Allah's Fire by Chuck Holton

Author:Chuck Holton [Holton, Chuck]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-56276-0
Publisher: The Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2006-07-27T16:00:00+00:00

Beirut

John stood on the balcony of his room on the fifth floor of the Moevenpick Hotel, gazing down at the two giant swimming pools surrounded by imported palm trees. Beyond the trees was the hotel’s private marina where the Mediterranean was a shimmering gold as it reflected the setting sun. A few of the yachts anchored there were probably worth more than some countries he’d visited.

“You’re staying where?” Major Williams had practically shouted when John called him on the iridium satellite phone and told him that they were checking into the Moevenpick. The major never shouted.

Even doubling up on rooms, Zothgar’s mysterious instructions were no doubt putting a good-sized dent in the credit card the redheaded CIA agent, Mary, had issued him “for emergencies only.” John had no idea who got the bill, but whoever it was wouldn’t be happy. He just hoped it wouldn’t get taken out of his next paycheck. And the one after that. And the one after that.

He couldn’t make himself feel too bad, though. A year earlier he had scheduled some leave time and had purchased tickets to Cozumel to do some diving. The day before the trip, Task Force Valor had been alerted, and forty-eight hours later he was defusing a booby-trapped weapons cache outside of Khandahar when he should have been floating serenely above Palancar Reef. He still had the nonrefundable plane tickets in the desk drawer in his office, as if holding them might someday make them valid again.

So maybe this was a little payback.

After they had checked into their rooms, John cut the boys loose for a few hours. Rip and Frank made a beeline for the hotel’s business center to check their e-mail. Hogan and Sweeney were working on their tans and gawking at all of the silicon surrounding the swimming pool.

He and Doc Kelly had headed to the fully-equipped fitness center for a light workout followed by a quick swim. They were going to meet at eight for dinner at Hemingway’s Grill downstairs.

This place wasn’t anything like the Middle East John knew. He recalled his nine months defusing mines around that lonely outpost on the Iraq/Iran border with nothing but camels, bedouins, and super-heated sand for a hundred miles in any direction. His time there had redefined his concept of boredom and misery. That was still the one deployment by which he judged all others.

He smiled. Sitting here on his balcony, letting the light sea breeze dry his bare chest was about as far from the desert as one could get, and it felt good.

Until he thought of Liz.

He ran a hand through his hair. What were the odds of running into someone you had been trying unsuccessfully to find for more than three years while on a covert mission in another country? A million to one? A billion?

God had a twisted sense of humor.

Doc Kelly walked onto the balcony wrapped in a thick, white terrycloth bathrobe. “Dude, this place is great! Maybe we can find a reason to delay the mission for another couple of days.

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