"Indeed." Danielle searched her brain for background info. "You're owned by Nicolae Carpathia, the man who was made the new president of Romania as of yesterday."

"The very same." Valerica smiled again. "See? You knew that. In spite of everything you've been covering here in Turkey, you knew that. This is one of the very reasons we want to hire you."

"Hire me?"

"As a reporter, dear girl."

Danielle tried to relax. "I'm under contract with FOX News." "Not anymore."

Panic filled Danielle. She'd prided herself on the work at FOX, but she'd had her share of personality conflicts with the producer who handled her stories. What had happened to her job? "What are you talking about?"

"One World Communications opened discussions with FOX News nearly a week ago with regard to your contract. We wanted to hire you away from them. Less than an hour ago, we managed to buy you out of that contract."

"Without contacting me?"

"It didn't make sense to talk to you until we'd reached an agreement with FOX."

"What kind of agreement?" Worry bounced inside Danielle's head. She had car payments and apartment payments, along with all the other ordinary financial obligations that had to be met. Payments that she could only make if she had a steady supply of cash coming in-and it looked like her job back at FOX had just vanished in the wind. Apparently today's catastrophes weren't over yet.

"We bought that contract out for a princely sum, which I shall not be gauche enough to discuss with you."

"What if I like my job at FOX? What if I don't want to work with OneWorld?"

Valerica smiled. "How can you not want to work with us? OneWorld is going to be one of the biggest media corporations in, well, the world."

"That's your opinion." Danielle tried to quell her rebellion but couldn't. She had never liked being dictated to. It was something that had been a part of her character since she was old enough to talk. It was one of the reasons she'd left home the very day she got out of high school-and that she'd made her own way in the world ever since.

"Dear girl-" Valerica's melodious voice took on a slightly icy tone- "that is not my opinion. That is a fact."

Danielle barely noticed the waiter as he returned with another demitasse cup. Her senses blurred. Maybe the sugared coffee was getting to her.

"You were at Glitter City during the attack this morning," Valerica said.

"Yes. Believe me, I noticed," Danielle said. "But let's talk about something more interesting. What happens if I don't accept your job offer?"

Valerica reached into her purse again and took out an envelope. She slid the envelope across the table. "That is a certified check for two years' pay at your present salary, plus a 10-percent raise for your second year with us. If you don't want to work for us, take the money; FOX takes the money we gave them, and you can go back to work for that network. But there's more where that came from if you'd care to join us. We think you have the talent and the drive to be one of the best reporters in the world. You're career will take off for the stratosphere if you work with us. I assure you, you'll never regret taking this offer."

Danielle opened the envelope, looked at the check, and found the amount was exactly what the woman had promised. It was a nice check, with lots of zeros on the good side of the decimal point. She whistled softly. "I'm a bit surprised by this. It's clear from this check that you've planned this in advance and that you're serious about this offer. But why me? What do you want from me? How can I believe you?"

"You're a reporter," Valerica said. "You shouldn't believe me. You should want to check the facts for yourself." She took a satellite phone from her purse, which Danielle was beginning to believe was filled with magic tricks or a hole to another dimension. "Call your news producer."

Dazed, definitely feeling the sugar high from the Turkish coffee, Danielle reached for the phone. She dialed the number and, surprisingly, got through immediately.

"Hello?"

Even though she recognized the voice, Danielle couldn't help asking, "Aaron Diller?"

"Yes. Danielle? Danielle, is that you? Do you have any idea of what time it is over here?"

Glancing at her watch, Danielle said, "It's six-nineteen."

Diller swore. "In the morning, Danielle! I just got to sleep."

"You're doing better than I am. I haven't slept at all. I've got no sympathy for you, Aaron. My day got kind of ruined when the SCUDs fell all around me this morning and killed my friends and destroyed a bunch of my equipment. Or maybe it was when I got shot at by the Syrian military. Or maybe it was when people all around me disappeared without an explanation. If you want to compare comfort levels right now, Aaron, I'm gonna have the upper hand. Why haven't you called me? Why haven't you answered when I tried to check in?"

