The captain took in a calm breath and let it out. Icarus was dark-complexioned and looked like he was in his early twenties. His dark hair was longer than in the photographs Cody had shared with Remington. A five-o’clock shadow colored his chin and cheeks. Beneath thick black eyebrows, Icarus’s hazel eyes looked haunted and feverish. Remington didn’t know where Icarus had gotten the army Ranger BDUs he wore, but he’d obviously worn them so he could blend into the exfiltration effort. According to Cody, Icarus was a covert agent they’d managed to get into one of the terrorist cells inside Turkey. He was an American, not a Turkish or Syrian that the agency had managed to flip. Remington had exhausted his resources trying to find out Icarus’s real name. The captain had the distinct impression that whatever intel had existed on the young undercover operative had long since been expunged. And now it seemed Cody had been right about Icarus trying to get in touch with Goose. But why?
