"I copy," the agent replied.

"I'm Captain Cal Remington, son. I'm glad we were able to get you out of there in one piece."

"So am I. Until your guys showed up, I thought I was dead." "You probably would have been. They tell me you're the main reason Chaim Rosenzweig isn't lying in a box right now." "I suppose so, sir."

Goose listened to Remington work. In a few short sentences, Remington had managed to remind the agent what he owed the Rangers, and Remington in particular, while at the same time acknowledging the agent's potential worth. Goose didn't always agree with the captain's methods, but they were effective.

"I need to know about the offensive the Syrians have planned, Son," Remington said.

The agent hesitated. "Is Section Chief Cody there, Captain?" "Yes."

"Could I speak to him?"

"This is a military operation," Remington said. "Mr. Cody has been sidelined for the moment."

Sidelined? Goose thought. More likely Cody had been thrown out by his boot heels. If the Rangers had known there was a chance that a transmission might result in a Syrian attack, they would have handled the rescue mission differently. The CIA section chief hadn't been up front with them, and Goose knew Remington wouldn't have stood for that. Cody had probably been cleared from HQ in that moment.

"The information I have is sensitive," the agent said.

"If the Syrians are planning to attack the Turks and the company I've got stationed there, I can guarantee you, no one is going to be more sensitive than me."

"With all due respect, sir, the information is highly classified."

"Let me ask you a question, Son. If the bullets start flying across that border in the next few minutes, are we going to be seeing dead CIA agents hitting the sand? Or dead Rangers? My dead Rangers."

The agent still hesitated.

Looking back at the man, Goose noticed how young he was. Surely no more than a handful of years older than Joey, probably less than that. It was strange to realize. Joey still fought and complained about taking out the trash, and this agent had been responsible for penetrating a terrorist cell and preventing the assassination of an international figure.

"Rangers, sir," the agent replied. His voice broke and Goose felt a little sorry for him. When he glanced back over his shoulder, he saw that Bill had a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"If you can," Remington said, "I'd appreciate it if you'd help me save some of those Rangers, Son. The same way we saved you."

For a moment, the RSOV's engine droned into the silence that followed Remington's plea.

"I guess Section Chief Cody told you it took a long time to gain the PKK's trust," the agent stated.

"Almost a year," Remington agreed.

"The reason they let me in was because I crack software. I don't know if you realize this, Captain, but hackers aren't the real deal when it comes to penetrating firewalls and security countermeasures surrounding computer systems."

"I work with intelligence," Remington replied. "I know the difference between crackers and hackers."

Goose checked his watch. The Chase-Durer Combat Command Automatic Chronograph had been a gift from Megan and the kids. The watch was solid and heavy, and its cost had been excessive when matched against the family budget. But Megan had insisted on giving it to him, especially since he was gone from home so much these days. As first sergeant, time was always a consideration, so he was always looking at the watch, always thinking of the family he left at home.

Now, though, Goose felt time working against him. He figured they could be no more than five minutes out from the front line.

"I impressed the men I was with," the CIA agent went on. "I managed to crack into several security areas that held Chaim Rosenzweig's movements and finally located the target in Jerusalem. Thankfully, 1 was also able to alert the agency team there to set up the intercept. I don't think Rosenzweig or his people even knew he was in danger."

"Why didn't you shake loose then?" Remington said.

"Because while I was inside the hotel system, using the computer the PKK cell had given me to use, I found out they had another man on me, piggybacking every move I made."

"They made you?"

"Yes, sir. I think so. I don't know how far back they made me. Maybe the day I stepped into the cell. In order to crack Rosenzweig's security, I had to use agency resources. Every time I was inside the system using the tools I keep stashed there, the PKK cracker was shadowing me. I discovered him two weeks before the assassination attempt was scheduled."

"He found out information about the agency?" Remington asked. "Yes. In the beginning."

Goose waited for the other shoe to drop.

"That wasn't the guy's major interest, though," the agent said. "What was?"

"The United States Army buildup along the Turkish-Syrian border."

Cold dread spread across Goose's back, neck, and shoulders. He remained calm and quiet, letting Remington handle the questions because he knew the captain would be asking the same things he would.

"What did they get?" Remington asked.

"Everything," the agent answered. "They know where the U.S. military forces are, and they know where the Turkish forces are. Exact locations."