"I've been trying to call you," Diller said. "Every time I dialed your hotel, I got a message that the circuits were busy. How did you get this number? This is my home number."

"Last year's Christmas party," Danielle said. "You had one drink too many. Or maybe you had five too many. Anyway, you hit on me. Somewhere between offering me more air time on international news spots, a bigger office, a larger and more forgiving expense account, and the keys to your Lexus, you gave me your home phone number."

"Oh. I don't remember that."

"Somehow, I can't forget it." Danielle looked at the woman on the other side of the table. "I want to talk to you about OneWorld Communications."

Suspicion vibrated in Diller's words. "What about them?"

"I'm sitting with Valerica Hergheligiu from OneWorld Communications," Danielle said. "She's convinced that her corporation has bought out my contract."

"Man," Diller said, "they're already there?"

"Is it true?"

"Hey, Danielle," Diller said, "in my own defense, I think you're gonna come out of this thing okay. I negotiated pretty good bonuses for all of us that-"

Danielle cut the man off with a hiss too angry to contain recognizable words, then broke the connection. She looked at Valerica as she struggled to get her temper under control. "It seems I'm technically unemployed at the moment. This comes as a bit of a surprise to me. But, even so, I shouldn't have hung up on him. I hope you'll allow me that brief lapse of professionalism."

Valerica spread her hands. "Of course. It sounds justified. But let's talk about your new career with OneWorld."

"I still haven't agreed to accept your offer."

A bright smile split Valerica's face. "Dear girl, you should at least feign interest until you've had time to cash that check."

Danielle couldn't help grinning. "True."

"We want you to continue covering the Turkish-Syrian problem," Valerica said. "And we believe we've found a focal point for your story." She took a mini-DVD player with a superb color screen from her purse, placed it on the table, and switched it on.

Danielle gazed at the gleaming device. "I love the toys already." She'd always been interested in cutting-edge technology.

"Just the tip of the iceberg, dear girl."

The five-inch screen cleared and showed the kind of footage that had aired almost constantly on all the networks over the last few hours. This particular piece focused on the unexplained mishap that had wrecked almost all of the Marine airships coming to the aid of the border forces she'd interviewed so recently.

The camera shot tightened up on a lone Army Ranger sergeant carrying a wounded Marine from a burning helicopter.

Valerica froze the DVD image. "This man," she said. "We want to find out who he is."

After a closer look at the screen, Danielle looked Valerica in the eye and said, "I know who he is."

"Do you?" Valerica smiled.

"Yes. That's Sergeant Samuel Adams Gander of the 75th Rangers." Danielle could still remember how the man's voice had rung out strong and clear as he'd dealt with the slaughter at Glitter City.

"Dear girl," Valerica enthused, "how simply marvelous." She squeezed Danielle's hand. The woman's flesh felt cold as alabaster. "See? Your employment by OneWorld Communications is a thing that had to come to pass."

Danielle looked from the image to the woman. "But why him? He's a sergeant. A non-com. Why not an officer? The commanding officer of the man's unit is a captain. I know him, too. Cal Remington."

"You do keep up with things, don't you?" Valerica smiled. "Captain Remington will probably march right to prominence as this story develops, but for now, the powers that be want to focus on Sergeant Gander there. He's in the middle of the action, you know. Lots of drama and danger. Very photogenic-all that flame and fury. We want to know who he is and what his story is."

"He could be dead," Danielle pointed out. "When we pulled out, he was already up to his neck in trouble and heading away to find worse. The Rangers were involved in a mission across the border only a few hours ago."

"Perhaps the war has taken him. But perhaps not. In any event, your first assignment-should you decide to accept our offer of employment-will be to discover the whereabouts of Sergeant Gander. Dead or alive. We'd like to get his story."

"I'll have to go to the front?"

"Do you have any objections?"

"Reservations, yes. Feelings of panic, yes." Danielle took a deep breath, held it, then let it out. "But no objections. That's where the story is."

