Page 70 of Deadly Strain

Sharp nodded at the team, then led the way. He took his time, looking around, making note of the piles of parts for cars, trucks, and tanks. Mostly Soviet.

Inside the building looked like a cross between a set fromLawrence of Arabiaand someone’s living room. There were several couches arranged in a rough circle around a large hookah. Next to that was a small, clay cooking stove with a coffeepot sitting on the ground next to it. The man had taken a seat on one of the couches around the hookah. He reclined, seeming at ease, and asked in English, “Where did you get that book?”

Sharp took a seat on an adjacent couch, put his rifle butt down on the rough wooden floor, and let out a sigh. “From Cutter.”

The man tilted his head to one side. “I thought you said you were looking for Cutter?”

“I lied. He’s in the helicopter.”

The man stared at Sharp, his gaze hard and unrelenting. “Why isn’t he here with us?”

Damn it, he couldn’t get a read on this guy. But, he was out of options. “Because he’s dead.”

“His body is in the helicopter?” The question was asked with an edge sharp enough to flay skin off bone. “How did he die?”

“Friendly fire.” Sharp didn’t want to explain further, but was prepared to give what information he could.

The man leapt to his feet and ran out the front door. He yelled in Dari to the two teens who were still outside, to get their asses back inside. He turned to Sharp. “You will have his body brought here. Now.” It was a demand.

Sharp stood slowly. “Why?”

“Because no body isn’t safe in that helicopter.”

Sharp nodded at Hernandez, who went out with Clark. Smoke, Runnel, and March stayed right where they were next to Grace. She was standing a couple of feet away from the odd collection of seating around the hookah.

The man marched up to Sharp and demanded, “Explain his death to me.”

Like that was going to happen. “Are you his friend from university?”

“Why should I tell you anything?”

“Because he was my commanderandmy friend,” Sharp snarled, taking a step toward the other man. “And the only way I can be sure the man responsible is going to pay is with help.”

“Who’s responsible?”

Sharp shook his head. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but so far Colonel Marshall, FOB Bostick, is on the top of my suspect list.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

“We’re—”

“No. You. Who areyou?”

“I’m...” About to say his name, he realized the guy wasn’t looking for that either. He wanted to know who Sharp was to Cutter. “...a sniper. Everyone calls me Sharp.”

The man rocked back on his feet. He looked at Smoke, who stared at him with his pale blue eyes, in a face carrying the strong bones of his Navajo ancestors.

Hernandez and Clark came in with Cutter’s body and laid it carefully on the floor.

The man studied them carefully, then moved on to Grace.

As soon as CIA’s gaze landed on her, Sharp asked, “You know of us, yes?”

The man pulled his gaze off Grace a little too slowly for Sharp’s peace of mind. “Most of you, yes. Who is this?” He pointed at Grace.

Sharp went with the truth. “New team member.”

The man narrowed his eyes, then nodded. “My name is Aaron Jamal and Cutter is...was one of my best friends.”

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