you having to work with a woman,” Batya said. She drew from the rubber water tube until liquid spilled from between thin lips. She spit the fine sand granules carried in the wind from her mouth, “L’Chayim,” she offered.
“Cheers,” Justice replied.
“Oh, you speak Hebrew?” her lips parted to show bright white teeth.
“My government says I gotta talk the talk, so I do as I’m ordered,” Justice squatted against a clump of boulders. Making himself as small a target for the enemy was hard to do at six feet and six inches tall, but he managed to shove his 258-pound frame into a gulch of rock and shade.
She retied the shemagh over her head and neck. Afghans traditionally wore the square cloth, but many soldiers and special operations warriors adopted use of the versatile garment.
“Justice, please answer this,” Batya snugged the water hose’s tip beneath her desert colored, tactical dress uniform or TDU. “Is it because I’m a woman or a Jew?”
“Neither,” he snapped at the implication. “This isn’t Israel’s problem. Why would the Mossad bother dispatching a female to eliminate a rogue American asset? There’s more to it than you’re allowed to let on.”
The olive and black checkered scarf was tugged just beneath her razor-slits that barely allowed him to see her cold hazel eyes, “Your country may have created this shaytan , but he has killed many in my country. There’s no tolerance for his return.”
Justice leveled his monocular scope to eye-level. He wafted bats of steaming air through his nostrils while he zeroed upward, toward the ridge of a steep terrain.
“ Shaytan —devil. That’s what the Muslims call him. Is that what the Jews call him too?”
“We don’t bother giving him a name. There is nothing other than the one true God. To offer this man a name such as devil, iblis , or shaytan would conflict with our monotheistic view of only one God.” She knelt about five feet away from him, “Why, is that another problem you have with me and my people?”
He pocketed the scope into the tactical vest strapped around his torso. Beneath it were light Kevlar panels. Probably not any good for stopping many bullets, but maybe it’d hold his insides together until he scrambled a medi-vac. His gloved finger twirled to signal it was time to move.
“I ain’t got a problem with you being a woman or a Jew. I just thought it’d be ironic for you and the Muslims to agree on something—even if it was a name for the devil.”
Batya leaned her lean frame close to the rock-strewn loam and began the long upward trek toward the unguarded military outpost. “What both of our people do agree on is that your country trained and dispatched this animal to prey on both of our countrymen.”
He glared at her ass as it moved inches from his dusty face. Justice averted his gaze, but the smile was glued. Guys never really grew up—they just learned to not be so gross in public.
Maybe she can take care of herself after all.
Both operatives sat at the spear’s tip as far as specialized training was concerned. Justice’s acceptance into Delta Force afforded more training than most of the Army’s soldiers would see in a lifetime. Along with the United States Navy SEAL Team Six, both units were by far the most elite of the Joint Special Operations Command units.
The former LSU football standout left college athletics to graduate early. His heart was one of service to his country. He’d grown up in a dysfunctional, backwater bayou brawl-a-thon with his father, but he’d always known hard work would make up for a fucked up childhood of fishing and alligator hunting.
North Carolina’s Fort Bragg was another world away from Turtle Bayou, Louisiana, but it wasn’t long until he got the call that would take him even further away from his beloved United States Army—the Central Intelligence Agency.
“Hold on sister,” Justice gasped.
His left hand swung out to grab her. He pressed her into
“Cheers,” Justice replied.
“Oh, you speak Hebrew?” her lips parted to show bright white teeth.
“My government says I gotta talk the talk, so I do as I’m ordered,” Justice squatted against a clump of boulders. Making himself as small a target for the enemy was hard to do at six feet and six inches tall, but he managed to shove his 258-pound frame into a gulch of rock and shade.
She retied the shemagh over her head and neck. Afghans traditionally wore the square cloth, but many soldiers and special operations warriors adopted use of the versatile garment.
“Justice, please answer this,” Batya snugged the water hose’s tip beneath her desert colored, tactical dress uniform or TDU. “Is it because I’m a woman or a Jew?”
“Neither,” he snapped at the implication. “This isn’t Israel’s problem. Why would the Mossad bother dispatching a female to eliminate a rogue American asset? There’s more to it than you’re allowed to let on.”
The olive and black checkered scarf was tugged just beneath her razor-slits that barely allowed him to see her cold hazel eyes, “Your country may have created this shaytan , but he has killed many in my country. There’s no tolerance for his return.”
Justice leveled his monocular scope to eye-level. He wafted bats of steaming air through his nostrils while he zeroed upward, toward the ridge of a steep terrain.
“ Shaytan —devil. That’s what the Muslims call him. Is that what the Jews call him too?”
“We don’t bother giving him a name. There is nothing other than the one true God. To offer this man a name such as devil, iblis , or shaytan would conflict with our monotheistic view of only one God.” She knelt about five feet away from him, “Why, is that another problem you have with me and my people?”
He pocketed the scope into the tactical vest strapped around his torso. Beneath it were light Kevlar panels. Probably not any good for stopping many bullets, but maybe it’d hold his insides together until he scrambled a medi-vac. His gloved finger twirled to signal it was time to move.
“I ain’t got a problem with you being a woman or a Jew. I just thought it’d be ironic for you and the Muslims to agree on something—even if it was a name for the devil.”
Batya leaned her lean frame close to the rock-strewn loam and began the long upward trek toward the unguarded military outpost. “What both of our people do agree on is that your country trained and dispatched this animal to prey on both of our countrymen.”
He glared at her ass as it moved inches from his dusty face. Justice averted his gaze, but the smile was glued. Guys never really grew up—they just learned to not be so gross in public.
Maybe she can take care of herself after all.
Both operatives sat at the spear’s tip as far as specialized training was concerned. Justice’s acceptance into Delta Force afforded more training than most of the Army’s soldiers would see in a lifetime. Along with the United States Navy SEAL Team Six, both units were by far the most elite of the Joint Special Operations Command units.
The former LSU football standout left college athletics to graduate early. His heart was one of service to his country. He’d grown up in a dysfunctional, backwater bayou brawl-a-thon with his father, but he’d always known hard work would make up for a fucked up childhood of fishing and alligator hunting.
North Carolina’s Fort Bragg was another world away from Turtle Bayou, Louisiana, but it wasn’t long until he got the call that would take him even further away from his beloved United States Army—the Central Intelligence Agency.
“Hold on sister,” Justice gasped.
His left hand swung out to grab her. He pressed her into
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