Goose glanced at Bill, knowing the man could overhear the conversation even though he wasn't linked to the frequency through the headset. Bill looked grim but he didn't say anything.

"I tried backtracking the guy," the agent said. "I put a trace on him through the sat-corn relays I was using, a relatively simple snooper program that masks itself as a digital enhancement viewer. Using the information I received through a dozen traces, I triangulated the guy's location through ground-based satellite relays."

"Where was it?"

"In Aleppo, Syria. Do you know where that is?"

"I know where Aleppo is," Remington said.

Goose digested that. Aleppo housed the Syrian Missile Command. They had three mobile surface-to-surface missile brigades there that included one battalion of FROG-7 surface-to-surface missiles and one battalion of SS-1 SCUD-B missiles.

The FROG-7s were unguided rockets but capable of carrying nuclear, chemical, or biological payloads seventy kilometers in from their point of launch. The SCUDs had limited guidance systems that made them somewhat reliable but certainly more dangerous than the FROG-7s.

"When did you know for sure the cell had made you?" Remington asked.

The agent took a deep, shuddering breath, then knuckled fresh blood from the corner of his mouth. Goose believed the young man might have a cracked rib. If it had punctured a lung, thankfully the arterial flow seemed minimal, only coloring his breath now and again.

"The minute the assassination started to go badly," the agent said, "I was locked down by the three men your team rescued me from. After the sweep, they were the only ones left standing. They took a ship around Syria, sailing from Israel to Turkey so they wouldn't draw attention to themselves. They knew the U.S. military was observing the coastal cities and didn't want to take a chance on someone identifying me."

"Why didn't they kill you?"

"Killing me would have been simpler. But they wanted to use me to continue digging into military placements around the Turkish border. We sailed to Izmir, then took a car to Ankara to one of the safe houses they had set up. I suppose the agency picked me up there and told you."

Goose watched the southern horizon. Tension knotted his stomach. If the Syrians had the information they needed to attack the border armies, and they knew the CIA agent they'd been waiting for was now in American hands, there was nothing holding them- "Phoenix Leader," Remington said.

"Go, Base," Goose responded.

"I need you to delay your return to the front lines."

Goose bridled at that. The last place he needed to be during the coming engagement-an engagement he had unknowingly triggered by rescuing this CIA agent-was away from the front line.

"But, sir-"

"That's an order, Sergeant," Remington barked. "I want you and your team to head to Glitter City. You'll need to take control of the evacuation there."

Goose glanced at his watch, thought of Megan, Joey, and Chris, and did the necessary math. He was three minutes from Glitter City and ten minutes from the front line.

Glitter City was basically a tent city built of Quonset huts and leftover buildings from small towns that had been bombed and shelled out of existence years ago during border hostilities. It was located halfway between the border and Sanliurfa. During the past few weeks, as armament on both the Turkish and Syrian sides had built up, reporters from FOX News and CNN had taken up transitory residence in the tent city, becoming media nomads reporting on soldiers in the field, weaponry, political and sociological issues, and the possibility of war or peace.

During the previous weeks, at Remington's insistence, Goose had done two interviews. He hadn't enjoyed doing them. So far, as near as he could tell, neither of the pieces had aired. Which was fine with him, though he considered the possibility that he wasn't very interesting or very photogenic. Maybe he was just too boring for TV. Still, he and Megan had enjoyed a laugh about them. She had threatened to tape them and play them at family gatherings.

"Sir," Goose said, curbing his impatience and his anger because he knew Remington maintained a no-fly zone for those emotions, "Sergeant Michaels can take care of the evacuation. His qualifications-"

"Make the adjustment now, Sergeant," Remington said. "That's an order."

"Yes, sir." Stung, Goose gave Tanaka the order, then reset the GPS heading himself while Tanaka made the course correction. "New course has been laid in, Captain."

"Goose," Remington said in a quieter voice, "I need you there. The Syrians launched a wave of short-range missiles eighteen seconds ago. Glitter City is one of their targets. " He paused. "Do what you can to save whatever's left of them, Goose."

United States of America Fort Benning, Georgia Local Time 11:57 P.M.

"Mommy, I don't want you to go! I don't want you to go!"

Megan's heart shattered at the unhappiness in her five-year-old son's plaintive cries. She wiped tears from Chris's cheeks and looked into his china blue eyes that were so much like his father's.

