Page 15

Sergeant Stone suddenly handed me his sniper rifle. “I need you to take out the Taliban warlord directing this attack. He’s wearing a black turban and robes. He’s standing in the back of a tan truck that’s parked next to the hanger.”
Shit! I knew my charade was over, but I didn’t think it would end this way. “Yes, sir.” I raised the rifle and sighted in on the warlord. He was an older version of Imad Shakur, the warlord I had eliminated.
“24 inches square to the right of the hanger,” Sergeant Stone advised.
I guess he was my spotter. “Copy.” I adjusted the scope. “Range?”
“1,520 yards dial 9.75 MOA,” Sergeant Stone replied.
“Copy.” I tweaked the scope. “Wind?”
“Dial in left 2 MOA.”
I put the crosshairs on the warlord’s head and fired. He toppled off the truck.
“You’re the Scorpion alright.”
“Am I?” A flash of movement caught my attention. I swung the rifle to the left. “Sonovabitch!” It was Roberts. I tweaked the scope but before I could fire, Sergeant Stone pushed the barrel down.
“Who are you aiming at?”
“A CIA asshole by the name of Eric Roberts. He needs killing.”
Sergeant Stone frowned. “Why?”
“He’s behind this attack,” I answered.
“What makes you think that?”
I scowled at him. “Gee, is it because the Taliban are killing any woman with blonde hair? Or maybe the fact they attacked my barracks and the brig too. Roberts won’t stop until I’m dead.” I jumped up and headed for the door. “But the only one dying is him.”
Stone wrapped his arms around me and lifted me off my feet. “Why does he want you dead?”
“He’s getting away.” I tried to break his iron grip, but I could barely wiggle and why did I like the feel of his body against mine?
Stone growled in my ear, “Answer the question, Tinkerbell.”
“I have enough evidence to put him away for the next four hundred years.”
His body stiffened. “Evidence of what?”
“For starters, Roberts drugged your marine and turned him over to the warlord to be executed.”
“And?”
“Roberts is responsible for the Air India flight that went down with several of his CIA cohorts on it. He’s also giving the Iraq military the locations of our troops. Plus, he arranged the Bali and Sadr bombings.”
“Where’s your proof?”
As much as I hated to admit it, if I wanted to bring Roberts to justice, I needed help. “It’s on a microdot I glued to my dog tags.”
“What?” Sergeant Stone shifted his hold on me and stuck his big hand down my shirt and searched for my dog tags.
My nerve ending ignited, and I wanted to rub against him like a cat in heat. This was bad. This was really bad. “Hey! Quit groping me, you pervert!”
Sergeant Stone pulled out my dog tags. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. You’re not my type.”
“Hallelujah.”