"Then you'll do it?"

"Do you have a camera team available to send with me? My crew and equipment got trashed."

"The camera team is already in place there," Valerica said. "You'll be joining them as soon as-"

"After lunch?" Danielle asked hopefully. Excitement and trepidation mixed within her. "I can be ready then."

"Of course you can, dear girl. Of course you can." Valerica patted Danielle's hand. The gesture was that of a much older woman, almost Edwardian in fact, but judging by her appearance, Danielle knew the woman couldn't be that old.

The waiter brought the plates of mutton on a bed of spiced rice, and Danielle was surprised to find she had an appetite. She launched herself into the meal with gusto, her mind already whirling with how she wanted to work the stories. She didn't even think about the potential threat to her life. She believed the answer to the mysterious disappearances lay along that besieged and battered border. If the answer was there, she'd find it. The answer had to be there. It was the biggest flash point in the world right now. Nothing else had happened around the globe that might trigger such an event.

At least, nothing else that she was aware or.

Of course, here in Turkey, coverage of the rest of the world's news had been spotty, concerned mostly with the disappearances of so many people and all the confusion that had come about because of those missing persons.

It was a mystery, and Danielle loved nothing better than a good mystery-except a good mystery with great ratings potential. Which this story had.

As she ate, Valerica kept talking up the corporation and the new heights of photojournalism they would ascend to together. Danielle couldn't help noticing that the meat on the woman's kebab was still pink, almost ready to bleed.

"Are you sure that's done?" Danielle asked, pointing to the kebab.

"To perfection, dear girl," the woman assured her. "I don't like meat that's been overcooked. I prefer a cut that is still simmering in its own juices, as fresh as though I had sliced it off the living animal myself."

Turkish-Syrian Border 40 Klicks South of Sanliurfa, Turkey Local Time 1517 Hours Three squads of Turkish F-4E fighter-bombers from the air base in Ankara roared through the blue sky in tight groups of seven and flew south into Syria. The Turk Hava Kuvvetleri, the Turkish Air Force, carried the familiar bull's-eye of two red rings and one white ring that identified them. The fin flashes bore a white crescent moon with a star at the lower point on a field of bright red.

Goose shaded his eyes with a hand and said a prayer for the pilots.

"Those are brave men, Sergeant," Captain Tariq Mkchian said in a sober voice.

"I know, Captain," Goose replied. "Some of them probably won't be coming back."

"Still," the Turkish captain said, "they fly and they go. Just as you and your men stand and fight this day. None of us, it seems, were cut out to break and run."

"Not until we get set for it," Goose agreed.

Mkchian stared down at the line the U.N. forces, the Turkish army, and the 75th Rangers had created behind the perimeter of bombed and broken Syrian vehicles that had been casualties of the SCUD launches. The Turkish captain was a wiry man who stood about five and a half feet tall. Soaking wet, he might have weighed 140 pounds, but he had the carriage of a lion, the mark of a leader of men. Gray marked his dark hair and neatly trimmed mustache. During the cease-fire that had lasted since the earlier engagement, the captain had put on a freshly pressed uniform. He carried his M-16 in the crook of his left arm like a man who had been born with a weapon in his hands.

Farther down the small promontory, three Turkish soldiers who served as the captain's aides stood awaiting orders. All three of them were incredibly young.

Too young to die, Goose couldn't help thinking. But he knew that fact didn't stop death from happening. A number of young soldiers had died or disappeared today, and more probably would join them before the dawn of the next day. That knowledge left a congealed lump of dread in Goose's stomach, and he could only ask God for the strength to get through it.

The sonic booms of the passing jets faded from Goose's ears. His injured knee had swollen further. Thankfully, the screaming pain had died down to a dulled throb, something he could hold at bay thanks to fatigue and analgesics. His clothing remained soaked and gritty despite the dry heat that baked the broken land around him. At least the smoke and dust haze had mostly cleared out. He could take a deep breath without the kerchief on his face and not launch into a coughing fit.

