Goose put steel in his voice. "That was an order, Private." Command came when there wasn't time or resources for explanations, and Goose didn't want to talk about the situation till after he'd conferred with Cal Remington.

"All right, Sarge." Walker crossed to Hardin and offered to help the man to his feet.

Hardin shook the offer off and stood with overstated ease. "I don't know why you attacked me, Sergeant Gander," he stated.

Goose looked at him. "Yeah, you do."

"Whatever you think you saw," Hardin said, "that wasn't what was going on."

"Private Walker," Goose said.

"Sarge?" Walker bound Hardin's hands behind him with a pair of disposable cuffs. Ranger scout teams carried them in case they had to take prisoners while working point.

"Corporal Hardin has a pouch around his neck. I want it."

Hardin struggled, but the effort was only token resistance. Goose kept his pistol trained on the man while Walker cut the pouch free, then tossed over the bag.

Goose caught the pouch, leathered his sidearm, and examined the contents. A sheaf of money nearly two inches thick sat inside. There were also rings and bracelets and watches. Dizziness from his injuries, the heat, and everything he'd been through for the past two hours swept over him like a tidal wave.

"I saw what I saw," Goose said.

Hardin wiped his chin on his shoulder. "You're making a big mistake." Naked menace anchored the corporal's words.

"Private Walker."

"Yes, First Sergeant," Walker replied immediately, reacting to the tone in Goose's voice.

"Get that man out of my sight," Goose ordered.

"Yes, First Sergeant." Walker got on one side of Hardin, and the other Ranger mirrored him. Together, the two privates marched Hardin away.

Goose took another look at the contents of the pouch. He didn't understand how Bill Townsend could be gone, other men could be dead, and someone like Corporal Dean Hardin could be up walking around. The fact didn't make sense. He knew he'd never get the image of Hardin hanging over the dead Marine, picking his pockets clean like a carrion eater working the bones of roadkill. Before he knew the nausea was going to hit, Goose was doubled over and throwing up.

After the gut-wrenching attack passed, Goose didn't know if the reaction was triggered by the inhalation of smoke, the stink of the blood and dead bodies, or the fact that he had pulled a weapon on a fellow Ranger. And been prepared to use it. The thought remained as sharp and as bitter as the sour taste in his mouth.

He stared up at the blue sky in an effort to center himself. Black smoke stained the clouds and made the air taste thick and acrid. The world had changed, and he somehow knew that things could never go back to the way they had been.

He said a quick prayer, not knowing what to ask for other than his family's safety and the safety of the soldiers who faced death along the Turkish-Syrian border. He found his helmet on the ground, pulled it on his head, and got back to the job he knew and had devoted so much of his life to. Men were left to be saved, supplies salvaged, and plans laid.

And they still had no idea what shape the Syrians were in or if the mysterious vanishings had taken their toll among that army as well. For all they knew, without the satellite communications, the Syrian army was at full strength or had even been the cause of the disappearances.

United States 75th Rangers 3rd Battalion Field Command Post 35 Klicks South of Sanliurfa, Turkey Local Time 0844 Hours Staring at the mild-mannered, blond young man on the notebook computer's LCD screen, Cal Remington was surprised to see that Nicolae Carpathia, president of Romania as of yesterday, looked very ordinary. Carpathia was thirty-three years old, broadchested and photogenic in a pleasant sort of way rather than having movie-star good looks. He moved with compact, athletic grace but acted reserved and interested. While CIA Section Chief Alexander Cody had been arranging the sat-phone/video cam conference call, Remington had gone through intel files that were locked into his personal computer.

Carpathia's name had been in the news a lot lately, especially as a diplomat promoting the increase of U.N. peacekeeping efforts, but Remington had never thought that Carpathia would be on a firstname basis with a CIA section chief.

The Romanian president stood behind his desk, in full view of the small video cam connected to the desktop computer monitor. The connection was good; pixelization only occasionally blurred the reception. Remington's belief that Carpathia could deliver the necessary satellite communications grew by leaps and bounds.

"Good morning, Captain Remington," Carpathia said in a smooth baritone.

"Mr. President," Remington replied, touching his hand to his hat brim in a quick salute. He had intended to offer that courtesy from the start but was amazed at how easily the response came.

The field command post was a beehive of activity. The techs changed out hard drives of the Crays, using the backup parts that weren't infected with the virus. Several of them kept an eye on Remington, still not quite sure of what was going on.

"Your people have quite a difficult road ahead of them," Carpathia said. "Of course, whatever help I may be able to offer will be offered only too gladly."

