Apocalypse Burning (20 page)

Remington stared at Goose as if somewhat dissatisfied with the easy capitulation on his first sergeant’s part. Or maybe the captain was more unhappy and uncertain of his friend’s acceptance of another superior officer that he knew wasn’t as skilled as he was. If that was true, Goose knew, then Remington had forgotten that all sergeants had a history of dealing with “superior” officers that weren’t.

“Is there anything else, sir?” Goose asked.

Remington’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t happy about Goose’s relaxed demeanor about the change in the chain of command. Goose knew that he was supposed to take the change as an insult, but at the same time he knew getting out from under Remington’s direct supervision would give him the necessary time to see to his troops, their needs, and their morale. That was where sergeants operated best to command the units and missions they were in charge of. Sergeants were trained to act and think for themselves.

He’d also have more time to pursue the questions his talk with Icarus had raised.

“No, First Sergeant, there isn’t. You’re dismissed.”

Remington turned so abruptly that Goose could only salute the captain’s back. Goose did that, setting the example for the enlisted men in the room. No matter what else happened in the field, in his personal life, or between Remington and him, Goose prided himself on being a professional soldier.

He did another about-face and left the command center. This time he made it all the way to the door without being called back.

As he stepped out into the driving rain still flooding Sanliurfa’s streets, Goose knew that Remington was planning something. The captain’s nature prevented him from simply lying back and awaiting the Syrians’ next move. Waiting wasn’t one of Remington’s strong suits.

Thinking along those lines, remembering the screen images of the stagnant Syrian army huddled down under the rain, remembering Remington’s comment about the Rangers being a hit-and-git strike force, Goose figured the captain would field a special ops team with orders to exact a pound of flesh from the opposing army.

While awaiting the captain’s orders—or possibly Lieutenant Perrin’s—Goose decided he would put together and ready a team who could deploy for such an engagement. The trick was not to let the captain know Goose was already working on the same agenda. A good first sergeant always anticipated his commanding officer’s orders and stood ready in such a manner that the CO still thought a mission was his own idea.

6

United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0742 Hours

“Seriously, love, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Danielle Vinchenzo growled irritably as she scrambled into Sid Wright’s rented Land Rover. She shook off the nylon hoodie she’d donned hoping to keep her hair dry. There were no plans to shoot any additional TV footage at the moment, but she knew that could change in a heartbeat, depending on whether the Syrians stood by the apparent rainout going on. Water from the drenched hoodie splashed all over the seats.

Sid said, “Do be careful with the upholstery.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Danielle asked as she shifted the tote bag that carried her extra makeup, tape recorders, and digital camera.

“I don’t like having my things wet. Nor do I care to have this vehicle in any worse shape than it is.”

“This is a rental, Sid. Nothing to get emotional about. If you want to get fussy about things, I’d talk to whoever put those bullet holes in the right rear quarter panel.”

“I would have, except at the time I didn’t feel like hanging around for the matching bullet hole between my eyes.” Sid took his foot off the brake and rolled into the sparse traffic moving slowly through the rain.

That surprised Danielle. “Someone tried to shoot you? While you were in the car?” She hadn’t heard about any skirmishes with the Syrian army during the night. Things had been unusually quiet, which meant—judging from past experience—that the situation was about to turn ugly again.

“Yes.” Sid drove with both hands on the wheel and a cigarette hanging between his lips. “You’re not the only one stringing news stories out of the city, love.”

“So what did you have?” Danielle asked.

Sid glanced askance at her. “I should tell you? The princess of the Sanliurfan airwaves?”

“They aren’t calling me that.”

Sid gave her a look.

“No. Really. They aren’t calling me that on the other networks.”

“Not
on
the other networks,” Sid admitted after a moment, “but some of the other reporters—poor souls who were evidently born without one flicker of human compassion, people who would probably not allow the use of the computer and satellite phone to a rival who was racking up story after story for the international market—”

“Other reporters are calling me that?”

Sid shrugged. “Yes, love. And some rather repugnant names I won’t, out of my own vaunted sense of civility, repeat for your delicate ears.”

“My ears aren’t all that delicate.”

“Yes, well, I’m a gentleman, you see.”

“A true gentleman would dress in a fresh shirt and not use the one that has lipstick stains.” Danielle touched his collar.

“Lipstick? Truly?”

“Truly,” Danielle said. “See? I can be compassionate. I could have let you go out among your peers with evidence of your debauchery quite literally hanging around your neck. As a further show of compassion, I won’t mention said debauchery or lipstick to anyone.”

“You are one of a kind,” Sid admitted. He reached up for the rearview mirror and turned it to check his reflection. The lipstick was bright, bubblegum pink and stood out dramatically against his white shirt collar. “Oh. Well, there is a glaring bit of evidence, I suppose. I wasn’t near my luggage when this … happened.”

“You ask me,” Danielle said, “that doesn’t look accidental at all.”

Sid ignored her barbed comment. “Or when I got your call at this dreadful hour. After seven o’clock in the morning and rain pouring straight down, I assure you they’ve put this war on hold at least for a bit. No soldier wants to fight in the rain. Especially an infantry with a heavy armor assist. Planes won’t even be flying much today. You should have taken this opportunity to catch up on your sleep.”

“Someone I know wasn’t sleeping. Bubblegum pink lipstick?”

Sid dabbed at the lipstick with a handkerchief but succeeded only in smearing the color. “I’m sure there’s another name for it. An exotic name, I’d wager.”

“Who wears bubblegum pink lipstick?” Danielle’s natural curiosity got the better of her.

“A gentleman never tells.”

“How young was she?”

“Above the age of consent.” Sid gave up on the rescue of the collar. “I must say I don’t care for your insinuation.”

“You’re the one wearing bright pink lipstick. I’ll feel free to insinuate away.”

“I’m also the one with the computer and satellite phone you wish to borrow.
Again.
For unknown and nefarious reasons.”

“You wish.” Danielle still felt antsy. Mystic had told her he/she/ they would be in touch with her in three or four hours. Almost eighteen hours had gone by since she’d talked with the computer hacker. She had contacted Sid Wright on two other occasions to check her e-mail. “So tell me about the bullet holes.”

“I should keep you in suspense,” Sid groused. “As you have been doing the whole time you’ve been using my equipment.”

“I asked out of politeness,” Danielle protested.

“Politeness?”

“Yes. Either it’s a story that you’ve already broken and you’re champing at the bit to tell it, or it’s a story still in progress and you’re champing at the bit to tell me it’s secret, stupendous, and you can’t tell me about it.”

“So, according to you, either way I’m to exhibit equestrian behavior.”

“An equestrian is a rider, not a horse,” Danielle said. “The word you want is
equine.
I’m suggesting you’re exhibiting equine behavior.”

“I know what I’m talking about,” Sid growled. “I’m sure you’re mistaken about the word choice. I’m English. We invented the language. You people mutilated it.”

“Only because the English can’t spell.”

Sid cursed.

“What happened to all those gentlemanly habits you were talking about only moments ago?” Danielle asked.

“I reserve them for ladies of breeding.”

“Young ladies who wear bubblegum pink lipstick.”

“You do make it hard for a man to do you a favor, love.”

“The bullet holes,” Danielle prompted.

“Ah yes. Well, the young lady I was with last night was helping me follow up on a lead I’d been pursuing.” Sid glanced at Danielle. “You never said where we were going.”

“Achmed’s,” Danielle replied. Every time she borrowed Sid’s equipment she insisted they park in a different area. She also kept an eye peeled to make certain none of her OneWorld NewsNet coworkers trailed her. Achmed ran an open market that was still operating.

“Fine. I know where it is. The man brews a decent pot of tea when properly motivated.”

“The lead you were pursuing.”

“An interesting story, I think. If anything comes of it, which I doubt.” Sid turned the corner near a building that had been hit more than once by Syrian artillery. Mounds of broken rock and mortar filled the lower floor where earthmovers had shoved the debris back into the building. “According to my sources, one of the independent merchants, a man named Abu Alam, was kidnapped at gunpoint yesterday afternoon.”

“In Sanliurfa?”

“No. Curiously, he seems to have been taken from his group somewhere between this city and the Syrians’ front line.”

“He’s been trading at both ends of the battlefield. I’ve heard of him.”

“Presumably.” Sid nodded and took another puff from his cigarette. “I think Abu Alam had his hand in just about every morally bankrupt way to make a profit that has taken shape in this area, before and after the conflict began. I’ve also been told that he’s kidnapped American and European women who were trapped here in Sanliurfa and sold them to the Syrians.”

“Is there any truth to that?”

“I believe so, love. Can’t have been very many or the stories would be further spread. Plus, Abu Alam tends not to leave anyone behind to bear witness against him when he conducts his little slavery operation. With the ravaged state of this city, I’m sure it’s quite easy to hide a few murders.”

“Sounds like a guy with a lot of enemies,” Danielle commented.

“Oh, Abu Alam does indeed have enemies. But he also has some loyal supporters who are doing their best to find him. He’s family, you see. The Bedouin take their family very seriously.”

“The bullet holes.”

“Exactly. I was just pursuing an interview. His people told me to go away. I didn’t. So they opened fire and shot the Land Rover to show me they meant business. I’m certain they would have shot me, and the young lady next.” Sid looked at her. “Believe me when I say there’s nothing that cuts across a language barrier like gunfire pointed in your direction.”

“You left.”

Sid nodded. “In the straightest route possible and with all available speed.”

Even despite her driving interest in Mystic and why the hacker hadn’t contacted her, Danielle was drawn into the story. “Who grabbed Abu Alam?”

“I didn’t say anyone grabbed him.”

Danielle wrinkled her nose at him. “C’mon. I’m a big reporter girl now. I know bubblegum pink lipstick when I see it, and I know that you wouldn’t be pursuing a story about a black marketer getting nabbed by one of his rivals in the middle of a war zone. The story has a more interesting twist to it than that. If you find out one of the military units has acted on a vendetta or taken improprieties to rob Abu Alam, you’d have a zinger of a story.”

Sid laughed. “You have gotten quite erudite in these matters, haven’t you, dear?”

“Yes. So give.”

“The lead I was following was given to me by a rather disreputable Eastern European man who’s been dealing with scavengers in the city. He hires people to break into empty houses and businesses and take anything of value. They load those valuables—including electronics, household appliances, and furniture—onto trucks—which are also stolen, by the way—and ship them north.”

Danielle was sickened. She’d heard stories about men like that who were doing exactly that kind of theft. The military forces couldn’t stop them because the efforts to shore up the city’s defenses took all their time. They were geared for protecting Sanliurfa from the army of predators outside the city walls rather than the handful inside.

“The interesting wrinkle in the story this man gave me,” Sid said, “is the tale of the only survivor of the attack that left six of Abu Alam’s people dead outside the city. The lingering casualty hung on only long enough to give this story to his mates.”

“Okay. I’m interested.”

“The story is,” Sid said in a quiet voice barely audible over the Land Rover’s engine, “that the people who kidnapped Abu Alam and killed his people were American soldiers.”