Special Forces: The Operator. Cindy Dees

Thanks.”

      “In the spirit of Olympic cooperation, I’m offering you an olive branch,” she said with a huff. “Take it and be grateful, already.”

      “Fair enough. Thank you.” He quoted quietly, “Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!”

      “Should I recognize that?” she asked.

      “It’s your Bible. Psalms 133.”

      She frowned. “I don’t get much time for religion in my work.”

      “Hmm. My work is all about religion. Or freedom of religion, at any rate.”

      “Right now, a threat to your peoples’ freedom is walking around out there, no doubt planning something dastardly. Although I’d put it at about equal odds between your country and mine as to which one is the primary target,” she replied.

      He asked, “When was the last time your people had contact with Akhtar? What were his targets at that time?”

      “Last fall. And his target was a schoolteacher. He planned to kidnap her and blackmail her husband into filing a false report on a nuclear facility in Iran. Instead, Mahmoud accidentally kidnapped one of my teammates. She escaped with the help of an undercover man on the team. We got to the teacher’s husband—a nuclear facilities inspector in Tehran—before Mahmoud did, and the husband filed a report showing that Iran was trying to import nuclear triggers from Russia by way of Turkey.”

      “I heard about that!” Avi exclaimed. “Wasn’t there some sort of shoot-out in Tehran? Several major arms dealers killed and the deal scuttled? Our...sources...report the Iranians were livid.”

      She shrugged looking entirely unrepentant.

      “You were involved with all of that?” he asked incredulously.

      “You don’t have to sound so surprised.” She was back to being defensive. And her hackles were standing up again. Maybe she was more like a baby badger than a hedgehog.

      “C’mon, then,” she said briskly. “Bring your Olympic credentials and your fancy security clearance with you. You’ll need them both to hear what my team has to say.”

       Chapter 2

      Rebel jumped as Avi’s big, warm palm landed lightly in the small of her back. The power and gentleness of it sent crazy zinging sensations ricocheting in all directions through her body. She inhaled light and fast, her adrenaline levels ready for combat—or sex.

       Oh, c’mon, Self. You’ve been around plenty of hot special operators in the past year. This one is no different.

      Except the tingling didn’t go away. And her breathing didn’t settle down.

      “This way,” he murmured, guiding her through the maze of Israeli security personnel at their desks. “There’s a rear exit where we won’t be seen.”

      Now he was getting the idea. She liked—she needed—to operate under the radar and away from the prying eyes of the public as much as possible. They slipped out into the warm night and, by unspoken mutual agreement, wove around the edges of the Olympic Village, mostly avoiding the surveillance cameras whose feeds were shared with all of the security delegations.

      She swiped a key card she pulled out of a zipped pocket inside her jacket and stood before a retinal scanner to gain entrance for herself and her big Israeli guest into the back entrance of the American operations center. It had its own building containing both offices and housing for the large contingent of security specialists in Sydney to protect American athletes.

      Vividly aware of the big man following her and the curious glances being thrown his way, she led Bronson across a room much like the one at Israeli operations, crowded with desks and video monitors. This room, too, was half-filled with big, capable-looking men and a few serious, focused women. Ignoring them, Rebel led her guest to the conference room and ushered him inside.

      Her boss, Army Major Gunnar Torsten, looked over her shoulder at the Israeli. He did a double take. “Avi?”

      “Gun? Long time no see,” the Israeli exclaimed.

      Rebel looked on in disgust as the two men shook hands warmly and clapped each other on the back. Of course, they knew each other. Torsten was fond of saying how small the Special Forces community really was.

      The men were a study in physical contrast. Where blond Torsten’s hair was straight and buzzed short, the Israeli’s dark hair was wavy and thick enough to run her fingers through it. Torsten was fair and blue-eyed, where Avi Bronson was bronzed and brown-eyed. But that was where the contrast ended. Both men were tall, fit, and moved with confident grace. Also, they both had that particular cool look in their eyes announcing they were lethal, and furthermore, that they knew it.

      “What brings you to the Land of Oz, Avi?” Torsten asked.

      “Olympic security detail. You?”

      “Same.”

      Torsten glanced at Rebel. “You summoned me, Lieutenant McQueen?”

      She winced at his dry tone, not sure whether to interpret the use of her title as formality for the guest’s benefit or a signal that she was in trouble for her presumption. Her boss was a very hard man to read.

      She responded grimly, “I spotted two men tonight who looked shockingly like Mahmoud Akhtar and Yousef Kamali.”

      Torsten sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re sure it was them?”

      “I only saw them from a distance, but I know Mahmoud’s face. I’m pretty sure it was him.”

      Torsten stared at her for a long moment as his expression passed through shock and chagrin, ending up wreathed in speculation.

      She watched her boss cautiously as he placed a phone call on the speakerphone sitting on the table in front of him. He said without preamble, “Piper, how quickly can Zane join us?”

      Rebel’s teammate answered briskly over the speaker, “He can be here in twenty-four hours from when I call him, sir.”

      That wasn’t bad, given that the flight itself took on the order of twenty-two hours.

      “Make the call,” Torsten said quietly. He disconnected the call to Piper.

      Avi piped up. “Who is this Zane person?”

      Torsten answered, “CIA officer. Embedded with Mahmoud and his cell in the US for several months last year. Best expert we’ve got on the bastard.”

      “And who are these ladies you’re working with?” Avi asked, gesturing at the phone and then at Rebel.

      The room fell silent. Rebel stared at Torsten, who stared at the Israeli.

      Torsten asked obliquely, “You’re still operational, my friend? You’ve still got all your clearances?”

      “Yes to both.” Avi was frowning and looking back and forth between her and Torsten, now.

      Rebel watched apprehensively as Torsten stood up, closed the conference room door and came back to the table to sit. He wasn’t going to brief in the Israeli, was he? Her safety, and that of her teammates depended in no small part upon the secrecy around them.

      Torsten said, “I command a team of women called the Medusas. They’re a fully operational Special Forces team. I have four more operatives out working in the village, right now.”

      Piper and Tessa, original team members along with Rebel, were probably still working on fishing the women’s softball team out of the pool party and herding them back to their quarters.

      Gia Rykhof and Lynx Everly, the two newest additions to the team, were working a media event for the US Women’s