Remington gave orders to the various units scattered around the city, then turned his attention to the specialty squad he’d assigned to mark the forward line of the Syrian cav waiting out in the darkness. Captain Mkchian of the Turkish military had managed to bring some heavy artillery pieces into the city that Remington hoped might yet provide a nasty surprise for the Syrians.
Remington’s headset chirped for attention while the second set of helos swooped down to attack another group of Syrian rolling stock.
He switched over to the other channel, prepared to sound irritated if it wasn’t important.
“Control, this is BirdDog.” Birddog was Lieutenant Nick Perrin, the man Remington had put in charge of keeping tabs on the CIA agents.
“I’m listening, BirdDog.” Remington waited impatiently, knowing there were a hundred things he needed to do.
“Spotted our guy, Cap’n.”
“Who?”
“The primary. Couldn’t get to him in time to stop him. Had to waylay a member of the competition.”
Stifling curses, Remington asked, “Do you still have the primary in sight?” The primary was Icarus, not one of the CIA agents.
“Negative. The primary had a vehicle. My squad and I are on foot. But I’m pretty sure I know where he’s headed.”
“Where?”
“The hospital. He was carrying wounded. Men from Phoenix Leader’s squads.”
Goose? Remington couldn’t believe it. Goose knew Remington wanted Icarus for questioning. Goose was under orders after their face-to-face in the bar two days ago to bring the man in no matter what.
“Phoenix Leader saw the primary?” Remington asked, still believing that there was some other explanation.
“Affirmative, Control. They talked while they loaded wounded. There’s no way Phoenix Leader didn’t know who he was talking to.”
Anger swelled up over Remington like a tidal wave, rising high above him then crashing down. He didn’t know why Goose had betrayed him, but he was going to find out.
7
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 2143 Hours
“I came alone,” Megan pointed out to Leslie Hollister as she stood across the bedroom from the girl. The audience of male rock stars and actors kept silent watch. “Just like you asked.”
Leslie nodded. The pistol shifted in her hands with the slight motion. Megan’s breath caught in her throat, and she resisted the instinctive impulse to retreat into the hallway. Just go easy, she admonished herself. Talking to kids is always the same. Doesn’t matter if they don’t like something about themselves or if they are holding weapons. Even though Megan knew what she was telling herself was true, she also knew that a teen who had a weight problem or an esteem issue generally wasn’t equipped to take the counselor’s head off with one shot.
The realization was sobering.
Leslie blinked back tears. Her hands twitched uncontrollably. “Mrs. Gander … ” She tried to talk further, but her voice deserted her.
Megan waited quietly and tried to show confidence. There was nothing she couldn’t handle. Leslie Hollister had to feel that. Every time Megan worked at counseling a child, she had to make that child feel that way. Usually that appearance started because she honestly believed she could handle the situation. She’d never had to work so fiercely to generate that feeling within herself.
“Mrs. Gander,” Leslie tried again. “I just don’t … don’t understand.”
“I know,” Megan said softly.
Leslie yanked a hand back and covered her mouth in an effort to control herself. “My mom … three days ago, my mom … ”
Megan forced herself to wait. “I’m right here, Leslie. Take your time.”
Leslie’s hand holding the pistol shook violently. The .45 slid from her knee and fell. She yanked the big weapon back up, narrowly avoiding contact with the floor.
Releasing a pent-up breath, Megan asked, “Leslie, would you mind putting the pistol down while we talk?”
Suspicious paranoia darkened the girl’s face. She pulled the pistol closer to her chest. “Why?”
“Because having it here makes me nervous.” Megan carefully chose not to call the weapon what it was anymore. Referring to it with a bland pronoun robbed the pistol of some of its importance. It became an object, not an invincible force. Not something that can’t be overcome if we work on it together.
“It makes me feel safe,” Leslie declared. She tightened her grip on the pistol butt. Rebellious defiance shone in her bloodshot eyes.
“Why?” Megan asked.
“Because as long as I have it, I have a choice.”
“A choice about what?”
Leslie scrunched her eyes closed. Tears leaked down her sallow cheeks. “About whether I keep dreaming or I wake up.”
Megan pointed to the floor. She ignored the bed; too much clutter rested there that might fall and prove a disastrous distraction. “Can I sit?”
Leslie hesitated then nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Okay. I mean, this is my dream.” A weak smile played across her lips but never touched the hurt in her eyes. “But I gotta tell you, Mrs. Gander, never in a million years would I have figured you’d ever be sitting in my bedroom.”
Slowly, keeping both hands visible, Megan lowered herself to the floor in a lotus position. She’d studied yoga for the relaxation techniques. For the past few years, since Chris’s birth, spending time at that pursuit proved impossible. But the skills remained.
“You believe you’re dreaming,” Megan said.
A troubled look formed on Leslie’s face. “Of course I am.” She worked her jaw. “I mean, there’s no way all this is real. My mom couldn’t just … just … disappear in the middle of the night like I dreamed she did.”
“Do you remember being in group the day after your mom disappeared?” Megan had gathered all of the base’s surviving kids together with help from Jenny and the other counselors who hadn’t disappeared and had been on base.
Leslie shook her head. “I dreamed that.”
“What did you dream about that meeting?” Megan knew she couldn’t force the girl to remember everything to realize that what was going on now was real. Leslie bordered on being hysterical at the
