Mel Odom - Apocalypse unleashed

For the most part, the cleanup detail had amounted only to shoving debris to one side of the street or the other. They didn’t have time to haul the remains of the broken buildings away, and there was no real place to dump everything that had been destroyed.

Earthmovers roared and snorted like mechanical beasts all around the city as they labored to continue clearing streets. With the Syrian army and air force mostly intact, Remington had had no choice except to figure out fallback positions within the city. If they were pursued from Sanliurfa, they were going to be targets while they raced to the next city.

A moment later, Remington reached the street he wanted. It took some scouting to find streets because he was having all the signage torn down as well. In case an invading Syrian ground effort reached them and had maps, directions would be harder to figure out without neatly labeled streets and thoroughfares.

He stopped at the intersection and spotted the restaurant he was looking for. It was open. Bright flags-Turkish, United States, British, Canadian, French, and Russian-flew above the open-air cafe.

The fact that the restaurant was open didn’t surprise Remington. War zones brought capitalists swarming like flies to honey. Everywhere he’d served, there had always been a thriving black market and local entrepreneurs willing to risk their necks to make a profit.

He turned onto the street and took a space out front next to a station wagon loaded down with chicken crates. Evidently not everyone had finished leaving. There were still a few rats deserting the ship.

Felix Magureanu’s midnight blue Mercedes sat nearby. Though a patina of dust covered the city, the luxury car looked freshly scrubbed. The personalized license plate on the back read, DEALZ.

Local Time 0609 Hours

The restaurant’s interior was clean and well lit. The power was out; electricity throughout Sanliurfa was generally absent, except in key locations like the hospital and the mess area, where food perishables were kept refrigerated. But there were plenty of candles. The burning wax filled the air with a sweet, heavy scent.

“Welcome,” a young woman greeted. She wore black slacks and a white dress shirt. “Will you be dining with us today?”

“I’m looking for a friend.”

“You are Captain Remington?”

“Let me guess,” Remington said irritably. “The uniform gave it away.”

“I am sorry, but I see many uniforms. They all look the same to me. It’s hard to tell American soldiers from British and the others.”

“I’m Remington.”

The hostess smiled. “Good. Your friend was wondering how long he would be kept waiting. This way, please.”

Remington followed the woman across the restaurant’s floor space. Only a handful of patrons sat at the tables. A ragtag family that matched the station wagon sat near the front windows, obviously concerned about their chickens. A handful of soldiers, all of them wearing blue berets of the United Nations, occupied other tables.

A moment later, the hostess showed Remington to a private dining room in the back.

She knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a booming voice called from within.

The hostess slid the door open and ushered Remington inside. The wood paneling and tables were old and dark, looking black as ink in the uncertain shadows created by the wavering candlelight. “Would you like anything to drink?” she asked.

“Coffee,” Remington said.

“Of course.” The hostess left.

“Good morning, Captain.” Felix Magureanu sat in front of a superthin computer. He waved Remington to the chair on the other side of the square table. Candles stood at attention in an elegant centerpiece.

Remington removed his hat, set it on the table, and took a seat.

The long fingers of one of Felix’s hands trailed through his red goatee. His head was shaved and pale as milk, matching the rest of his complexion. He looked like a man who’d never been out in the sun. As always, wraparound sunglasses with ruby lenses hid his eyes. His black suit was Italian and tailored to his lean, hard physique. A gold Rolex gleamed on one wrist. Rings adorned his fingers.

“You’re late,” Felix said.

Irritation gnawed at Remington. Although he’d learned to work with Felix, he hadn’t learned to care for him. The man was too arrogant to be likeable. Remington kept his expression neutral. “You asked for this meeting, not me.”

“True.” Felix leaned forward and accessed the Internet on his laptop. A small satellite unit sat near the computer on the table. “I wanted to talk to you about Sergeant Gander.”

Remington waited just a beat, making sure he had Felix’s full attention. “Sergeant Gander isn’t any of your concern.”

Felix frowned like a disappointed child. “In that regard, Captain, I’m afraid we disagree. I feel that the sergeant is very much a threat to what we’re trying to do here.”

“Before we explore that possibility,” Remington said, “maybe you’d like to clarify exactly what it is we’re trying to do.”

“What do you think you’re trying to do?”

“Survive. I’ve got the Syrian army waiting to pounce across the border and encroach on Turkey. If they do, they intend to kill anyone who tries to stop them.” Remington paused for effect. “That would be me.”

“Good, good.” Felix rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. “Deep resolve. A show of force. It’s reassuring to see that you’re taking this matter so personally. War, with all the technological advances, has become too dispassionate for my taste.”

“What do you know about war?”

“A challenge, Captain?” Felix grinned mockingly. “Do you think I’ve never been in a war? never killed? never had blood on my hands that wasn’t my own?”

The threat hung naked and ugly in the air. For just a moment, a primitive fear touched Remington, and he despised the weakness he felt within himself. He couldn’t see anything in Felix to be wary of, but the fear was there all the same.

“Killing is easy,” Remington said. “Fighting someone to the death, when they have just as good a chance of killing you as you do of killing them-that’s different.”

“Do you give all your enemies chances?” Felix looked delightfully appalled.

“They all have whatever chance they can make for themselves.”

“If that’s your attitude, I’m surprised you’re still alive and walking around.”

“I’m good at what I do.”

“Why give them any chance?”

“I didn’t say I gave them chances.”

Felix shook his head in obvious disapproval. “You take a risk of dying. That’s foolish.”

Quick as a wink, Remington unleathered the Beretta M9 from his hip and took direct aim at Felix’s right eye. The barrel never wavered. The captain’s forefinger was on the trigger, ready to fire, not along the guard.

“I don’t take kindly to being called foolish, especially by a fool,” Remington said softly.

Felix didn’t move. His grin never faltered. “I guess not.”

“I don’t like you.” Remington stared hard at the other man. “I didn’t like you the first time I laid eyes on you. It wouldn’t be much of a decision for me to ventilate your head.”

“Then do it.” Felix’s voice was low and throaty. His eyes gleamed excitedly. “Pull the trigger and let’s see what happens.”

Remington wanted to. The temptation within him was strong. Not just for himself but for Goose too. Felix represented an obvious threat to Goose.

“Why choose to threaten me like this?” Felix asked. “Aside from not liking me?”

Remington didn’t answer.

“Is it because of the sergeant?”

“Leave him out of this.”

Felix shook his head. “Your attachment to Sergeant Gander may well be your downfall, Captain.”