Crossfire by Joann Ross Page A

secret.’’ Lucas pointed out what they were all thinking. ‘‘If we do it, it’s going to have to go into the report.’’
    ‘‘Couldn’t keep it out,’’ Quinn agreed grimly. Can you say headlines, congressional hearings, and courtmartials, boys and girls?
    There was also the very real risk from al-Qaeda and Taliban who were holed up all over these mountains and weren’t all that hospitable to strangers. Especially ones wearing the uniform of the U.S. military. By trying to save the life of the man who’d saved theirs with that un-fucking-believable landing, they could end up getting him—along with the rest of the survivors, including themselves—beheaded on Arab television.
    And speaking of mountains, the goddamn village in question just happened to be straight up.
    ‘‘The only easy day was yesterday,’’ Zach said, quoting the BUD/S training slogan.
    ‘‘Roger that,’’ Lucas and Quinn agreed.
    The spook didn’t argue, which wasn’t surprising, since it’d been his idea. Besides, the last time Quinn looked, the CIA guys didn’t exactly play by anyone’s book but their own.
    So, with that it was settled.
    They’d just returned to the bunker when what they’d been worried about all along happened.
    The Chinook, which had been leaking fuel and smoldering since the crash, finally blew.
    The earth rocked beneath Quinn’s feet.
    Rolling columns of blinding red and orange rose out of the wrecked metal.
    The ammunition they hadn’t yet had time to get off the copter—given that they’d been a little preoccupied with a firefight—exploded like fireworks.
    ‘‘Damn it all to hell,’’ Shane Garrett muttered, glaring up at the black smoke billowing into the sky. ‘‘I loved that bird.’’
    His eyes, though laced with pain, hardened to brown flint. ‘‘Now those bastards are really going to have to pay.’’

    Quinn hit SAVE, then leaned back in the desk chair and scrubbed at his face as he breathed in the acrid scent of aircraft fuel and smoke. Although the explosion had occurred eight months ago and more than six thousand miles away, while he’d been writing the scene he’d been right back there, reliving that never-ending day in the Hindu Kush.
    He knew that most people, not just civilians but those in the military as well, thought of snipers as being coldhearted killers who’d been trained not to let emotion get in the way of their jobs. He suspected there were even those who didn’t think they even had human emotions.
    But they did. They just didn’t show them to anyone.
    The thing was, on the battlefield, you needed to be coolheaded and coldhearted, and you had to be able to control yourself, no matter what was going on. But, dammit, you were still human. If you didn’t hang on to those feelings, you could step over the line and become some crazed, homicidal maniac, like whoever the hell had shot those victims today.
    It wasn’t an easy balancing act. Which was why his team had always been important. Quinn had never allowed anyone inside his head while he was shooting, but sometimes a guy had to let his guard down. And that was where Zach and Shane had come in. They’d never judged him, which had allowed him to expose his personal feelings, which—in turn, he’d always thought—had kept him human.
    Eight months ago, Quinn’s power had come out of the barrel of the gun. Now, having sold the novel he’d written while still in the SEALs, it came from his computer keys. He didn’t expect the novel he was currently writing based on his experiences to change the world. But just maybe it might help some people understand that war wasn’t something you watched on TV or in movies. Or even read about in books, like his.
    It was all too real. Which he was discovering all over again. He’d originally planned this book as a novel, believing that sometimes more truth could be told as fiction. But the words that kept showing up on his computer monitor weren’t merely