She stared at the dot that marked his position. MOVE DAMN YOU!

  ***

  Flame was running all out down a long winding pathway that had once been a tributary of the Euphrates. The entire area that had been chosen for the rendezvous and pick-up was full of wadis like this one—dried up streams and river outcroppings. Flame had parked the Land Rover in one such wadi—albeit one with a flattened, sloping side. He had chosen it to hide the vehicle from casual observation but kept it close enough to be useful.

  It was just bad luck that the hadjis had stumbled across it.

  Next turn I think, Flame was moving as quickly as was safe. He had scouted the area and knew that the long, winding track he was in rolled around behind and parallel to the one in which he’d parked the Land Rover. He had to reach that point before the German cameraman showed himself to the men watching the vehicle.

  He didn’t have much time.

  He speeded up a little, willing to make a little noise if it got him into position on time. He turned a corner and put on the brakes—eyes wide. Shit!

  Manny stood in front of him, an easy smile on his face. As Flame stared at him, his friend tapped his nose twice.

  Flame suddenly smelled something.

  Tobacco! Flame stopped and dropped into a crouch. Somebody’s smoking… He searched for the source, forgetting about the impossible vision of Manny.There! He slowly moved to his right and slithered up the side of the wadi…

  There was a man less than five feet in front of him, leaning against a rock and watching Flame’s Land Rover from its cover.

  There’re three of them! Flame realized. I would have run right past him if it hadn’t been for… He pushed that memory aside and took a long look around the little wadi. The other two Iraqis were right where he’d left them. At least Eric the loudmouth hasn’t gotten here yet. He took a long look in the direction he’d left the German crew. Any time, though.

  It was time to go to work. Flame drew the fighting knife from its scabbard on his back…

  He studied the man in front of him. Smoking was frowned upon by most Muslims—but this man was old enough to have taken up the habit before its health risks were known. Okay with me, Flame thought. Easier to find someone advertising their position. He crawled up the back slope until he was only a couple of feet behind the man then, quickly and silently, he slipped his arm around the man’s throat and drove the knife up and under his rib cage, the blade slamming into the Arab’s heart and killing him in an instant.

  Flame twisted once to make sure that there were no mistakes, then eased the unmoving body to the ground, wiping the blood from his knife as he did so.That’s one, he told himself.

  The second hadji was about thirty meters away, hiding behind another rock just to the east of the Land Rover. Flame returned to the wadi and made his way down the twisting channel until he estimated he was just beneath his second target. A quick peek over the ridge told him he was in the right position. Don’t let him get a shot off, Flame told himself. That would complicate things.

  He dropped his pack and wriggled up the slope, knife ready.

  ***

  Eric Piper was panting as he approached the Land Rover. He’d gotten lost soon after he lost sight of the others, forcing him to circle a bit until he caught sight of the roof of the car just peeking over the edge of one of the countless wadis that wove in and out of this part of the desert.

  Now to show that warmongering jackass that he’s wrong! Eric had spent the last few months shooting footage of the Sunnis and while they hadn’t exactly welcomed him and his crew with open arms, they hadn’t fired at them either.

  Until this morning. He remembered the men who had chased them out of Tikrit. But they weren’t really Sunnis, he reassured himself. They were foreigners—outsiders just interested in causing trouble.

  Like the big American…

  Eric stood up straight and tall as he headed straight at the Land Rover. He’d show that redheaded bastard that violence wasn’t the only way.

  ***

  Flame watched as Eric strolled down the gentle slope toward the car. So did the hadji who had been hiding behind the vehicle. As Flame watched, the Iraqi clicked the safety off his AK and slowly stood up, glancing over his shoulder to the point where he knew his backup lay in wait—ready to help him shoot an unarmed man.

  ***

  Eric saw the young man stand up from a place of concealment behind the car. Natural enough, he thought. He was probably just sitting there, taking some sun. Eric smiled at the thought. I wouldn’t mind having a day to sit around and relax. He looked around. Although I’d prefer it to be a bit warmer…

  The young man lifted an AK-47 and pointed it at Eric.

  “No need for that.” Eric lifted his hands to show that he had no weapons of his own. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He smiled. “I’m your friend.”

  He saw the young man’s hand tighten on the weapon’s grip, saw his finger begin to squeeze the trigger.

  Eric closed his eyes as a gunshot ripped through the little wadi, something hit his chest—and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

  ***

  “Are you sure he will be all right?” Karin frowned in concern as Flame lifted the still form of Eric from the ground and pushed it into the back seat of the Land Rover.

  The vehicle had suddenly appeared as she and Dieter waited alongside the equipment. She’d been afraid that it was the militants following them from the city but had soon realized it was Flame driving the thing.

  With his help they’d quickly loaded the camera equipment into the vehicle’s large boot, then jounced back over rough country until they rolled down a gentle slope into a fairly deep wadi. Eric was there, flat on the ground, out cold.

  Less than ten feet away a young Sunni lay flat on his face, the back of his head a gaping, bloody hole.

