THE FORTY-MINUTE WAR by Morris Janet & Morris Chris

Author:Morris, Janet & Morris, Chris [Morris, Janet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Perseid Press
Published: 2015-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

There was no hail of bullets by the time Beck and Chris Patrick drove up to the interdiction site—the Saiyeret on the east campus had seen to it that Beck was sufficiently delayed, checking his credentials and Chris's, then double-checking, then making them wait until flak vests, replacement dosimeters and respirators for those Beck had left in his apartment, and a motorcycle escort to accompany them to the site could be found—and that only after Beck had thrown a diplomatic tantrum and called Netanayhu on a Saiyeret field phone.

Beck himself couldn't have executed a delaying action any better. Grudgingly, he gave the Israelis the credit they deserved: they'd been told to keep him out of harm's way and that security must be air-tight. They would and it was.

Even driving toward the site, beyond which lay Jericho and above it Jordan, Beck didn't know where the hell he was going. He just followed the blue flashing lights on the bikes before him and fumed.

Beside him, Chris Patrick looked irresistible in her Israeli flak vest over all that silk. Beck cautioned himself not to get too attached to his agent—people died on the sort of operation Tiebreaker was shaping up to be; and, in espionage, being a woman was no protection.

His escort held them—politely but firmly—in their car while one talked to an Israeli commander with a flash hood in his belt and a black sleeve rolled up. Beyond the little knot of commandos were wrecked cars, a chopper shining a blinding searchlight on body bags being loaded into a van and, farther down the road, a makeshift medical station by a ruined jeep.

Chris sat quietly beside him, taking notes on the back of a deposit slip she'd found in his glove compartment, her lips white in the Plymouth's courtesy lights.

When the Saiyeret leader came toward him, the commando slipped on his flash hood for anonymity and then leaned stiff-armed on the driver's side window well, rolling down his sleeve as he said, "Mister Beck, this is a classified operation and you have a news—a press person with you. You're welcome to look around, but she's got to stay here. We'll take good care of her."

Chris Patrick looked up at the man in the mask and actually growled, a low noise in her throat that made the Saiyeret duck his head to stare at her.

"It's standard procedure, Miss Patrick," the commando said before Beck could intervene. "We've got to protect our identities . . . terrorist reprisals. You understand."

"Do I look like a terrorist to you?" she demanded.

"Chris, in forty-eight hours you're going to have all the exclusives you can handle," Beck interjected before the Saiyeret could give her Counterterrorism 101, and touched her knee as the commando leader stood back so that Beck could get out of the car.

"Promises, promises," he heard her say when the car door slammed; as he was walking away with the Saiyeret, she was estimating loudly how much an interview with one of those commandos would have been worth.

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