"Our air force will try to keep flights up at irregular intervals until after sundown," Mkchian said. "But if our losses grow to be too great, they will stop sending those pilots."

Goose nodded. He couldn't blame the Turkish military. The F-4Es were their primary offensive and defensive weapons. Every insertion the Turk Hava Kuvvetleri made into Syria that resulted in a lost unit was going to take the Turkish government months-maybe years-to replace. Both planes and pilots were scarce resources, and finding new ones would be difficult indeed.

Valuable resources were being gambled to try to save the embattled Turkish military as well as the U.N. peacekeeping forces and the Rangers. But the Syrian troops were firmly entrenched in the positions twenty klicks behind the border. They'd had all their luck with the ground war, though. Every time the Syrians had tried to send an aerial attack, the remnants of the Marine wing, the Harriers and the Apache gunships, had shot them down. Since then, though, two more of the Harriers and one of the Apaches had been knocked from the sky. Luckily, only one of the pilots had been killed. A few of the Syrian bombs and one of the falling aircraft had resulted in more casualties among the Turkish and U.N. peacekeeping forces. The Rangers, it seemed at the time, had already paid their blood price for survival.

"We'll make the best of it till that happens, Captain," Goose promised.

"I fear your men are pushing themselves too hard," Mkchian said.

Goose surveyed the activity before them. Rangers still led the way on the salvage operations going on among the wreckage left from the SCUD attacks. His men had been busy, scrounging salvageable weapons, ammunition, and foodstuffs. They'd gathered everything useful, from spare tires that hadn't been damaged or weren't too badly damaged to the fuel in Syrian Jeeps, tanks, APCs, and helicopters that could be pumped from the gas tanks into fifty-five-gallon drums to tents, cots, and other gear.

The plan was to pull back to Sanliurfa, regroup, and watch to see if the Syrian forces kept pushing once they made it across the border. After they reached Sanliurfa, the three armies would further retreat to Diyarbakir to figure out how they were going to hold the Syrians from the rest of the country. The thinking was that if the Turkish army stationed at the border, complemented by the U.N. peacekeeping teams and the 75th Rangers, reached Diyarbakir, they could pose enough of a threat of attacking any army that marched on Ankara that the Syrians might not even make the attempt.

The trick lay in getting from their present predicament to Sanliurfa, and from there to Diyarbakir. It wasn't going to be easy.

"Those men are Rangers," Goose said. "When it comes to pushing, they only know one way to get the job done."

"Still, they are doing so much work, and it will be for naught by this time tomorrow."

"If this little ruse holds till this time tomorrow, Captain," Goose said, "I'll be a happy man." And we'll all be in Sanliurfa. Then he thought about Bill Townsend, who had vanished, and the other men who had died and gone missing, and he knew that not all of them would be in Sanliurfa. The Rangers would have to leave their dead as well, and that thought pained him because he knew from past experience that the Syrian troops would savage the bodies and use them as psychological weapons.

Along the southern perimeter of the destruction on the other side of the border, the Ranger squads filled sandbags and dug fighting holes. They used Jeeps and the RSOVs to pull wrecked vehicles closer together to form barriers. Long scars showed in the crater-filled earth where wrecks had already been towed.

The media groups had gathered along the no-man's-land that marked the border. Some of them had returned from Sanliurfa with more crew and more equipment. Goose found it hard to believe that the reporters were brave enough-or foolish enough, as some Rangers had openly stated-to risk their lives just to get a story plenty of other people were already getting.

"I could have my men help you," Mkchian offered.

"I appreciate that, Captain," Goose said, "but those men down there are used to working together. They're up against the clock, and they're having to look over their shoulders during that work. It's working right now. Besides the occasional language barrier issues with working with your guys, too many men trying to do everything is going to get someone hurt. So let's leave it. For the time being."

Mkchian nodded. "That was what your Captain Remington relayed to me."

"Captain Remington is a fine officer," Goose said. "He knows what he's talking about."

"Have you served with him long, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir."