American Terrorist (The Rayna Tan Action Thrillers Book 1) by Wesley Robert Lowe Page A

her bosom and, in the safety of her mama’s breast, Kasha started to purr. “It was pretty obvious to Kasha.”
    As Rayna’s eyes fondled the closed eyes of the toddler, she felt the knots in her body start to unwind. As Helena bounced gently, Kasha opened her eyes and smiled. Rayna turned to her mother. “Thanks, Helena. I needed that.”  
    Then it was time for a video conference.

    ***

    Omigod. Boom Boom, now twenty-eight, had become a lady killer. What the hell are you doing there? “Hey Boom Boom, good to see you again,” said Rayna lamely with the most stock greeting.  
    “So you’re working for the asshole now?” said a grinning Boom Boom to Rayna on the big screen monitor.
    “Well, that makes two of us.”
    “Nope. I work for myself. He’s an advisor, but I still call my own shots.”
    Rayna grinned. “I’m happy for you, Boom Boom. You always were a lousy employee.”
    “Yeah, keeping my mouth shut around incompetents was never my strong suit. Besides, I’m a free spirit.”
    “You mean you like free spirits. Scotch, bourbon.”
    “At least I didn’t drink those sissy girly girl Singapore Slings,” he laughed.
    “I graduated,” she told him. “Eighteen-year-old scotch.”
    “Oh, so you’re a man’s man, or is it you’re a woman’s man or you’re a man’s woman?”
    “Screw yourself. Let’s get to work.” Rayna breathed relief. Pleasantries aside, both knew the purpose of the mission.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “So, I saw some things.”
    “Wait a sec. Who’s taking command here?”
    “Me. Got a problem with that?”
    “Hell, no. I love being ordered around by pain-in-the-ass broads. What did you see?”
    “The Syrian crosses. I think that’s a giveaway for being close to northern part of the Syria-Iraq border. That’s where I remember seeing them.”
    Boom Boom objected. “I don’t think so. I’ve been working different parts of the region and those crosses are everywhere.”
    “These guys are poor. Did you look at the truck? The weapons? The clothes? Even you dress better than them. That means we’re not talking about the big boys here. It’s got to be one of those small jihadi groups that sprout like weeds.”
    “There’s got to be somebody in the good old US of A that’s keeping track of them.”
    Rayna shook her head. “Boom Boom, what they see is a bunch of poor ragheads using old Chinese guns and hand-me-down Russian machine guns that you can buy off eBay. And besides, don’t you follow the news? The New York subway got bombed and the Washington Monument had explosive drones fly into it, knocking off the top. These guys are important but, right now, they are so far down the totem pole.”
    “That’s what makes them dangerous, Rayna. If they think they can get away with it, they’ll come flying full force.”
    “Exactly. And that’s why we’re having this conversation.”
    “Really? I thought maybe you were finally going to go with me on a date.”
    “Maybe in the next lifetime.” Rayna rolled back the video to a wide shot of the group and pointed to two men. “Look at these two. One of them is the guy who held the head of the victim. The other guy? That’s the only shot he’s in and this one is kind of jerky. He’s got to be the regular cameraman and he appeared here just in time to get into one of the shots. Neither of these men is a native Syrian speaker. The one holding the person’s neck has a North American tinge, just like the way I speak the language.”  
    “Okay, Rayna, that’s a stretch. You can’t tell that.”
    “Yeah, I can. I lived in China and learned English in an expat school. Moved to Seattle, then had to learn American English. Then to Vancouver and got to speak Canadian, eh? Then I moved to Tiranna , ” (with the slurred accent that native Torontonians use to say “Toronto.) “Accents and speech patterns are my thing because I had to learn to speak like a native in so many different places.”
    “Okay, genius. You’re