“No. I did not see them until they attacked us in the alley. They were waiting for us.”
“Why did they attack you?”
Arnaud shook his head. “They robbed us. They took Giselle.” He swallowed hard. “I have heard that some of the Bedouin have been stealing European and American women from the city.” His voice broke. “I was told those Bedouin sell the women they kidnap.”
Goose had known about the white slavery problems in the area before the Syrian attack. Women serving in the armed forces—in the United Nations Peacekeeping effort as well as in the Ranger support teams—had received warnings about the issue.
“Giselle and I were trying to find someone to help us get out of the city.” He turned back to Goose and looked guilty. “For a time we believed that the combined militaries here would be able to hold off the Syrians. But after the attack last night, we could no longer hold out any such hope. I am sorry.”
Goose met the man’s gaze. “I understand.” Last night’s attacks had only continued the assaults the Syrians launched against the city. And those attacks, Goose knew, would continue to come.
Sanliurfa was a keystone for the Syrian aggression. If the Syrian military could secure this city, they could stage attacks elsewhere. Their second logical target was Diyarbakir City to the east. If that city fell, the Iraqi rebels who still fought American intervention in their country might be inspired to rise up and join with the Syrians, creating threats on two fronts for Turkey.
Sanliurfa, after time enough for the U.S. and Turkish military to shore up defenses and build an offensive line, was considered an acceptable loss by the Allied forces. In fact, the American and Turkish commands considered every soldier in the city an acceptable loss if it came to it. The military commanders of both countries as well as the United Nations feared that the Turkish-Syrian conflict—it wasn’t officially referred to as a war yet—could ignite a conflagration in the Middle East.
Throughout the history of humankind, and certainly since the creation of Israel in 1948, the Middle East had been a powder keg waiting to be touched off. With Chaim Rosenzweig’s discovery of the chemical fertilizer that had turned the Israeli deserts into lush farmlands and pulled the nation into a time of bountiful wealth, the enmity felt by the Arab countries of the Middle East toward Israel had increased.
Even Russia had felt threatened by Israel’s newfound wealth. The former Soviets had launched an attack against the country. But only minutes before the jet fighters reached their targets, the Russian aircraft fell to the ground or imploded in the sky. Like the disappearances only days ago, no one knew the cause of that event. That sudden defeat of the Russian air force had come about as mysteriously as the massive disappearances that had occurred around the globe.
Goose pulled his thoughts away from that event. Thinking about that led right back to the unsettling conversation he’d had with Icarus. “God came and took your son up as He took all the other children.”
For a moment, Goose remembered the peace that had settled over him as he’d almost come to accept that thought. But he hadn’t been able to swallow it, and in the end that peaceful feeling had retreated. Maybe Bill Townsend could have believed that God had taken those people, but Goose couldn’t. He wouldn’t believe it, either, not until he had proof.
Goose was a good man. He believed in God as best he could, and he acknowledged Christ as his personal Savior. But Goose was also a fighter, a practical man used to meeting problems head-on, a man who resolved situations, problems, and the evils that men could do to one another. He believed more in himself and in finding a way to reverse the effects of the disappearances than he believed in divine intervention in the world.
“Phoenix Leader,” a man’s voice crackled over the headset. “This is Sergeant Clay of Echo Company. We’re responding to your SAR request.”
“Acknowledged, Sergeant,” Goose responded. Sergeant Thomas Clay of E Company was a solid soldier and a good man. “Glad to have you. How many strong are you?”
“Seven. Myself and six. Base says others are on their way here. We’re still spread out and dealing with the problems left over from last night. We’re coming from the north, closing in on your twenty.”
“Affirmative,” Goose responded. “Base, are you there?”
“Base is here.”
“Can I get a helo attached to the SAR?”
“I’ll check, Phoenix Leader.”
Goose stared along the streets. A number of alleys spread out through the area, all of them filled with hiding places. He hoped the Bedouin kidnappers hadn’t taken their prey and ducked into hiding. He wasn’t looking forward to playing cat and mouse with them in the debris-strewn streets and bombed-out buildings.
“Who are we looking for?” Clay asked.
Goose looked at Arnaud. “Have you got a picture of your wife?”
Arnaud pulled his wallet out and flipped it open. He showed Goose a picture of himself and a younger woman. “This is Giselle.”
“Her name is Giselle Arnaud,” Goose said, jerking his attention back to the alleys. “She’s French. I’m with her husband. He says she was taken by a group of Bedouins after they were robbed.” He glanced at Arnaud. “Does she speak English?”
“Mais oui,” Arnaud answered. “She is very fluent in five languages. That is her specialty at university. She is also a teacher.”
“Giselle speaks English,” Goose said, glancing back at the picture of the couple standing in front of a flowered archway that existed only in some photographer’s studio. “She’s a little over five feet tall. Dark hair down to her shoulders. Dark eyes. Thirties. She’s wearing—” He looked at Arnaud.
“A red sleeveless blouse,” Arnaud said. “Tan pants. Walking shoes.”
Arnaud, Goose realized, was a man who paid attention. The description made Goose feel guilty. He couldn’t remember what his wife had worn the last time he’d seen her. Megan had come to
