She put the other man out of her mind for the moment and focused on the CIA section chief.
“Excuse me,” Danielle said.
Cody didn’t move, but his gaze cut to the big mirror behind the bar. “Miss Vinchenzo.” His voice came out flat and uninviting.
An explosion sounded outside. Danielle grabbed the bar and prepared to hurl herself behind it. When she glanced back at Cody, the man grinned at her.
“Somewhat apprehensive, aren’t you?” he taunted. He tipped his drink and sipped casually. “You’ll never hear the one that gets you. Those missiles travel faster than the speed of sound.”
Danielle ignored the comment. “I’d like to talk to you.”
“As a reporter? Or as a woman?”
“A reporter.”
“Too bad.” Cody sipped his drink and set the glass on the bar. “I’m not currently interested in talking with the press.”
“You’re a CIA section chief.”
Some of the spirit went out of Cody’s smile, but he kept it in place. “Quite an imagination you have there.”
“It’s not my imagination.”
“If you air something like that, you’d better have proof to back it up.”
“When I air it,” Danielle said, “I’ll have proof.”
“Bully for you.” Cody drained his glass and gestured to the bartender to bring another. “Did you just come down here to share conspiracy theories, Miss Vinchenzo? Or did you have something you really wanted to get around to?”
Danielle slid onto the stool next to Cody. She looked at him in the mirror. The bartender approached and asked her if she wanted a drink; she politely refused.
“Marcus Allen,” Danielle stated. “Your guy that shot down the helicopter I was on?”
Cody didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know anyone named Marcus Allen, and I don’t know about any helicopter.”
“Allen is a mercenary. An ex-soldier. You’ve worked with him before.”
“I’d like to see you try to prove that.”
“I will.”
Cody frowned. “As amusing as this conversation is, and as grateful as I am to have a diversion while bombs are flying through the air around us, Miss Vinchenzo, I really don’t have the inclination to sit and listen to it.”
“Goose is still alive, and so is Icarus,” Danielle said. “Whatever you’re hiding is going to come out.”
“I,” Cody declared, “am not hiding a thing.” He drained his fresh drink and stood. Then he asked the bartender for a bottle and a glass. “I’m headed up to my room. If you want to continue this discussion, you’re welcome to come up. I can get another glass, and there’s a big whirlpool tub in the room.”
Danielle’s face burned.
“I didn’t think so,” Cody stated. He laughed, and the sound was thin and brittle. “A word to the wise,” he said quietly. “If a CIA section chief were trying to hide something like you suspect, I’d be really careful if I were you. Maybe he’d start thinking that Icarus and Sergeant Gander aren’t the only people who need killing, that maybe I’ve stuck my head up just a little too far and gotten noticed.” He turned and walked away.
Helplessly, feeling a little frightened despite her resolve not to be intimidated, Danielle watched him go.
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 1623 Hours
Remington scanned the battlefield through the satellite feeds. The Syrian cavalry crept closer, braving the mud now that they’d knocked in the fortifications fronting the city. Inside, Remington cursed. His position was rapidly becoming untenable.
They were going to have to concede part of the city to the Syrians. The idea of doing that filled him with rage and helplessness.
He didn’t care for either feeling.
“Captain?” the corporal at the com called.
“Yes?”
“I’ve got a caller here who says he’s Nicolae Carpathia.”
“Is he?”
The corporal looked embarrassed. “I don’t know, sir, but he sounds sincere.”
“Sincere.”
“Yes, sir.” The corporal broke eye contact.
Remington took a deep breath and let it out. “Put him through.”
“Yes, sir.”
Remington flicked his headset over to receive the incoming call. There was a brief burst of static; then Nicolae Carpathia’s melodic baritone filled Remington’s ear.
“Captain Remington,” Carpathia greeted.
“Mr. SecretaryGeneral,” Remington said, “please forgive my tactlessness, but I’m somewhat pressed for time at the moment.”
“So I see.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. SecretaryGeneral?”
“Please, Cal. We are practically old friends, you and I. And I am hoping we get to know each other much better in the future. Call me Nicolae.”
“All right.” A vague feeling of well-being spread throughout Remington, but part of him insisted on remaining wary.
“And actually I was calling in regard to something I may be able to do for you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. That is what I was calling about. As secretarygeneral, I have been given unlimited control over troop movements and recruitment. The general consensus seems to be that I will know best what to do.”
In spite of the tension that filled Remington as he watched medical corpsmen carry three litters of wounded back to a Hummer, the captain smiled.
“The reason for my call is that I have directed several UN troop contingents to join you there,” Carpathia said.
“Troops?” Remington couldn’t believe he’d heard right.
“Yes. Reinforcements, actually.”
Remington felt certain he hadn’t heard correctly.
“I have asked some of the European countries to supplement the United Nations forces I have ordered to help you,” Carpathia went on. “They were unusually responsive in appropriating men and weapons. In fact, if you take a look at your radar, you should see some of the new arrivals now.”
“Sir,” one of the radar techs called excitedly, “UN forces have just informed us about troop ships they’ve got entering our airspace.”
“Did you confirm that?”
“I’m in the process, sir.”
“Those are my men,” Carpathia said. “Soon they will be yours. Since you know the terrain and the situation there in Sanliurfa better than anyone else, I have placed you in charge of them.”
Excitement flared through Remington. He’d seized control of the Rangers after his superior officers had disappeared or been killed in the opening confrontation with the Syrians, and he’d been dreading the time the U.S. Army flew someone in with more seniority.
“Do you see the airplanes?” Carpathia asked.
“I’m confirming them,” Remington said. As he watched, several dots separated from the plane above the city.
“I have given the fighter jets among them the freedom to engage Syrian aggressors in your airspace,” Carpathia said. “But you can request they follow your direction.”