"Thank you for that, sir. I'm encouraged by your ability to communicate with me now."

A slight smile tweaked the corners of Carpathia's mouth, making him look even younger and very innocent. "Actually, I have a news team in place near your army, Captain Remington. This communication is relatively simple."

"A news team?" Remington knew some of the media reporters who had been behind the front lines had gathered around the area where the Marine wing had gone down in flames.

"Yes. Would you like to see?"

"I'd like that very much."

Carpathia walked to the computer and tapped the keyboard. "I am conversant with the computer, Captain Remington, but I struggle with the applications to a degree. Please bear with me."

"Of course, sir." Despite the near-panicked need within him to have access to the satellite reconnaissance Cody had promised, Remington felt a little relaxed. Carpathia's obvious command of the situation was reassuring.

"Ah," the Romanian president said, "here it is." He tapped a key.

The image on the notebook computer shrank to a two-inch by three-inch rectangle on the upper left corner of the screen. The rest of the monitor filled with video footage that had definitely been filmed at the crash site the LZ had turned into. Wounded Marines staggered from the vehicles. Later explosions knocked some of them from their feet. A fuel fire eruption from one of the helos' tanks engulfed two Marines who carried a third man between them. All three soldiers blazed like scarecrows that had caught fire. They ran, but they didn't get far, dropping into writhing pyres that were finally still.

"This is one of the stories that the news team is broadcasting," Carpathia said.

"Is CNN getting this?" Remington asked.

"Yes. FOX News is getting the footage as well. Would you like to see the presentation on either of those channels?"

Either of those channels. Remington heard the offer and couldn't believe it but somehow knew that Carpathia had managed to feed the news stations despite all the chaos that had ran rampant through American and British sources. "No. That will be fine."

"Would you like to hear the audio portion of this footage?"

"No," Remington answered.

"The footage that has been captured is quite dramatic," Carpathia said. "When I saw it, I was moved to contact Mr. Cody and offer the services of my country and myself."

"He hasn't mentioned how he got to know you," Remington said.

"We're the CIA," Cody said with a trace of pride in his voice. "We do business around the world."

"Romania is in a unique position, Captain Remington," Carpathia said. "We are one of the nations that form the bridge between the West and the East. After the Russian attack on Israel fourteen months ago, I happened to be in the unique position to offer Mr. Cody and his associates some assistance regarding intelligence work in the matter."

"How?"

"I own companies that regularly do business with the Russian government. The decision to attack Israel might have been a popular one, but it was not one that met with approval from every politician in the Russian parliament. Mr. Cody and his group felt that knowing who those people were might be fortuitous in the future. I provided that information."

"A favor for a favor?" Wariness vibrated through Remington. Nobody gave anything away for free, just as he was certain the satellite help wouldn't come without some price.

"Nothing so crass, Captain Remington." If Carpathia took any offense at the suggestion, he didn't show it. "I believed Mr. Cody when he presented his case."

"And you believe in the American presence here in this conflict?"

Carpathia nodded. "I do, but I also have friends within the ranks of the U.N. peacekeeping team there. If I help keep you and your people safe, then I will be saving them as well."

"Yes," Remington said. "You will. I can guarantee that, Mr. President."

One of the techs came forward, standing out of sight of the video cam built into Cody's notebook computer. He gave Remington a thumbs-up. Looking past the man, the Ranger captain saw that the Crays were up and running again, but the monitors were all on standby. He nodded at the man.

On the monitor, Carpathia remained in the small rectangle. The bigger picture showed a lone Ranger staggering out of a CH-46E with a wounded Marine in his arms. The shot froze, then closed up on the two men with the twisted wreckage of the helicopter in the background.

Goose! Remington recognized his first sergeant at a glance. Goose was still alive. He breathed a sigh of relief, then checked himself because the time in the lower right corner of the screen showed that the time the footage had been taken had been eleven minutes ago. Eleven minutes was a lifetime on a hot battlezone.

"First Sergeant Samuel Adams Gander," Carpathia said. "I believe he is called Goose."

Remington was astounded by the Romanian president's uncanny knowledge.

Carpathia spread his hand. "Do not be shocked, Captain Remington. The news service has broadcast the sergeant's name. Mr. Cody told me of your friendship with Sergeant Gander, inferred from his observation of you two on a mission this morning."

Okay, Remington thought, Carpathia pays attention. I like a man who pays attention. He doesn't get surprised much.

The footage rolled on again, then abruptly ended, leaving Remington ignorant of Goose's fate during the intervening eleven minutes. Twelve minutes, the Ranger captain corrected himself. Anything could have happened.

