“I’m going. You don’t need to be alone.”
Joey led the way back to the car, running fast enough now that Jenny had to struggle to keep pace with him. He opened the passenger door and crawled inside, sliding across the seat to the driver’s side. He turned the key, punched the gas, and prayed to God that the engine would catch. Struggling, the engine turned over and started with a shudder just as Jenny pulled the door closed.
“Hang on,” Joey said. He put the car in reverse and pushed the accelerator. The front wheels spun, then caught, but the car couldn’t break free of the Suburban.
“Cut the wheels toward the SUV,” Jenny said, bracing herself. “Floor it.”
Joey turned the wheels toward the Suburban then mashed the accelerator to the floor. The engine screamed, sputtered, and then launched into a full-throated roar.
Metal ripped in banshee wails as the car surged again and again. Just as Joey was about to give up, the front left fender tore free and clattered to the ground as the car sped backward. He slammed the brakes on, dropped the transmission into drive, and whipped out around the Suburban. He ignored the stop sign. Everyone out on the street was stopped. New arrivals were getting out of their cars to see what the problem was.
Breathing rapidly, fighting hard not to lose it and start crying like a wimp even though he was more scared now than he could ever remember being in his whole life, Joey sped toward Fort Benning. He glanced at Jenny and saw that she was sitting with her arms folded and tears running down her face.
“Jenny,” Joey croaked.
She turned to him, losing part of the tough façade she’d had all evening. “Something’s wrong, Joey.” She covered her mouth with a hand as she sobbed and her voice cracked. “Something’s so wrong. Look at all those cars. Look at all those people.”
Glancing at the businesses and houses that lined the street, Joey knew what she said was true. Something was wrong. Big-time wrong.
He reached for her hand, folded it into his. “It’s going to be okay,” he told her. And he felt stupid for saying it because he knew things weren’t going to be okay. But he said it because he was a guy and that was something that guys were supposed to say at times like this.
She pulled her hand away. “You don’t know that.”
“No,” Joey admitted, “I don’t. I’m just scared and I want everything to be okay.”
She hesitated, then put her hand back in his, squeezing tightly. “Me, too.”
United States 75th Rangers 3rd Battalion
Field Command Post
35 Klicks South of Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0831 Hours
“How much time elapsed between the two frames?” Remington asked. In the command field post, he concentrated on the pictures the computer tech had isolated of the helicopter pilot seat with and without Lieutenant Briggs of the Marine wing from USS Wasp. The legend at the bottom of each picture marked the local time as 08:21:13. The event—the Ranger captain didn’t know what else to call it—had occurred ten minutes ago and they were only now finding out about the disappearance.
“At this speed,” Foster said, “you’re getting a frame about every four-tenths of a second.”
“Four-tenths of a second.” Remington repeated the information in an effort to make it more concrete.
“Yes, sir.”
Remington tried to wrap his brain around the idea of the impossible act balanced against the impossible time frame. “So every second there are two frames.”
“Maybe three,” Foster replied. “Depends on how the time broke down. You could get a frame one or two seconds into the cycle, that still leaves you enough time for two more frames.”
“Go through the footage from all the digital cameras we were able to access at this time.” Remington tapped the screen showing the two pictures, one with Lieutenant Briggs and the other without. “I want every frame you can pull from every camera.”
“Just the helicopters?”
“No. I want the frames from the wing provided by Wasp and I want the frames from our men on the ground that are equipped with digital cameras. Get that to me ASAP.”
“Yes, sir.” Foster bent to the task.
Remington stood and started pacing again, surveying the tech crew around him. None of them seemed to have had much luck with resecuring the computer feeds. He cursed, struggling to hold on to the calm exterior he wore. Everyone remained aware of the piles of clothing that remained of the people they had lost, and the captain knew the questions uppermost in their minds: Is it going to happen again? Will it take the rest of us?
“Captain Remington.”
Wheeling about-face, Remington looked at the sergeant he’d assigned to cover the cinder-block building’s entrance.
Sergeant Tolliver entered the building in full battle dress, including his helmet and LCE. Sweat beaded his face, attracting a layer of dust. He was a lifer, just as Goose was. But where Goose had the leader’s capacity for free thinking and quick decision-making, Tolliver was a plodder. He could be counted on to do things by the book, within reason, and finish an assignment. But Tolliver seldom went beyond the book.
“What is it, Sergeant?” Remington asked. He ignored the fact that all the heads swiveled toward him from the monitors. Everyone in the command post was spooked.
“CIA Section Chief Cody would like a word with you.” Tolliver hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got him detained outside.”
“I thought Cody had gone.”
Tolliver nodded. “He had. He’s back.”
“When?”
Tolliver shrugged. “Just drove up. We halted him, IDed him, and walked him in from the perimeter.”
“Who is with him?” Remington’s mind wound around the news, kicking the fact over and looking at all the angles. He had ordered the CIA man out of the command post as soon as the SCUDs
