Apocalypse Burning Read Free Page A

out through the area, all of them filled with hiding places. He hoped the Bedouin kidnappers hadn’t taken their prey and ducked into hiding. He wasn’t looking forward to playing cat and mouse with them in the debris-strewn streets and bombed-out buildings.
    “Who are we looking for?” Clay asked.
    Goose looked at Arnaud. “Have you got a picture of your wife?”
    Arnaud pulled his wallet out and flipped it open. He showed Goose a picture of himself and a younger woman. “This is Giselle.”
    “Her name is Giselle Arnaud,” Goose said, jerking his attention back to the alleys. “She’s French. I’m with her husband. He says she was taken by a group of Bedouins after they were robbed.” He glanced at Arnaud. “Does she speak English?”
    “Mais oui, ” Arnaud answered. “She is very fluent in five languages. That is her specialty at university. She is also a teacher.”
    “Giselle speaks English,” Goose said, glancing back at the picture of the couple standing in front of a flowered archway that existed only in some photographer’s studio. “She’s a little over five feet tall. Dark hair down to her shoulders. Dark eyes. Thirties. She’s wearing—” He looked at Arnaud.
    “A red sleeveless blouse,” Arnaud said. “Tan pants. Walking shoes.”
    Arnaud, Goose realized, was a man who paid attention. The description made Goose feel guilty. He couldn’t remember what his wife had worn the last time he’d seen her. Megan had come to the airfield to see him off as she always had since they’d been married. He’d seen her, remembered her brave smile even though the separation hurt her, but he didn’t remember what she was wearing. With a pang, he realized he couldn’t remember what Chris had been wearing the last time he’d seen him either.
    Mechanically swallowing the lump in his throat, Goose passed the information along. Just as he finished, Arnaud stood up in the seat and threw his arm out.
    “There, Sergeant! She is back there! I saw them!” Arnaud shouted. “You must back up!”
    Before Goose could say anything, Arnaud leaped from the Hummer. Goose made a frantic grab for the man but missed him. By the time Goose braked the Hummer, the worried husband was already rushing toward the last alley they had passed.
    “Sergeant,” Goose spoke over the headset as he pushed himself from the Hummer and dropped into the street. The impact cracked through his injured knee, but he ignored the pain and kept moving.
    “Here, Phoenix,” Clay responded.
    “We’ve got a possible ID on the SAR target.” Goose checked the street signs and relayed his location.
    “Acknowledged, Phoenix,” Clay said. “We’re only a few blocks away.”
    Goose ran, favoring his left knee and feeling the pain lance all the way up his side to detonate in the left side of his brain. It was projected pain. He recognized the sensation from years of dealing with the injury. He held the M-4A1 in both hands, high across his chest to keep his lower body clear.
    A car that had been following the Hummer honked impatiently. With all the debris in the street, there was little room to pass. The earthmovers had worked only to clear a vehicle-wide path, not two lanes. A few pedestrians, all of them civilians, stopped to stare at Goose as he ran.
    At the mouth of the alley, Arnaud shouted, “Giselle! Giselle!” He started forward again. Before he’d taken his second step, he jerked and spun to his right. Pain etched his features, popping even his swollen eye slightly open with surprise.
    The flat crack of the rifle report reached Goose’s ears just before Arnaud hit the ground. The echoes of the shot rumbled in the narrow alley between the three-story buildings. Chunks of rock jumped up from the street as three more rounds landed near the fallen man but miraculously did not touch him. Arnaud scrabbled weakly to right himself. Blood darkened his shirt on his upper chest.
    Moving quickly, Goose slammed into position with his back