He wanted his army in place for the time when he gave the word. And when he did, there was going to be a bloodbath.”
OneWorld NewsNet Mobile Platform
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0608 Hours
“Danielle, are you listening to me?”
Ignoring Cezar’s pleading voice and the desperate look in the young cameraman’s face, Danielle took out her sat-phone and started punching buttons.
“Danielle,” Cezar protested, “you can’t be serious. I mean, c’mon. You’re throwing out some of my best stuff here.” He peered anxiously at the video monitor in front of him.
Since leaving Goose, Danielle had returned to the Winnebago Adventurer OneWorld NewsNet had provided the team two days ago to use as a rolling news department. At thirty-seven and a half feet long, the recreational vehicle painted a huge target for the Syrian aircraft that routinely flew strike missions into the city.
In addition to providing dish access to the OneWorld NewsNet geosynchronous satellite 23,500 miles out in space, the Adventurer also served as a photo- and video-processing lab, a cutting room, and—with the addition of a small blue screen and news desk on the other side of the computer equipment along the slide-out portion of the wall that replaced the lounger/bed—a compact studio for interviews as well as tactical breakdowns of what was happening in the city.
When she’d first seen the vehicle, Danielle’s breath had caught in her throat. She’d heard of the comfort levels OneWorld provided their employees and news teams in the field, but she’d had no clue to the lengths the corporation was prepared to go.
Though space was cramped, the Adventurer had a bedroom, a bath, and a galley as added comforts. The powerful 8.1-liter Vortec V-8 engine had powered the vehicle all through the city over the last two days as the news team pursued breaking stories. The recreational vehicle was also covered in bulletproof armor plating and fitted with bulletproof glass just like an executive limousine.
That bit of foresight had saved their lives more than once. Still, Danielle wasn’t sure how long their luck would hold. The armor showed scars from numerous bullets and shrapnel, but Danielle had yet to see if the Adventurer could survive a direct hit from a rocket launcher. Radu Stolojan assured her it would. Personally, she was quite content to leave the OneWorld NewsNet liaison’s claim untested.
Air-conditioning chugged through the big vehicle, distancing the crew from the dry heat that lay over the city, heat that would only grow worse with dawn already rising in the east. The smell of spiced meat from the galley reminded Danielle she hadn’t eaten since the day before.
“Danielle,” Cezar pleaded.
“Later,” Danielle replied, turning away from him and clapping her free hand over her ear as she leaned her head against the satphone and waited for the connection to go through.
Cezar cursed as petulantly as a foulmouthed child.
The strident double ring of the European phone line echoed in Danielle’s ear. She hoped Stolojan didn’t answer the phone. As her liaison with the network, he remained steadfast and conservative in his approach to the news. Stolojan didn’t like going off on tangents, which, as every good investigative reporter knew, was the only way to go if he or she wanted a shot at an exclusive story. Hidden secrets didn’t just jump out at a reporter and yell for attention.
Danielle had learned in short order to follow her instincts, and with the presence of the CIA man she’d encountered in Romania, her instincts for a hot news story had practically gone off the measuring scale.
“Hello,” a woman answered.
Thank You, God, Danielle thought as she recognized Lizuca Carutasu’s soft voice. Lizuca held down the OneWorld liaison desk from 11 P.M. to 7 A.M., but Stolojan seemed like he never slept. Occasionally, when working on human-interest pieces that she knew Stolojan might object to, Danielle had intentionally called during those hours because Lizuca helped her get the information she needed.
Getting information about a CIA agent who liked to play mystery guy was a lot different than lining up interviews with clergymen and former high school teachers of the young United States military men serving in Sanliurfa.
But I don’t plan on telling her this guy’s CIA, do I? Danielle felt a little guilty about that. However, like any successful reporter, she’d learned to turn her guilty conscience off and on a long time ago.
“Lizuca,” Danielle said.
“Ah, Danielle,” the young woman replied. “You are safe, yes?” Her English was somewhat accented, but her youth and enthusiasm came through perfectly.
“Yes,” Danielle said. “For the moment.”
“Things over there, they look very bad. I am very much worried for you, yes? I am praying every hour for your safety.”
“Thank you,” Danielle said. “Your prayers must be working. I’m still in one piece.”
“Good. Because I think you being in many pieces would not be a good thing.” Lizuca paused. “Is joke, yes?”
“Yes,” Danielle said, unable to tell the young woman she didn’t much feel like joking.
“I have not gotten through to Mrs. Samuel Adams Gander,”
Lizuca said. “I have been trying very hard. I seem unable to find her close to a phone when I call.”
“That’s okay. Stay with it and let me know if she’ll consent to do an interview.” Danielle wanted the interview as a human-interest piece to flesh out the viewers’ awareness of First Sergeant Goose Gander. The man was a hero even before the media had made him out as one, and Danielle wanted to know what he was like at home.
“Danielle,” Cezar called again. “You need to watch what these … these … butchers are doing to my beautiful work.”
Danielle held a hand up to the cameraman. Finding a quiet
