The man stared at Hardin fearfully.
Opening the flap on his holster, Remington took out his sidearm and shoved the barrel against Abu’s forehead, resting it between his eyes. Hardin and the other Rangers stepped back. Their hands automatically went to their assault rifles. If Abu tried to reach for the pistol, Remington knew his Rangers would kill the prisoner before he could even close his fingers on the weapon.
“No,” Remington ordered as Abu’s eyes widened and he started to move.
Abu froze. He sucked in a rattling breath.
“Now do I have your attention?” Remington asked. He pushed so hard against the pistol grip that the barrel of the gun was beginning to bruise Abu’s flesh.
“Yes,” Abu whispered.
“The minute I lose your attention,” Remington said, “the minute I know you’re lying to me, I’m going to pull this trigger and walk away from here.” He paused, letting his words have their effect. “Do we have an understanding?”
“Yes.” Tears slid from Abu’s eyes and mixed with the blood on his face.
“Corporal Hardin,” Remington said.
“Yes, sir.”
“How do you think Abu came by those American supplies and the American money?”
“Two options, sir,” Hardin responded. “Either he took those things from the American dead we left behind—which makes him a carrion feeder who needs to be eliminated—or he got those goods trading with the Syrians who took them from our dead, which makes him a danger to our men who needs to be eliminated.”
“Abu?” Remington asked.
“Yes?”
“Where did you get the money and the items?”
Abu swallowed hard. “From trading, Captain.”
“Trading with who?”
“Other traders. Men the corporal has traded with besides myself.”
Remington knew Hardin always connected with the local black market whenever they were in the field. The Ranger captain also suspected Hardin managed illegal enterprises in the United States as well. Until Goose had caught Hardin stealing from a dead marine after the planes and helos had dropped from the sky the day of the disappearances, Hardin had always stayed one step ahead of any legal entanglements. A lot of Hardin’s luck these past few years, though, had been due to Remington interceding on Hardin’s behalf.
“What about the Syrians?” Remington asked. “Have you been trading with them as well? The Syrian military?”
Hopelessness filled Abu’s sad eyes. “Yes, Captain. Yes, I have.”
“Good,” Remington said. “I’m not going to ask if you stripped the corpses of American fighting men to take their goods.”
Desperately, Abu tried not to show his evident relief.
Remington filed the information away, though. If Abu had been on hand to steal from the dead military men, he’d been working the trade routes often.
“I’m not even going to ask if you’ve been giving the Syrian military information about our operations here,” Remington said.
If he hadn’t been in obvious pain from the beatings he’d gotten, Abu would have looked ecstatic. “Thank you, Captain. You are most gracious and wise.”
“What I am going to ask you for,” Remington said in a calm, level voice, “is information about the Syrian hard sites.”
Abu started to speak.
Remington cut the man off, talking slowly and softly. “One lie, Abu. Just one. And they won’t find enough of your skull to drink out of.”
“Captain, I have not been everywhere among the Syrians.” Abu swallowed again.
“But you have been among them?”
“Yes.”
Remington reached into the pocket of his BDUs and took out a folded map. “Do you know how to read a map?”
“Yes. Though I am no scholar.”
“I don’t need a scholar,” Remington replied. “I just need a guy who can speak and point. You can do that, right?”
Abu nodded. Nervously, he wiped at the blood streaking his face. He only succeeded in smearing it.
Remington shook the map open with one hand, using his other hand to keep the M9 in place against Abu’s forehead. “The Syrians have a fuel dump. A place where they’re stockpiling gasoline and diesel to supply the armor they’re pushing north.”
The existence of the supply line was a no-brainer. The distance between the Syrian-based command post and Sanliurfa necessitated a new staging point, as did the fact that the Americans and Turks and U.N. forces had booby-trapped their own fuel stores in the city. When the order was given to evacuate Sanliurfa, Remington would make sure that no fuel would remain in the city, even if he had to leave the city burning like Nero’s Rome. He didn’t plan to leave any useful equipment behind either. He knew his enemy would be unwilling to place their supply lines in plain sight of a potential fly-by discovery by an American or Turkish pilot. The Syrian command would want their fuel stores hidden.
Remington placed his thumb on his pistol’s hammer and rolled it back. The clicks as it locked into place sounded ominous in the quiet cellar.
“I’m thinking,” Remington said, “that there are caves out there in the mountains that the Syrians are using. Either to the west or the east of the route they’re using to get to Sanliurfa.”
“Caves,” Abu said. “Yes, there are many caves.”
“Have you seen the fuel stores?” Remington’s plan was thin, but if successful—even though there would be “acceptable losses”—his plan would net the defenders of Sanliurfa a few more days’ grace. The present military engagement could turn around in minutes if he could buy enough time to convince Turkey and the U.S. to invest more troops in the Sanliurfa theater of operations.
Abu licked blood from his lips. “I know where the Syrian fuel stores are, Captain.”
Remington held out the map, careful not to occlude Hardin’s field of fire. “Show me.”
With a trembling hand, Abu shoved a forefinger at the topographical map. “There.”
Looking at the map and estimating the distance, Remington saw that the Syrians were west of the road into Sanliurfa. “Are the fuel stores in caves there?”
“Yes. But that is not all that is there, Captain.” Abu shivered. “There are also the ruins of a city.”
Remington examined the map again. “There’s no city on the map.”
“Captain, several cities in this part of Turkey died out hundreds and even thousands of years ago. This place is a
