Biting the Bullet Read Free Page B

varying flavors of bubble gum. Unfortunately, he’d run through his entire supply on the trip over. I crossed my arms, jabbing him in the ribs as I did so.
    Toothpick-chewer stopped beside Dave and looked up at him, nodding, just nodding, as a smile spread across his broad, pitted face. I liked him immediately as well, which didn’t bode well for any mole-hunting I’d be doing in the future. Come on, Jaz, you’re supposed to be the neutral party here. But this dude, you could tell he’d been through all kinds of hell. If the acne had been cruel, the shrapnel had been brutal, leaving a spray of scars across his forehead, cheeks, and neck that the beard and mustache only partially disguised. I also noted a ridge just in front of his ear that made me wonder if somebody had, at some point, been required to sew it back on. And still this immense humor danced in his hazel eyes, just waiting for the right moment to leap.
    Like the rest of us, he was dressed in traditional Middle Eastern clothes, looking comfy in a flowing white thobe and shalwar pants to match, a maroon kufi resting on his brown hair. We would only wear these sorts of clothes while we traveled across the eastern edge of Iraq and crossed the northwestern corner of Iran. Once inside Tehran we’d change into the more commonly worn Western wear of the city folk. Button-down shirts and khakis for the guys. Hijab and pantsuits for the girls that involved a knee length, button-down tunic and comfy, elastic-waisted pants, covered by either a chador or a manteau — both of them dark and shapeless coverings — when we went out. Not that we meant for anyone to get a close look. For obvious reasons Vayl and I moved at night.
    Lucky for us, Dave’s unit preferred the same.
    “Cam?” said Dave as his sergeant continued to nod with a general air of amusement.
    “Yeah?”
    “You got something to say?”
    “Well, sir, on behalf of everyone here I’d appreciate knowing if she’s as big a pain in the ass as you are. Because, if so, we’d like to request double hazard pay and an extra week of leave after this one’s wrapped up.” Chorus of chuckles from Dave’s team.
    Our dad, the marine, would burst a vessel at such a breach of military etiquette. But it just didn’t track among people so highly skilled they worked only the most top-level, skin-of-your-teeth, crap-down-your-leg missions available. In fact, it got in the way.
    However, since he’d put Dave in a helluva spot just now, I fielded the man’s question. “That one’s going to be tough to answer, Cam. As siblings, we’re very competitive. Which means we could probably argue this issue all night long and never come to a satisfactory conclusion. Actually, though, if you’d ever met our dad, you’d probably agree that the award for overbearing, tyrannical, asshole of the century would have to go to him.”
    Which was when I realized how this little coincidence had been arranged. Albert Parks was a semiretired consultant to the CIA. He might have been able to pull enough strings to pair his kids on the same mission if he felt either one of us would benefit from it. But in order to do so he would’ve had to know about it. Yeah, he could’ve found out. I wasn’t sure how, but with his contacts, I could practically see his hairy paw prints all over this deal.
    “Jaz?” Dave asked. “Are you okay?”
    Oh, absotively, brother dear. Well, okay, I want to thump our father over the head with a large blunt object. Like his ego.
    Because what the hell is he trying to prove? Interfering old poop. But other than that, I’m just peachy.

    “I’m fine,” I said. I sounded okay, too. Good . But to help bring myself back to center, and because I really did want to see his reaction, I said, “Did I tell you Albert bought a motorcycle?”
    My brother’s mouth fell far enough open that I had to stifle an urge to wad up the nearest napkin and try my rim shot off his upper lip. “You’re shitting