The night-light on the dresser bathed him in soft golden illumination that highlighted the wheat-colored hair he’d gotten from his father. The night-light was a scene that showed Jesus with a shepherd’s crook telling stories to a group of children gathered at his feet. It had been a gift from Bill Townsend, who sometimes spent the night with them at the base when the weather turned bad or when he and Goose had to make an early morning jump. On those nights, Bill read to Chris from the big book of children’s Bible stories he had bought for the boy, giving the characters unique voices that delighted Chris and left him imitating Bill for days.
It helped knowing that Bill and Goose had each other over in Turkey. But who do you have, Joey? Megan couldn’t help but wonder.
“Maybe this can wait,” Helen suggested.
Megan sighed. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep. Worrying about Goose and Joey was getting to be too much, and that wasn’t even taking into consideration the caseload she was currently working at the counseling center.
“If you called this late,” Megan said, “I know you thought it was important. Now spill.”
“Gerry Fletcher is in the infirmary,” Helen said.
Megan’s stomach lurched. Gerry Fletcher was one of the special projects Megan had taken into her heart. Helen was well aware of that. Everyone connected to the counseling center—half the base—was aware of that.
For the last fourteen months, since Private Boyd Fletcher had moved to Fort Benning with his wife and son to become a Ranger, Megan had been aware of the abuse Gerry underwent. Most of it, she’d gathered, had been psychological in nature: unkind words, sarcastic comments, anything to wreck the eleven-year-old boy’s self-esteem.
But occasionally there had been bruises on Gerry’s arms and legs and shoulders. None had ever shown up on the boy’s face, though. Boyd Fletcher had evidently declared Gerry’s face off-limits.
Megan had tried several times to get Gerry out of the home. She’d failed. No one had ever seen Boyd Fletcher punish Gerry in any way. Gerry was, according to staff at the base schools, one of the best students a teacher could hope for.
Megan had urged Gerry to come forward with what happened. No dice. He always smiled at her and tell her that he was just “accidentprone.” Boyd Fletcher had refused steadfastly to talk to her, other than the one time he had been ordered to by the base commander.
Gerry had gone more than a month without a bruise after that; then he’d suffered a devastating bicycle wreck that had broken his left arm. Or so Gerry and Boyd had claimed. Somehow, though, the wreck hadn’t taken any skin off the boy’s knees or elbows the way such an accident normally would have. When Megan had asked for another interview with Boyd Fletcher, the base commander had denied it, telling Megan he would only enforce such a visit if she could offer proof of physical abuse.
It had gotten so hard going through channels that Megan had gone to Goose with the situation months ago. That was something she almost never did. He had listened and soothed her because he was Goose and that was what he did. However, during the past months, until Goose’s unit had been pulled out to reinforce the Turkish troops, Gerry had seemed to relax and even be happy most days. Megan couldn’t prove it, and she wouldn’t ask, but she felt certain Goose had done something to affect the situation in the Fletcher household.
“How is he?” Megan asked.
“Bruised. Shaken up. He says he was outside on the roof with his telescope. He says he slipped and fell.”
“How bad is it?”
“The doctor says he’s dislocated his shoulder, but the physical pain is only part of it. That’s one scared little guy, Megan,” Helen said. “Gerry doesn’t want his dad to know.”
“Where’s his father?” Megan always thought of Boyd Fletcher as Gerry’s father. A dad was someone like Goose, someone who cared.
“At home.”
“Does he know Gerry’s in the hospital?”
“No. Gerry’s with Dr. Carson.”
Megan relaxed a little. Thank You, God, for that. Craig Carson was a friend and one of the best pediatricians on the base.
“Dr. Carson and I are electing to have a busy night and phone trouble until you get a chance to see Gerry,” Helen said. “If you want to come in to see him, that is.”
“Of course I want to see him,” Megan said. “I’ll be right there.”
3
Turkey
39 Klicks Southeast of Sanliurfa
Local Time 0643 Hours
Belted in tight, Goose sat in the shotgun seat of the Ranger Special Operations Vehicle. The vehicle’s powerful diesel engine growled as the all-terrain tires dug into the sand and propelled the team across the desert back toward the Turkish-Syrian border.
Based on the Land Rover Defender Model 110, the RSOV offered seats all the way around that faced outward rather than forward, giving passengers 360-degree visibility. The Rangers had adopted the vehicles after the Gulf War. With ten inches of clearance, heavy-duty suspension, and four-wheel drive, the RSOV was a mover and shaker on a cross-country run.
Tanaka drove while Clark handled the top gunner position where the M-249 SAW was mounted. Bill sat with the CIA agent on the rear deck, which was the most protected point on the RSOV. Williams and Cusack occupied side seats. The rest of the Ranger unit rode in a second RSOV. Both vehicles charged and leaped across the broken terrain.
Goose scanned the countryside continuously. Nothing else appeared to be moving on the desert. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the CIA agent staring apprehensively south to the border.
“Phoenix Leader,” Remington said.
“Go, Base,” Goose responded. “Leader reads you.”
“Do you have a headset on Special Project?”
“Affirmative, Base. Special Project, do
