“I’m relying on you,” Remington said.
“Yes, sir. You’re in good hands.”
For the kind of work he was doing, Remington knew that was true. Goose would have asked too many questions, insisted on knowing too many things.
Making himself breathe, Remington started to flip the headset back to the frequency carrying the main information for the army maneuvers. Doyle’s next announcement stayed his hand.
“We got a problem,” Doyle stated in a flat, dead voice.
“What?”
“That woman news reporter just showed up.”
“What’s she doing there?”
“Nothing at the moment. Looks like she’s just watching him.”
“How did she know where the target was?”
“Don’t know, sir. You want me to-”
“Stay out of it,” Remington commanded. He didn’t know what Danielle Vinchenzo’s game was, but he was willing to let that develop a little as well. “Let her draw the heat for a while. Maybe she’ll force the target’s hand.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If something changes-”
“I’ll let you know immediately.”
Remington flipped frequencies and concentrated on the board, where Archer labored to put up the latest stats relayed by the intelligence teams. Men and women talked incessantly as they brought information together to hand off.
The monitors that fed video from cameras strung through the city kept breaking down. The feeds had to restart constantly. But the blank screens gave only a short reprieve from the absolute carnage unleashed on the city.
Dead lay in the streets. Survivors fought with the United States Army and with the United Nations units, demanding to be taken to a place of safety or to have help with a loved one who was wounded or dead.
In addition to death, the heavy hand of madness lay over the city as well.
“Hey, get back!” a man’s voice yelled.
Drawn by the fierce protectiveness in the words, Remington turned to face the entrance. A handful of soldiers held four civilians back. Three men and one woman, all Americans or Europeans from the sound of them, fought with the soldiers.
“Get those people out of here,” Remington commanded.
The soldiers pulled at the intruders, but they weren’t making much headway.
“You need to evacuate us,” the oldest man said. He looked like he was in his late thirties, powerfully built and broad. “You have planes. We’ve seen them.” He swatted one of the soldiers away with a vicious backhand that showed he was no stranger to violence. “We just want out of the city. You owe us that. We’re civilians. You’re supposed to save us. That’s your job, and I expect you to do it.”
The soldiers formed a line but gave up trying to remove the people.
They didn’t have the heart to do their jobs. Most of the younger soldiers hadn’t ever had to fight the people they were supposed to be rescuing. Remington understood, but he faulted them all the same.
Without another word, Remington walked over to the group. The soldiers stepped away. The big man leading them smiled and looked at Remington.
“Now this is more like it,” the big man said.
Remington stopped ten feet from the man, well out of range of an easy grab. “Sir, I’m asking you one more time to vacate these premises. This is a very sensitive area.”
The man scowled. “You’re supposed to save us.”
“You were told to leave days ago,” Remington said. “Leave this room. I’m no longer asking you. This city is under martial law, and I’m the law.”
“I want a plane,” the big man said. “I know you can make that happen.”
Rage hammered Remington’s temples. He wasn’t going to brook insubordination, and something like this could undermine his authority.
Smoothly, without warning, he drew his sidearm and took immediate aim at the man. The man stood his ground, jaw thrust out defiantly. Dispassionately, Remington shot the man in his left thigh, aiming for the thick meat of the outer thigh so he wouldn’t accidently nick the femoral artery and kill him.
The pistol report cracked loudly inside the building. All the techs, and even the security men, stepped back as the man dropped to the floor. Shock twisted his face and pulled his mouth into a gaping O of surprise.
“You can’t-,” one of the civilians started to say.
Remington pointed the pistol at that man, putting an instant halt to the objection. The man threw his hands up in front of his face and turned away.
“Anybody else want to make any demands?” Remington asked calmly.
No one responded.
Remington didn’t put his pistol away, but he did drop it to his side. “We’re in desperate straits here. The army is doing the best that it can. You will not interfere with the command post again.” He flicked his glance to the security teams. “I don’t want to have to shoot another civilian to enforce something you should already be doing. If I do, you’ll be in lockdown. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” one of the men responded. The others quickly nodded.
The wounded man wrapped both hands around his bleeding leg.
“Get this man to medical,” Remington said. “Have them patch him up.” He glanced at the man writhing on the floor. “Once they’re done with you, if you feel like walking out of the city, be my guest.” He waved to the security team.
Quickly the soldiers herded the civilians out of the building. They carried the wounded man.
Remington glanced around the room. Every eye was fixed on him. The OneWorld NewsNet team shot footage. Remington idly wondered when they’d started filming and suspected it had been from the beginning.
“We’re facing a crisis,” Remington stated. “I’m not going to settle for saving a handful of people. I’m going to save us all. And no one is going to prevent me from doing that.”
He said that as forcefully and believably as he could, but he knew he wasn’t the only one in the room who wasn’t convinced he was able to deliver on that promise.
36
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 0723
“Mrs. Gander?”
Megan looked up from the yellow legal pad she worked on. A young corporal stood at Major Thomas Francher’s door and regarded her expectantly.
“I’m Mrs. Gander.”
The corporal looked a little bleary-eyed, but he smiled all the same. “Yes, ma’am. I figured that you were.”
When Megan looked around, she discovered that she was still the only one in the waiting room. She’d wanted to get here first thing to ensure she would be able to meet with Major Francher, the base commander’s right-hand man. Her time while waiting had been divided between the small television in the corner and the legal pad.
FOX News continued to carry coverage of the attack on Sanliurfa, but other breaking news stories occupied the screen as well. Paranoia over the disappearances still raged and caused riots as well as individual problems.
One of the main stories that had shocked Megan to her core involved the burning of a church in Atlanta. A crowd had objected to the pastor’s delivery of a message about the Tribulation, and they’d burned the church to the ground. Thankfully no serious injuries had come of it.
Everyone remained afraid and uncertain, though many people simply tried to bury themselves in their lives as if nothing had happened. They went back to jobs and routines. Megan had seen similar instances at the post. In the end, that wasn’t going to work. Denial never kept bad things from happening.
Megan stood, smoothed her dress, and shoved the legal pad into her tote. She followed the corporal into the major’s office.
“Ah, Mrs. Gander.” Major Francher was a big man and had put on a few extra pounds since drawing the desk assignment, but he appeared dedicated and alert. The fact that he was at his desk before seven thirty said a lot. He waved her to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Please. Have a seat.”