Brass Monkey: A James Acton Thriller Book #2 by J Robert Kennedy Page A

anything.”
    “Will the Rooskies have a team in there?”
    “No intel on that, but don’t be surprised. With that ex-KGB puppet master they’ve got over there running things, he might be in on it for all we know, so be careful.”
    “Always am, sir.”
    “Uh huh.” Clancy didn’t sound convinced, but Dawson knew if Clancy had any doubts in his abilities, he would have been drummed from the unit long ago. “Well, at least this time you’ll be in the Middle East. What possible harm could you do there?”
    Dawson smiled. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
    Clancy chuckled and waved him out of his office. “Go, get, there’s a plane waiting to take your team as soon as you’re ready.”
    Dawson stood and headed to the door. “See you when I get back, sir.”
    “Good hunting, Sergeant.”
    Dawson nodded to Maggie as he headed out, she giving him a knowing smile, a smile that conveyed her prayers for his and his men’s safe return.
    Dawson returned to the unit, his foot barely on the accelerator, wanting to give his men as much precious time as he could with their families, for he knew, the moment he pulled up, the day’s festivities would end, and some of his men may never see their loved ones again.
     

 
     
     
    Nubian Desert, Egypt, University College London Dig Site
     
    Laura Palmer leaned over a table, poring over satellite images of her new dig site. She had arrived the night before, after ten hours of relative comfort of first class on an airliner, then as many hours in the cab of an expedition vehicle that had seen better days, days that had never included an air conditioner. At least here, in the comfort of her tent, she had a portable air conditioner hooked to a solar generator that took the edge off. Anything more was a waste.
    She heard the Velcro flap to the tent’s outer entrance rip open. Through the semi-transparent plastic of the inner entrance she saw someone fumbling with the seal, trying to close the outer flap before entering into the cool interior.
    “Blimey!”
    She smiled, already figuring it was Terrence Mitchell, a brilliant, yet painfully awkward grad student of hers from University College London. The outer flap mastered, he pushed aside the inner entrance flap and stumbled inside. He took a deep breath and smiled.
    “Lovely,” he sighed. He turned to Laura. “I know it’s only a couple of degrees cooler in here, but my word, it feels like a heavenly icebox compared to that god-awful heat outside.”
    She motioned to the fridge standing in a corner. “Help yourself to something cold.” She sat down as he headed over and poked his head inside the solar powered fridge that had arrived with her on the transport. He snagged a Diet Pepsi and closed the door, momentarily enjoying the cool air that rolled out and onto his sweat soaked legs. He ran the ice cold can over his face and neck before snapping back the tab, the hiss of carbon dioxide as it rushed from the top made Laura feel as if she had witnessed a real life television commercial.
    She reached for her water bottle sitting on the table in front of her and took a sip. Mitchell took a long drag from the can, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. The satisfied “aaah” after he had drained half the can caused her to return the water bottle to where she found it, unsatisfied. She wanted a Diet Pepsi.
    Mitchell turned to face Laura. “Thanks, mum, I needed that.” He stepped to the table and glanced at the images splayed over its surface. “Are these the latest images?”
    Laura nodded. “Yes, the university sent them by courier to Cairo. They were waiting for me at the airport when I arrived.”
    “Good timing.”
    “Indeed.” She pointed at a grid pattern she had traced out. “I’ve laid out the grid for us to do our work on. See here”—she leaned in and traced her finger along several darker impressions along the image—“these darker areas appear to be too well laid out to be