“They took Conza hostage?” said Wu. “Why would they do that?”
“To begin with, I see the fact that they took him as a positive.”
“No reason to haul away a dead man,” Ding reasoned.
“Rarely. On the matter ofwhy, we can only speculate. But it does occur to me that he was in uniform. I’m guessing they made a quick check of the wreckage, saw a U.S. Navy officer, and figured he might be worth questioning.”
“I don’t like that scenario,” Charlie said. “They might question him for fifty miles, ask him why he’s flying around in a Turkish helo. But then what?”
“Look, speculation doesn’t help. We all know JC’s background. He’s a SEAL. He’s been through SERE training, not to mention a few wars. He knows how to handle himself in a situation like this. But he also could be injured.”
Ding said, “He’ll try to buy time. But eventually he’s going to need help.”
Clark locked gazes with his team members one by one. Those faces were typically intense and focused. But what he saw now went to another level. They were immersed in the situation.Andthey were pissed. He felt it, too. One of their brothers had been attacked and his life was on the line.
“We are looking at a highly dynamic situation,” he continued. “It’s going to take two hours to get into position. The good news is, the DIA is getting some great intel from a new AI system they’ve got up and running—a lot of it is near real time. When we do go in, they should be able to give us a reasonably clear picture.”
The meeting broke and the team went into prep mode. In addition to their SIG MCX-SPEARs, everyone carried holstered handguns and various bladed weapons. Plate carriers and NODs completed the ensemble. Once their gear was checked and weapons loaded, Clark knew what would follow. For a time, there would be banter to cut the tension and pass the minutes. Then, at some point, everyone would carve out a few moments for themselves. A time for quiet reflection and personal focus.
Clark’s own reflections had already begun. He wondered if the promise he’d made would hold. Would they have a clear picture before they went in?
Yeah, he mused.How many times have I heard that before?
25
Central Anatolia, Turkey
1926 Local Time
The truck hit a massive pothole and John Conza’s head bashed against the sidewall. It brought intense pain. But more critically, in that moment, it brought a return to consciousness.
His eyes cracked open.
He blinked the world into focus. Conza discerned a metal floor and a corrugated wall. There was dirt and trash. A few hand tools and a spool of insulated wire lay nearby. An empty plastic bottle rocked back and forth with the movement of the truck. The space was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from somewhere beyond his feet. Having ended up face down, he tried to raise one shoulder to get a better look. This brought more pain, although his limbs seemed functional.
The next thing he discerned was the flight helmet he’d been wearing on the floor beside him. There was a giant crack on its crown.Better that than my skull, he thought. Conza saw that half the compartment was occupied by a huge metal case. It was the size of twin refrigerators, and wires and cables sprouted from aportal on one side. Along the far wall he saw crates of tools and hardware.
He fought off pain and continued to twist his upper body. When he finally got a look in the front of the cargo compartment, he saw a burly man sitting on an overturned crate. The man was swaying with movement of the vehicle and staring at him. In the spray of weak light, Conza discerned two men standing behind him, gripping the sidewalls to steady themselves. One wore a beanie. The other had a spiderweb tattoo on his neck. Behind them was a pass-through to the front cab, and Conza could make out a dashboard and the shoulder of a driver. Outside, through the windshield, he saw nothing but darkness.
And just like that, everything began to add up. His helicopter had been shot down, and now he was inside the GAZ box truck they’d been chasing.Success and failure all in one nice, neat package.
“It is good of you to join us,” said the man on the crate. “We weren’t sure you would ever wake up.”
He was big and jowly, his face shadowed by a few days’ growth of beard. His ruddy complexion suggested a life spent in harsh climates. A lot of sleeping rough and eating cold meals from plastic pouches.Or maybe he just shaves with a belt sander.His English came with a monster Russian accent, the consonants like chewed gravel.
“You are Lieutenant John Conza, United States Navy.”
There was no denying it. It was right there on his uniform. Thankfully, operational muscle memory from his life with the Teams had prompted Conza to leave his wallet and military ID in the hotel room safe. He pressed his eyes closed, then reopened them. “Is that who I am?”
The big Russian smiled a weary smile. “Do not pretend you are…what is the word…amneziya…forgetting.”
“You’re right, I remember just fine. I remember that somebody shot down a Turkish army Black Hawk without provocation.”
“I think maybe youwerepreparing to provoke us.”
Conza regarded the equipment around them. “And I think you caused a diplomatic aircraft to crash.”
“What is your job in Navy, Conza?”
