Whiplash

“Right, boss,” answered McGowan.

Da

Finally he gave up. He reached into his pants pocket and took out the vial with the biomarker, squirting it on his gloved left hand. The marker was mixed in a petroleum jelly base; in order for it to work, it had to touch skin.

Ready, he stood and waited. MY-PID was tracking the rebels, and the Voice declared that their caravan was two minutes away.

“Kill the headlights in the trucks,” said Da

Behind him, Flash shifted his hands nervously on his submachine gun. In this situation, he would have preferred his SCAR-H/MK-17 or an old M-249. The latter’s size alone intimidated people.

“Truck coming,” said Da

“All right,” said McGowan. “Showtime.”

NURI WATCHED THE CARAVAN MOVING IN. EVERYTHING WAS in place, he thought. Da

“Hera, you’re up,” Nuri said, rising. “All right, Clar, let’s get going. We only have a few hours to get everything done.”

“Uh-huh,” said Sugar, who’d been sitting in a chair across the room for the past half hour.

“What’s wrong?” Nuri asked as she got up slowly.

“Aw, nothin’.”

But her pain was obvious. She took a few short steps, breathing heavily as she went.

“Hold on, hold on. What’s wrong?” Nuri asked again.

“I just—my stomach is beat up. Something I ate I guess. It’s just gas—I’ll get better.”

“Hell no. You’re staying here.”

“Who’s got your back?”

Hera Scokas, sitting at the console, said nothing. She and Nuri had avoided each other since the other day.

“I’ll go by myself,” he said.

“Oh, you can’t do that.”

“I’ll go,” said Hera, rising. “Sugar can stay on the watch.”

“I can make it,” said Sugar. She started to protest, then realized she had to get to the latrine. She pushed herself forward, ru

Nuri, meanwhile, cursed his crappy luck. Hera was the last person he wanted with him. Her personality had already worn thin. She always had a “better” way of doing things.

He could go to the village alone. But inflating and launching the blimp was a two-person job, and there were a large number of sensors to be planted as well.

Sugar returned from the latrine. “I can make it,” she told him.

“Why don’t you stay here,” he told her. “Maybe you should get some sleep.”

“It was just something I ate. I’ll be fine.”

“No.”

“You’re going yourself?” said Hera.

Nuri looked at them both. He did need a backup. Would Sugar be OK by herself, though?

“You have a fever?” he asked Sugar.

She shook her head.

They had defenses, the blimps, the sensors. And she could always hide.

Not that anyone was likely to bother them tonight.

“You feel all right?” Nuri asked Sugar.

“I’m great. I’m ready.”

“No, you stay here on watch. All right, Hera. You come.”

“Right.”

She jumped up and grabbed her gear.

Nuri went down and waited for her on the motorcycle. She came down and started to get on the Whiplash bike.

“We’re not taking that one,” he said. “Get on with me.”

“Why aren’t we taking it?”

“Because we’re going to have to hide it near the village, and I don’t want to take the chance of losing it if someone stumbles across it. I don’t want the technology compromised.”

“What good is it if we don’t use it?”

“When you run the outfit, you can make the call. Right now, I say we’re using this one.” Nuri started it up. “Hop on.”

Hera cinched her rucksack tighter as she walked over to the bike. It had no sissy bar, but the seat was relatively small, and she’d have no choice but to snuggle close to Nuri and hold him tight around the chest. She tried holding her breath but it didn’t help.

“Try not to fall off,” said Nuri, popping it into gear.

DANNY FELT HIS HEART STARTING TO POUND AS THE FIRST set of headlights swung into view. He suddenly felt unsure of himself.

In the old days, he’d sometimes felt apprehensive just before a mission began—butterflies, some people called it, something akin to the performance anxiety actors sometimes felt before going on stage. But the feeling always disappeared when things got going.

It didn’t tonight. Da

Weapons dealers weren’t nervous. Whatever else they were, they didn’t suffer from performance anxiety. They were calm and cool and completely in control.

So was he.

Except he wasn’t.

The vehicles carrying Uncle Dpap and Colonel Zsar drove into the space in front of Da

Colonel Zsar, anxious to show that he was the real leader here, got out of his vehicle first. He practically leapt forward, walking so quickly that his bodyguards had to run to catch up.

“Who are you?” he asked Da

“My name is not important,” said Da

Tarid, who’d been riding with Zsar, got out of the truck slowly. He took his time joining the others, studying the arms dealer as he walked. Kirk was flashy—too flashy, Tarid thought, the sort of reckless man who makes a fortune in six months and loses his life in the seventh. His guards were well-equipped, but that wasn’t much of a trick. More impressive was the fact that he had a white man as his lieutenant—they didn’t come cheap here.

Uncle Dpap and Tilia got out of the Jeep together. Their soldiers, meanwhile, had fa

“What happened to Red Henri?” asked Da

“He is not of interest to us,” said Uncle Dpap. “An alliance with him would not benefit anyone. Deal with him if you wish. I would suggest you be careful if you do.”

“We’ll use English,” Da

Uncle Dpap glanced at Colonel Zsar, who shrugged. His English was a little better than Dpap’s, but he wouldn’t be able to carry out a complicated conversation, let alone negotiate.

“Is that no good?” asked Da

“Your Arabic is fine,” said Colonel Zsar in Arabic.

“I thought you both spoke English,” said Da

“That is my lieutenant,” the colonel said quickly. It was a fiction they’d worked out earlier.

“An Iranian for a lieutenant,” said Da

Tarid swung his head toward Da

“We will speak in Arabic,” said Uncle Dpap. “You speak as you wish. Use English. Why are you meeting us?”

“My aim is to sell many weapons,” Da

“What about Galils?” asked Tarid. The Galil was an Israeli assault rifle.