"It's going to be all right, little guy," Megan said as she carried Chris in through the double doors of the staff support building. She'd called ahead to arrange emergency baby-sitting. She'd also left messages on Joey's pager and forwarded all incoming calls to her cell phone.

"Daddy calls me little guy," Chris said petulantly. "Not you, Mommy."

"I know. I just felt like calling you little guy. So you can be my little guy the way you are for Daddy. You're just going to be here a little while. Then we'll go home."

Megan carried Chris on her hip, surprised at how big he'd gotten since the summer. The thought that Goose wouldn't even recognize his son when he returned from his current tour swept into her mind and brought new pain.

Extended absences during active tours were a hazard of the kind of soldiering Goose did. He and Megan had talked long and hard about those absences, about how much they affected a marriage as well as any children of that marriage. That was the biggest fear Goose had had about getting married. He'd seen military careers destroy families, and he believed too much in what he was doing to back away until he had finished the career he'd promised himself to deliver.

And compromise was a hard thing for Goose. He loved his family as fiercely as he loved his country. Having to choose between them would have destroyed him, and Megan knew that. So she chose to be strong for him, to be the woman she had trained herself to be after her first husband had abandoned Joey and her, and to wait for the time that Goose would be home again.

God willing, she prayed softly. Please, God, be willing. She always kept Goose close in her prayers.

"No, Mommy! No!" Chris wailed. He butted his head against her shoulder in frustration.

"It's going to be all right, Chris," Megan said. "It'll only be for a little while. Then I'll take you home and we can cuddle in my bed. I don't work in the morning, so we can watch your favorite videos together. I'll make pancakes. I promise."

Right after I get through grounding your brother for the rest of his natural life, Megan thought. Leaving Chris asleep in his own bed would have been so much easier than getting him up, getting him dressed, and getting him upset. If Joey had been home when he was supposed to be, she could have done just that. Her frustration and anger at her older son grew.

"Okay, " Chris said sleepily. He lay against her more contentedly, and his breath whispered soft and warm against the hollow of her throat. "I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too, baby," she told him.

One of the three women on duty in the emergency baby-sitting facilities met her at the door. Since Megan had used the services before and was on file, all she had to do was show her military ID to check Chris in. Megan politely refused the young woman's offer to take her son and carried him inside the room herself.

The room was filled with cradles and small beds. The constant state of readiness around the world was taking a terrible toll on military families. Emergency baby-sitting had become a necessary thing in these troubled times.

As Megan looked around, she was surprised to see that most of the beds were filled. She glanced at the woman who had checked her in. "Busy night, huh?"

"Yeah. Military support personnel got called in a few minutes ago," the young woman said. "There's been some kind of attack."

A cold rush in Megan's chest took her breath for a moment. "Where?"

"Turkey," the woman said.

"What happened?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I heard the news from one of the men who dropped off his daughter a few minutes ago." She looked at Megan. "Do you have someone over there?"

"My husband." Megan held Chris tightly. It hurt to think about putting him down and walking away from him. With Goose in danger, and Joey gone, she couldn't think of being absent from her younger son.

But Gerry's in danger, too, she told herself. Reluctantly, she placed Chris in one of the empty beds and pulled the sheet over him.

He looked up at her with those wide, blue eyes. "Night, Mommy."

"Good night, baby." Megan was surprised at the lump in her throat. "I love you. Say your prayers, honey."

"Now I lay me down to sleep," Chris said. "I pray the Lord my soul to keep."

"He will, darling. He will." Megan ruffled her son's hair and kissed him.

"I'm just going to sleep for a little while, Mommy, so you can come and get me soon."

"I will, Chris. I'll be right there for you. Promise."

Yawning, his little nose wrinkling, Chris rolled over on his side and closed his eyes. He was asleep in the space of a drawn breath.

Megan kissed her son once more, thankful for such a precious gift, and left the nursery. Her thoughts spun, filled with Gerry and Boyd Fletcher, wondering where Joey might be, and hoping that Goose was all right, because if she knew her husband, he would be in the middle of things.

The Mediterranean Sea USS Wasp Local Time 0657 Hours

Alone with the dead man in the small, refrigerated room next to the medical department that was sometimes used as a morgue, U.S. Navy Chaplain Delroy Harte gazed at the stationery before him and prayed that the proper words would come to him. God, help me. How do you write to a woman and tell her that her husband is dead? How do you write to his children and tell them that their father no longer lives?