“Terrorist cells aren’t known for communicating a lot,”
Remington said. “That’s one of the basic precepts for breaking them into autonomous groups. If one cell operates independently, doesn’t know anything about any other cells, they can’t give them up if they’re compromised. That’s what makes them so dangerous.”
“But there’s been a changing terrorist front, remember? Sir.” Winters cleared his throat. “They were communicating. Still are. More now than ever. The agency wanted the back doors and viruses left intact. The thinking was that if Icarus got loose and contacted his true masters, they might make those back doors and viruses go away.”
“They still could.”
“Maybe. But it would be hard. It is hard.”
“The Syrians could tell the terrorist groups what’s going on.”
Winters gave him a cold, jackal’s grin. “Think about it. The Syrian military attaché or the State Department or the War Department—whatever they have over there—they’re telling their new terrorist buddies, ‘Oh, we know we let a spy into your group, but it was to help us spy on the Americans. Surely you can see you would have benefited from that, too. And, yes, we know we let a lot of your people get killed or captured by the Americans and Israelis when they tried to assassinate Chaim Rosenzweig. But don’t worry; we’ll fix everything.’ ” The CIA agent shook his head. “Let them try selling that one. Me, I wouldn’t want to do it. End up getting a front-row seat as a target at a firing-squad detail.”
“If Icarus got back to the Syrians, he could shut those subroutines down?”
Winters nodded. “That’s what we’ve been told.”
“So why isn’t Icarus streaking for the border?” Remington asked.
“Why is he staying in Sanliurfa?”
“Maybe he hasn’t been able to connect with his exfiltration contact.” Winters remained quiet for a moment.
Remington waited, letting the silence stretch out between them till it seemed to fill the room.
“And maybe there was something else,” Winters said. “Maybe Icarus has already been in touch with his exfiltration guy.”
A cold feeling threaded through Remington’s stomach. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about First Sergeant Gander’s connection with a rogue agent, sir,” Winters replied in a neutral tone that offered no hint of accusation or reproach. “This is the second time Icarus went looking for Gander.”
Remington hadn’t been aware that the CIA knew about Goose’s confrontation with Icarus in the bar the night they’d arrived in Sanliurfa.
“What are you thinking, Agent Winters?” the Ranger captain asked.
The sharp tone in Remington’s voice was all the warning Winters needed. He lowered his voice more. “Sir, it wasn’t me thinking. It was Agent Cody.”
“Cody thinks Goose is a spy?”
Winters considered his answer, then gave it with obvious reluctance. “That is one possibility that explains the repeated contact with Icarus, sir.”
Remington cursed. “Look,” he said when he slowed down, “First Sergeant Gander is a lot of things—pigheaded and too content to remain enlisted to suit my tastes—but he is every inch an American fighting man.” The image of Goose carrying the wounded marine OneWorld NewsNet currently used to cover the Turkish-Syrian confrontation slipped into the Ranger captain’s mind. “He is not now and will never be in any way disloyal to his country. I’ll stake my life on that any day of the week.”
“I believe you, sir,” Winters said, but even though Remington knew the CIA agent was doing his best to sound sincere, it was plain he held some serious reservations.
“Goose—First Sergeant Gander—isn’t seeking Icarus out,” Remington said. “In both instances, Icarus has approached him.”
“Yes, sir.”
But both times Icarus had been able to find Goose while Perrin and his team and the CIA hadn’t been able to locate Icarus.
That fact rankled.
Remington paced, breaking away from Winters because the sight of the man angered him so much he was afraid he was going to lose control. Losing control in front of people wasn’t something he did.
He scanned the security-camera monitors, watching the vehicles arrive with more wounded and dead, then leave quickly. Concentrating on his breathing, he calmed himself and looked at the screens but not really seeing the figures.
Despite all the pluses Goose brought to the combat field, Remington knew he had to figure in all the minuses Goose brought as well. Goose wasn’t at his best. He’d lost his son to whatever force had caused the mysterious disappearances. He had, for whatever reason, become a fixation point for a rogue CIA agent who was a walking target and yet another reason for the Syrians to invade this city that the 75th and other military units had fought and died and killed to keep. He was an enlisted man currently filling an officer’s post, which didn’t sit well with the other officers no matter how much combat experience and know-how Goose brought to the table. And Goose was Cal Remington’s friend. In some ways, when it came to their military life, they couldn’t have been any closer, even if they’d been brothers.
But Goose’s weakness made Remington weak. Goose’s borderline insubordination about the CIA agent made Remington’s command weak.
And weakness gets you killed, Remington reminded himself. No matter how good you are. Friendship or no friendship, Cal, you didn’t come all this way to die. And you’re going to wear general’s stars before you cash in your chips. Your command is going to stay strong. You are going to stay strong. No matter how many bodies you have to climb over, no matter if these rivers run red with blood. You’re a survivor. So … survive.
Something had to be done about Goose, and it had to be done soon. Before things had a chance to get worse. Because that was one thing Remington was sure of: things were definitely going to get worse.
17
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 2338 Hours
Megan spotted Jenny’s reflection in the dark glass as she entered the hospital waiting room. For a moment, Megan watched the young woman, not knowing what made her