Carpathia leaned forward and tapped a key again. The small rectangle filled the screen again. He stared out at Remington.

The Ranger captain felt the man's eyes boring into his. He could trust Carpathia; he knew he could.

"Are you ready to accept my gift, Captain Remington?" the Romanian president asked.

"I don't have permission from the Pentagon," Remington answered.

"1 had thought to contact them," Carpathia said, "but I know how slowly things can happen within the American government. I knew you were in the field and that you could use the information my satellites can bring you."

"Yes," Remington said. And he knew how long it would take for the powers that be to agree to avail themselves of Carpathia's satellites. Men would die during that time, and Remington still felt certain he could drag a victory from the jaws of defeat.

"Captain?" Carpathia said. "I await only your team hooking into the satellite truck I have outside your building."

The truck had arrived only minutes ago. Thick black cables had been run from the Crays to the vehicle, then tied in to the satellite system.

"If you move quickly enough," Carpathia said, "you may still turn this situation around."

"I could," Remington said before he realized he was going to speak. "If that area wasn't lost in darkness to us."

"Do not put up with the darkness," Carpathia encouraged. "You can put an end to it. All you have to do is give the command."

"Bring the satellites on line," Remington said.

The techs worked at their stations. One after another, the monitor screens came on, filling the darkened command post with bright illumination.

"Let there be light," Carpathia said, chuckling a little. And there was.

United States of America Fort Benning, Georgia Local Time 1:46 A.M.

The world had gone crazy.

The radio, back on after sixteen minutes of dead silence that Joey felt certain indicated that the device was damaged by the wreck that had taken out the left side of his mom's car, bore frantic witness to the state of the city.

,-can't call the police," the DJ said. Howler Murphy, the midnight-to-four madman who spun censored rap records and told off-color and suggestive jokes and had earned the ire of most parents of teens around the city, had dropped his radio personality and become a clearinghouse for news. "Most of the phone lines in the city continue to be off-line. If any emergency personnel working to get those lines back up and working would care to drop by the station and let us know what is going on, I'll be happy to give you some mike time."

Driving through the military base, Joey saw dozens of people-maybe hundreds, God, it seemed like hundreds-crossing the streets with flashlights and worried expressions. MPs were out in force, bolstered by additional troops drawn from the personnel who lived on base. Other soldiers living off base came to Fort Benning to find out what was going on or had been called in to help maintain base security. All of them, Joey would bet, had similar stories of disappearances, public utility failures, and mass confusion to relate.

"I have dozens of folks stopping by the station asking to get messages to loved ones who were caught out in traffic," Howler said in an anxious and worried voice. "People, as much as I would like to help, I can't. What I would like to suggest is that those of you who are lost and scared out there stay home."

An MP with an assault rifle slung over his shoulder waved Joey off to one side of the street with a flashlight wrapped in a red plastic cone. Joey pulled the car over to a stop. When he'd tried to roll the window down at the checkpoint gate, the glass fragmented, falling out in chunks the way it was designed to do. The event, something that would have threatened to change his whole life just a few hours ago, had been anticlimactic.

"Can I see some ID, sir?" the soldier asked.

Joey still felt odd at being addressed as sir, but it made him feel kind of grown up while jenny sat in the passenger seat. He pulled his papers from the dash. The sergeant manning the security gate had told him they would probably be needed as he progressed through the base.

The Ranger corporal glanced at the papers, then compared the driver's license and military ID to Joey. "Are you Goose's kid?"

Joey rankled a little at the "kid" tag. From sir to kid in nothing flat. "Yeah." He didn't want to get into the whole stepson issue, and he resented the fact that the corporal might have been only eight or ten years older than him.

"Are you okay?"

Before he could stop himself, Joey touched the swelling at the side of his face. Crusted blood clung to his skin, and his head was still pounding. "I got sideswiped while sitting at a stop sign when all of this started."

"You look like you could use a doctor."

"I'm still standing." That was one of the things Goose said.

The corporal handed the papers back. "Your father's a good man.

His unit is having a hard go of it over there in Turkey."

"Have you heard how things are going there?" Joey asked. His interest in Goose's welfare outweighed any slight he might have suffered.

The corporal shook his head. "No. I'm sorry. I'm pulling for him. A lot of us are."

"Thank you."

"Where are you headed, Joey?"

"The special services building. My little brother Chris is there. My mom got called in and had to leave him there." He didn't add that his mom had dropped Chris off hours ago because he just didn't need that kind of guilt.

"Do you know how to get there?"

"Yeah. Take the next right, up three blocks, and the building sits on the left."