  “He discovered that he was wrong about the peaceful Sunni tribesman." Flame shook his head. “Fortunately, I was in a position to cover him before it went completely south.”

  “You saved his life?”

  “If you look around you’ll find three helpful tribesman, all of whom were waiting—concealed—to aid your friend.” Flame shrugged. “I don’t think he would have survived that help.”

  Flame finished loading the unconscious cameraman into the vehicle and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Now let’s get out of here before more of the peaceful Sunni show up.”

  He slammed the car into gear and gave it enough gas to climb into the open before turning east…

  ***

  Dana gave a single fist-pump as the dot on her laptop began to move. He did it! She didn’t for a moment believe that Flame would drive away without the people he’d gone in looking for, therefore... He got them. She knew it deep inside. He’s got them!

  She knew she should contact the German network that was employing them to let them know as well but decided that could wait until Flame regained contact with her.

  Come on big guy! She turned the volume on her receiver up. Let me know you’re all right!

  ***

  Flame was trying. He’d turned the radio back on as soon as he cleared the wadi and got the Rover moving along a hard-packed trail that he knew led to a real, concrete, road.

  So far, however, he was getting nothing but static and the occasional burst of Arabic chatter with a military cadence.

  “They are talking about sending in an air strike,” Karin, who had been sitting beside him in silence, suddenly put in.

  “You speak Arabic?”

  “A little.” She shrugged at his glance. “It helps with my work.”

  “Rest of the crew as well?”

  “I speak it fairly fluently,” Dieter put in from the back seat. “And I would like to move up front with you two. This one,” he pointed at Eric still lying senseless on the seat, “stinks!”

  The cameraman had lost sphincter control when he believed he’d been shot, filling his pants with a combination that, as time passed, was becoming quite pungent.

  “There’s no room up here,” Flame grinned. “Pull his pants off and toss them out—it’d smell better if you did.”

  “Do not do that.” Karin turned to her technician. “He would never forgive us for the humiliation.”

  Dieter thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “You’re right.” He leaned forward. “And as you’re being so thoughtful…” A grin lit his face. “Switch seats with me!”

  “Dieter!”

  Flame shut his eyes for a moment. It’s like travelling with a bunch of kids! He thought about all the trips he’d taken with his SEAL brothers, how quiet they’d been, how focused…

  Forget about that! He scolded himself. That’s over. He glanced at the friendly argument between the reporter and her tech. This is the kind of thing I’m going to be doing from now on. He shook his head. God help me!

  He saw the concrete ribbon of a real road ahead and pushed down on the gas. He couldn’t get to Baghdad fast enough.

  -14-

  At that same moment, half a world away, a quartet of large and well-armed Mexicans rolled down a similarly ill-kept roadway.

  “How much further?” Mapache asked his driver.

  “Two, maybe two and a half hours.”

  “Wake me when we’re an hour out.” The big Mexican folded his arms across his chest and yawned. “We can make final plans then.”

  The driver nodded, veering to the left to avoid a pothole. He knew that his boss wouldn’t be happy if he disturbed him now.

  He kept his eyes on the road, concentrating on getting the smoothest ride possible…

  Two hours later, he slid to a stop in the parking lot of Doctor’s Hospital in downtown Monterrey. “We are here, jefe.”

  “You made good time.” Mapache glanced at his rather ostentatious Rolex. “Very good time.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There is a Hotel Four Points Sheraton about a block from here.” The big man opened the door, motioned for the two in the back seat to follow. “Drive there and reserve rooms for the four of us.” Mapache grinned. “Try to get a suite for me.”

  “Si, jefe.”

  “When you are done, come back to pick us up.” He turned toward the hospital entrance. “We should be finished by then.”

  -15-

  “Thank you so much, Flame.” Karin gave him a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek as she slipped a card with her phone number into his hand. “Thank you for all you have done.”

  Flame had finally managed to contact Dana just before reaching Kabala. She told him to deliver the Germans directly to their embassy—she would meet him there.

  “Nice job,” Dieter slapped him on the back, his hands full of gear. “I didn’t think we were gonna get out of there.”

  Flame nodded—and watched the two head for the embassy gate.

  “I hope you do not think that I will thank you.” Flame hid a smile as Eric picked up the last of the gear. He had tried, after recovering, to clean himself up—to little avail. “You are a killer—not a savior.”

  “No sweat,” Flame let the grin spread across his face. “Although I do think you should offer to clean up the back seat of the Rover.” He pinched his nose. “It stinks back there!”

  Eric snorted and turned to the embassy gate, not once looking back at the man who saved his life.

  “I thought I told you not to start any wars.” Dana had watched the entire thing from the roadside. “That man really doesn’t like you.”

  “The others do,” he turned to his partner. “And two out of three ain’t bad.” He raised an eyebrow. “We get paid?”

  “With a bonus.” She slapped him on the shoulder. “You did good, big guy!”

  “Thanks.” He smiled and looked down at his dusty jacket and pants. “Can I go get a shower now?”

  “Seems like a good idea.” She turned toward the car.

