Force Protection. Gordon Kent

you find me?’

      ‘Al, you’re into some bad stuff, man.’ Harry O’Neill had not picked up his tone; instead, he sounded severe. The cellphone connection was suddenly lots better, he thought, if he could recognize severity. ‘This is bad, bad, Al.’ Harry had been a shipmate during the Gulf War, then had left the Navy and joined the CIA, jumped from that when he had lost an eye on a mission; now he ran a private security company in Africa and the emirates.

      And he had converted to Islam.

      ‘I’m not getting you, Harry.’

      ‘It’s all over the TV and the Net, Al – Islamic terrorists have hit another US target, all that shit. It isn’t Islamic terrorists!’

      ‘How do you know?’

      ‘I know! No, I don’t know, but – fuck, Al, not everything bad that happens in the world comes from Islam! The TV is jumping at it like dogs, like – wolves. It makes me sick.’

      Alan turned to look aft. The long sweep of the deck was empty of people, only the containers, jumbled by the explosion, breaking the straight lines. ‘Harry, you’re way ahead of me – I don’t know what you’re saying, man. I’m standing on a ship that’s had a hole blown in it; I’ve got a bunch of people killed, a bunch more injured. What’re you telling me – it didn’t happen?’