set up throughout the city.
Mystic:›I SAW A MODEL REENACTMENT OF SANTA ANNA’S ARMY TAKING THE ALAMO. LOOKS A LOT LIKE WHAT YOU GUYS ARE GOING THROUGH NOW. VASTLY OUTNUMBERED.
Muckraker:›AREN’T YOU FULL OF GOOD CHEER.
Mystic:›WELL, AT LEAST I COME BEARING GIFTS.
Danielle’s heart leaped.
Muckraker:›YOU IDENTIFIED THE MEN IN THE IMAGE.
Mystic:›ONLY ONE OF THEM. BUT HE’S A BIG PIECE. I’M SENDING YOU A PACKET. LOG IN TO YOUR FTP SITE AND PICK IT UP. I SQUEEZED IT AND DRAINED IT. SHOULD DOWNLOAD FAST FOR YOU.
Danielle opened up another window and accessed the FTP client she had on the computer. Once activated, the program searched for new packages and found one immediately. She started the download.
Muckraker:›GOT IT.
Mystic:›YOU’RE GOING TO LIKE THIS.
Muckraker:›THE SHOOTER TIES BACK TO OUR CIA SECTION CHIEF.
Mystic:›IMPRESSIVE. PSYCHIC MUCH?
Muckraker:›NOT HARD TO FIGURE OUT WHO AROUND HERE WOULD HIRE AN ASSASSINATION TEAM TO TAKE OUT THE MAN ABOARD THAT HELICOPTER.
Mystic:›TRUE. THAT’S HOW I WAS ABLE TO TURN THIS SO QUICKLY. I HAD MY SUSPICIONS TOO.
Muckraker:›WHO IS HE?
Mystic:›GOT THE PACKET?
Danielle watched the last of the transfer take place. She opened it and saw thumbnail images pop up in neat rows. Some of the images were of people. Others showed newspaper stories and official-looking documents.
Muckraker:›LOOKING AT IT NOW. HIS NAME IS MARCUS ALLEN? REAL OR ALIAS?
Mystic:›EVERYTHING I’VE BEEN ABLE TO DIG UP SAYS THAT IT’S HIS TRUE NAME. GUY HAS A HISTORY. CAREER SOLDIER GOT BOOTED FOR PLAYING HARDBALL WITH PRISONERS. HE QUIETLY MUSTERED OUT AS THE HEAT STARTED TURNING UP. THEN HE STARTED HITTING THE MERCENARY SCENE. IT DIDN’T TAKE ME
