Page 20 of Whisper
“Captain Sean Palmer?” George strode ahead, hand outstretched.
“That’s me, sir. Special Forces ODA 505, at your service.” Palmer and his small operational detachment of six men would be reporting to George, putting themselves, for the duration of the mission, at his and the CIA’s command.
George introduced his team, Captain Palmer shaking hands as they went around the circle. George turned to Kris last. “And, this is Kris Caldera. He’s the agency’s Afghanistan expert, my political affairs officer, and our linguist on the ground.”
Palmer looked him up and down before holding out his hand. Kris was less than half his size. “Sir,” was all Palmer said.
Kris nodded as they shook, gave Palmer a half smirk, and then shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He tucked his face into his scarf.
Palmer brought them into the hangar, to the circle of men they’d be operating with. Some cleaned their rifles and handguns. Others joked around. One was reading.
“Everyone, our CIA people are here.” Palmer introduced them, going from man to man—Jackson, Warrick, Rodriguez, Cobb—before finally coming to the last. “And this is Sergeant David Haddad, team medic.”
Haddad nodded to Kris and held out his hand, stepping forward to meet him halfway. Kris shivered, but Haddad’s hand was warm as they touched. Unlike the others, Haddad didn’t hesitate, or raise his eyebrows, or give him the skeptical once-over. “As-salaam-alaikum.”
“Wa alaikum as-salaam.” Kris tried to smile. His lips were still buried in his scarf.
Palmer spoke, pulling Kris’s attention from Haddad. “Gentleman, I’d like to get on the same page with you ASAP. Do you have time for a briefing?”
George nodded and beckoned Kris and Ryan to join him and Palmer at Palmer’s small command post—a map and a laptop open next to a flashlight—while Jim, Derek, and Phillip stayed with the Special Forces team. Kris looked back once.
Haddad caught his gaze. He smiled, nodding to Kris before turning back to his book.
“Kif h’alek?”
Haddad turned away from his book, looking up at Kris. A ghost of a smile curved one corner of his mouth. “Wa’enta, shen h’alek?”
Kris smiled. “I thought I placed your Arabic accent. Libyan, yes?” He’d said hello to Haddad in the Libyan dialect, with the softer Bedouin phrasing and the Egyptian-Tunisian influences of the Maghrebi dialects.
“I grew up in Libya. My mother is American, though.” His eyes drifted, just over Kris’s shoulders, for a moment. “We moved when I was ten.” He peered at Kris. “You? I can’t place your Arabic.”
“I’m Puerto Rican, actually. Not Middle Eastern.”
“From the island?”
“No, the other Puerto Rico. New York.”
Haddad chuckled. “I didn’t think they spoke Arabic in Puerto Rico.”
As curiosity about his age went, it was one of the nicer, and subtler, questions. At Langley, one of the range officers who’d signed off on Kris’s weapons qualification before the mission had stared at him and outright asked, “Aren’t you a littleyoungfor this op?”
“I studied languages in high school and college. I pick them up easily. I was fluent in Arabic in two years, familiar with most of the dialects in three. Farsi a year after that. I taught myself Dari after the agency hired me.”
“You speak Spanish, too?”
“Sí. Y tú?”
Haddad grinned. “I’m just the team medic. It’s a good thing I already knew Arabic. You can’t teach this dog any new tricks.”
Something curled through Kris’s veins, a familiar warmth. “Oh, I’m not sure about that.” He winked, his flirty nature naturally rising—
Mortification drenched him, sliding down his bones and under his skin like hot oil. What was hedoing? Flirting? With a soldier, a member of the Special Forces? On a mission? His face burned, and he looked away, squinting at the open doors of the hangar and the flight line. Would the ground open up beneath him, please?
God, had George seen that? After his ridiculous spiel to Kris about keeping himselfcontainedand tonot advertise? There he was, flirting with the first hot soldier who gave him the time of day. Proving George’s bullshit.Fuck.
Haddad reached for Kris’s ruck, lying nearby. Their gear had been brought to the airport and dropped off, ready and waiting for the final flight into Afghanistan. Haddad dragged the ruck between them. “I added more gear you’ll need.”
Kris crouched, hiding his groan. Not more shit.