  “Don’t sit in the back.” Flame shook his head. “I’m gonna have to hose it out before I give it back to Scud.”

  Dana laughed and climbed into the passenger seat, ready for whatever came next.

  ***

  Mapache indicated that his men should take a seat in the Hospital’s waiting room, and then approached the main desk. “I am here to see Dr. Farber. Would you tell him I am here?” he asked the pleasant-looking young woman seated there.

  “Do you have an appointment?” The woman gave the rather unkempt figure of Mapache a quick glance. “And may I ask what this is about?”

  “Tell him that I have some very serious business to conduct with him. Business that must be…” Mapache gave a smile that showed bad teeth thickly stained with nicotine. “Quite private.”

  She recoiled a little—then regained her composure. “I will let him know you are here.” She nodded toward the waiting room. “If you will have a seat over there…”

  Mapache watched her speak into a house phone before strolling back to the waiting room. Farber had no idea who he was but, if his reputation was correct, he would feel obligated to see what Mapache wanted of him and would not keep him waiting too long.

  He didn’t. Mapache heard the ring of the elevator that heralded the appearance of Dr. Farber less than five minutes later.

  “Mr. Mapache!” The doctor was a smallish man, nervous, high-strung and possessed of a particularly annoying voice that held the touch of an unfamiliar accent. “What can I do for you?”

  “This is not for all ears, Dr. Farber.” Mapache glanced around the waiting room which held ten or twenty patients and their families. “Perhaps we could speak in your office?”

  “Of course,” Farber stepped back and motioned for the big man to precede him. “This way, please.”

  A quick trip in the elevator took them to the fourth floor where the resident physicians and hospital administrators had their offices. Mapache followed Farber down a long hall to the corner suite—as hospital administrator the doctor had the biggest office in the building, and the best view.

  “Now, Mr. Mapache.” Farber motioned to a comfortable chair. “Perhaps you can tell me what you have come here for?”

  Mapache waited for the doctor to step past him, then closed the door and set the lock. He took a moment to check Farber’s desk, making sure that there were no recording devices or other security systems.

  Satisfied, he took the chair and looked his host directly in the eye. “I am told that your hospital is the only one in Northern Mexico that can quickly order Cobalt-60.”

  “That is true,” Farber was confused. “But you are not an oncologist—I know all such specialists in this area.” He leaned forward, eyes alert. “What do you want with such a dangerous substance?”

  “It is not important why I need the Cobalt-60.” Mapache leaned back in his chair. “What is important is the fact that I can give this hospital quite a large grant for the repairs and upgrades you need.” His eyes held those of the doctor. “And I will give you such a grant if you give me what I need.”

  “But…”

  “Dr. Farber…” Mapache leaned forward, eyes suddenly hard. “I need a quantity of Cobalt-60.” He stood up and leaned on the other man’s desk. “And I need it now.”

  -16-

  Two days later, Flame and Dana were back in the DC area. They took a cab from the airport to their new office on the tenth floor of an office building in Crystal City—right across the Potomac from the Capital and just a few blocks from the Pentagon.

  “You did a good job back there, Flame.” Dana dumped her travel bag on the floor next to her desk and took out her laptop. “I was worried about sending you out there without back-up.”

  “I won’t lie,” Flame dropped his own, somewhat heavier, bag alongside hers. “It would have been nice to have another set of eyes and ears when I was operating near Tikrit—but it was good for me to find out that I could still cut it.”

  “Literally?” Dana had seen his combat knife when he took it out to clean and sharpen it upon their return to the hotel.

  “You don’t really need to know that.” He shrugged. “Besides, it was all part of the service.” He flopped down on the leather sofa that was the only nod to luxury the office boasted. “Anything waiting for us?”

  Dana had hooked the laptop into the office’s secure server and was scanning the emails that had backed up while they were in flight. “Couple of possibles.” She stopped on one missive, leaned forward to read it more carefully. “This might be interesting.” She turned toward Flame. “Coptic girl from Egypt is coming here for a UN conference of some kind. Says there’s a fatwah on the Coptic people and that the Muslims are trying to kill them all.” Dana shook her head sadly. “Ethnic cleansing in a big way—and the world is ignoring it.” She looked at Flame. “Interested?”

  “Where’s the money coming from?” He shook his open palm at her look. “I’m not greedy—but we’ve got to stay in business, don’t we?”

  “I guess we do.” Dana returned to the laptop and scrolled down. “Money comes from the US Department of State.” She smiled. “They don’t want to be responsible for her—but they know they’ll take the heat if she gets killed in the middle of New York.”

  “Money from the ass-lickers in State, eh?”

  “Who better to take it from?”

  “Okay.” Flame nodded. “Take the job—but make it part of the deal that we get a Federal firearms license and carry permit.” He saw her confused look. “I’m going to have to be heeled and New York has some really shitty gun laws.”

  “Oh,” Dana bit her bottom lip. “I didn’t think of that.” She turned to the computer. “I’ll get right on it.” She glanced at him. “Where will you be?”