“Yes, sir.”
The captain hesitated. “I also want Baker and his snake-oil show shut down.”
Goose took a moment to consider, wanting to make sure he had his words right and wasn’t too confrontational. “I don’t know if I can do that, sir. The men have a right to peaceably assemble on their own time.”
“Back home, sure, but this is a war zone, sergeant. They can assemble only when I say so. Remember that.”
“I will, sir.”
Remington grimaced. “If you can’t shut the man down, Sergeant, at least limit him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t want an army full of zealots,” Remington said. “After last night, stories have passed all through this command about how God reached down and saved the 75th.”
Goose nodded.
“I’ve also heard that God took all those missing people.”
Goose didn’t say anything. Megan had tried to tell him that, too, but she’d sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.
“Including your son,” Remington said.
Reaching into himself, Goose made his face stone.
“I don’t believe that, Sergeant,” Remington said. “I believe if you’ll think back, you’ll remember that several SCUDS hit that mountain before we got there. SCUDS that didn’t make it to their target destinations. I know that’s what I saw.”
Goose knew that was true. The SCUDS had gone everywhere again for a while. The second attack was what had damaged Sanliurfa so much. But he could also remember the feeling, the euphoria, that had filled him when Joseph Baker had led the Rangers in prayer.
“You have to ask yourself, Sergeant,” Remington said, “that if you want to believe that God cares about the 75th so much that He would save us from the Syrians, why would He see fit to take your boy?”
And that, Goose knew, had been exactly the question he had been wrestling with while he’d sat there and contemplated drinking that beer. He faulted himself for being so weak. Yet he forgave himself immediately. The God that he had been brought up to recognize wouldn’t have just taken Chris away. Would He?
Would He?
Indecision chafed at Goose’s thoughts. Baker seemed certain of what had happened. But you no longer are, are you? The saddest part of that was that Goose honestly didn’t know. If Chris hadn’t been taken—
But he had. Chris was gone. Megan had told him that.
Remington dropped a hand to Goose’s shoulder. “And if you need anything, let me know.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Goose watched Remington go, feeling the distance that now lay between him and his friend.
Outside the door, still in Goose’s sight, Remington’s Hummer rolled forward. In the glare of the lights against the night, Goose saw Dean Hardin sitting at the steering wheel as Remington climbed aboard the vehicle.
Hardin showed Goose a cold smile and tossed him an insouciant two-fingered salute. In the next instant, the Hummer pulled away.
For a moment, Hardin’s presence drew Goose’s mind from the despair that filled him. Hardin was a dangerous man, and one that didn’t easily forgive grudges. He was the kind of man that would put a knife in another man’s back the first time a chance presented itself. During the upcoming battles with Syria, Goose knew there would be plenty of chances for Hardin to find him.
“Some piece of work, your captain there,” a quiet voice said.
Goose turned back to the table and found a man sitting in the chair Remington had vacated. Although the hours that stretched between their previous encounter seemed several lifetimes long, Goose recognized the younger man.
“Agent Icarus,” Goose said softly.
The young man smiled through a mask of bruises. “Yes.” He glanced furtively around the tavern. “I know your captain is looking for me, Sergeant.”
Goose nodded. “So is the CIA.”
“I expected as much.”
Goose started to get up.
“Don’t, Sergeant.” The young agent placed a hand on the table, safely out of reach of any sudden move Goose might make without getting up from his chair. Inside the hand, an electronic detonator blinked a red warning light.
Goose froze.
“Do you know what this is?” the young agent asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. I have the explosive planted in this place. If you move, a lot of people, perhaps even you, are going to die.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to speak with you.”
Goose inhaled and exhaled, taking time to think about that. “Why?”
“Because you impressed me yesterday. I think you’re a good man.”
Goose shrugged. “You could be wrong.”
“I know.” The young agent shook his hand holding the remote control detonator. “That’s why I came with insurance.”
“I’m listening,” Goose said. Using his peripheral vision, he glanced around the room, hoping he would spot a member of his unit that he could give hand signals to.
The young man looked worn and much the worse for wear. Goose doubted he’d seen a bed since his squad had rescued the man from the PKK terrorist cell. “Things aren’t exactly what you think they are.”
“That transmission initiated the attack,” Goose said.
The young man nodded. “That was all planned. My capture. You being there to stop the PKK cell. All of it.”
Goose listened, thinking the younger man was delusional.
“They’re very good at what they’re doing,” Icarus said. “Of course, they’ve been waiting for that moment yesterday for decades. They’ve had time to think and plan and get ready for the final confrontation.”
“What confrontation?” Goose asked. “The Syrians?”
Icarus shook his head. “The Syrians are actually only a small part of it, Sergeant. The fate of the world hangs in the balance here.” He smiled in self-deprecation. “Or at least the next seven years of it. As well as the souls of all those who have been left behind.”
“Who was left behind?” Goose struggled to find the thread of logic in the man’s words.
“The
