“Would you like to hear the audio portion of this footage?”
“No,” Remington answered.
“The footage that has been captured is quite dramatic,” Carpathia said. “When I saw it, I was moved to contact Mr. Cody and offer the services of my country and myself.”
“He hasn’t mentioned how he got to know you,” Remington said.
“We’re the CIA,” Cody said with a trace of pride in his voice. “We do business around the world.”
“Romania is in a unique position, Captain Remington,” Carpathia said. “We are one of the nations that form the bridge between the West and the East. After the Russian attack on Israel fourteen months ago, I happened to be in the unique position to offer Mr. Cody and his associates some assistance regarding intelligence work in the matter.”
“How?”
“I own companies that regularly do business with the Russian government. The decision to attack Israel might have been a popular one, but it was not one that met with approval from every politician in the Russian parliament. Mr. Cody and his group felt that knowing who those people were might be fortuitous in the future. I provided that information.”
“A favor for a favor?” Wariness vibrated through Remington. Nobody gave anything away for free, just as he was certain the satellite help wouldn’t come without some price.
“Nothing so crass, Captain Remington.” If Carpathia took any offense at the suggestion, he didn’t show it. “I believed Mr. Cody when he presented his case.”
“And you believe in the American presence here in this conflict?”
Carpathia nodded. “I do, but I also have friends within the ranks of the U.N. peacekeeping team there. If I help keep you and your people safe, then I will be saving them as well.”
“Yes,” Remington said. “You will. I can guarantee that, Mr. President.”
One of the techs came forward, standing out of sight of the video cam built into Cody’s notebook computer. He gave Remington a thumbs-up. Looking past the man, the Ranger captain saw that the Crays were up and running again, but the monitors were all on standby. He nodded at the man.
On the monitor, Carpathia remained in the small rectangle. The bigger picture showed a lone Ranger staggering out of a CH-46E with a wounded Marine in his arms. The shot froze, then closed up on the two men with the twisted wreckage of the helicopter in the background.
Goose! Remington recognized his first sergeant at a glance. Goose was still alive. He breathed a sigh of relief, then checked himself because the time in the lower right corner of the screen showed that the time the footage had been taken had been eleven minutes ago. Eleven minutes was a lifetime on a hot battlezone.
“First Sergeant Samuel Adams Gander,” Carpathia said. “I believe he is called Goose.”
Remington was astounded by the Romanian president’s uncanny knowledge.
Carpathia spread his hand. “Do not be shocked, Captain Remington. The news service has broadcast the sergeant’s name. Mr. Cody told me of your friendship with Sergeant Gander, inferred from his observation of you two on a mission this morning.”
Okay, Remington thought, Carpathia pays attention. I like a man who pays attention. He doesn’t get surprised much.
The footage rolled on again, then abruptly ended, leaving Remington ignorant of Goose’s fate during the intervening eleven minutes. Twelve minutes, the Ranger captain corrected himself. Anything could have happened.
Carpathia leaned forward and tapped a key again. The small rectangle filled the screen again. He stared out at Remington.
The Ranger captain felt the man’s eyes boring into his. He could trust Carpathia; he knew he could.
“Are you ready to accept my gift, Captain Remington?” the Romanian president asked.
“I don’t have permission from the Pentagon,” Remington answered.
“I had thought to contact them,” Carpathia said, “but I know how slowly things can happen within the American government. I knew you were in the field and that you could use the information my satellites can bring you.”
“Yes,” Remington said. And he knew how long it would take for the powers that be to agree to avail themselves of Carpathia’s satellites. Men would die during that time, and Remington still felt certain he could drag a victory from the jaws of defeat.
“Captain?” Carpathia said. “I await only your team hooking into the satellite truck I have outside your building.”
The truck had arrived only minutes ago. Thick black cables had been run from the Crays to the vehicle, then tied in to the satellite system.
“If you move quickly enough,” Carpathia said, “you may still turn this situation around.”
“I could,” Remington said before he realized he was going to speak. “If that area wasn’t lost in darkness to us.”
“Do not put up with the darkness,” Carpathia encouraged. “You can put an end to it. All you have to do is give the command.”
“Bring the satellites on line,” Remington said.
The techs worked at their stations. One after another, the monitor screens came on, filling the darkened command post with bright illumination.
“Let there be light,” Carpathia said, chuckling a little.
And there was.
21
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 1:46 A.M.
The world had gone crazy.
The radio, back on after sixteen minutes of dead silence that Joey felt certain indicated that the device was damaged by the wreck that had taken out the left side of his mom’s car, bore frantic witness to the state of the city.
“—can’t call the police,” the DJ said. Howler Murphy, the midnight-to-four madman who spun censored rap records and told offcolor and suggestive jokes and had earned the ire of most parents of teens around the city, had dropped his radio personality and become a clearinghouse for news. “Most of the phone lines in the city continue to be off-line. If any emergency personnel working to get those lines back up and working would care to drop by the station and let us know what is going on, I’ll be happy to give you some mike time.”
Driving through the military base, Joey saw dozens of people—maybe hundreds, God, it seemed like hundreds—crossing
