The Ethan Galaal Series: Books 1 - 3 by Isaac Hooke

Author:Isaac Hooke [Hooke, Isaac]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2016-07-11T06:00:00+00:00

21

Ethan flinched, pulling his head away.

"You certainly are a bashful one." The mujahid grinned widely and reached again. "Now stay still, or I will take offense."

Ethan's mind switched to combat mode, and he began running mental calculations, reviewing odds, strategies.

His hands and lower body were hidden by the table; with luck, he could draw the Glock from his ankle holster unnoticed. His first shot would eliminate the militant. With his next shots, he figured he could take down three or four of the other fighters before they retrieved their rifles. Thereafter, he would need cover—the wooden table was useless, bolted as it was to the floor, and so were the flimsy wooden chairs around it. He'd have to use the militant's body as a shield. That, combined with the Kevlar vest Ethan was wearing, should be enough to block any incoming bullets. Discounting a headshot, of course.

Ethan figured they would probably rush him. By the time William made it inside, the firefight would be over.

Ten bullets, seven mujahadeen. He'd have to make his shots count.

He stared at that approaching hand.

"Careful!" Maaz said, startling him. "Once you set eyes upon her, her disfigurements will be forever seared into your mind! It cannot be undone. She is the ugliest woman you will ever see!"

"You make me want to look upon her even more," the mujahid said. His fingers were inches from the veil.

Ethan steeled himself; he was about to tell his companions to get down when Maaz abruptly produced the fake identity document and shoved it into the militant's face. Ethan had seen the picture earlier: it depicted a terribly unattractive woman with a goofy, bucktoothed smile. The photo was meant to deter any militant from ever even wanting to peer under the veil.

It seemed to have the desired effect, because the mujahid retracted his fingers as if bitten by a cobra. "I do not think I wish to see her face after all. Enjoy your meal." The man retreated.

Ethan thanked Maaz mentally.

When the fighter returned to his own table, he pointed a thumb over his shoulder and said, just loud enough for Ethan to hear, "She looks like a donkey."

His fellow mujahadeen erupted in laughter. "I thought you liked donkeys, Abu Osama."

That's right, laugh it up, Ethan thought. Into his mouthpiece: "Will, stand down."

"Well played," Kareef told Ethan underbreath. "Though it was your chaperon who did all the work, special operative. What would you have done if the fighter had seen your face?"

Ethan smiled wolfishly beneath the veil. "I have a Glock 26 strapped around my ankle. If he saw my face, the mujahid would be dead now. Along with his six friends." Ethan was careful to look straight ahead: he didn't want the watching militants to know he was still directly conversing with the scholar.

Kareef raised an eyebrow. "I see. So that's all a special operative is, then. A killer. And I thought you were clever."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Ethan said. "An American intelligence operative in the heart of IS-occupied Iraq, speaking to you in perfect Arabic, unnoticed.

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