Chapter 2-1
641 Words
Chapter 2
2015
“So…is there any chance you’ll actually see the chick you went out with last night ever again?” Kurt Halstead asked. He slouched back in his desk chair and stared across the small office at his partner, Mike. Somewhere above, the sound of yet another airplane taking off from Lindbergh Field in the heart San Diego sent a vibration through the building. SPAWAR, Space and Naval Warfare Systems Command, was only a few blocks from the airport. Commander Michael Rousseau was a Naval Intelligence operative currently assigned to a highly secretive covert ops subdivision.
“Becky?” Mike asked.
“Yeah, whatever her name was.”
“No, probably not. She was good in bed, but not that bright.”
Kurt raised an eyebrow and couldn’t resist ragging on Mike. “Isn’t that how you pick ‘em anyway?”
“I like casual.”
“You ought to just use a hooker. It’d be cheaper than wining and dining them.”
Mike flipped a middle finger at Kurt. Kurt just grinned. Mike said, “You invested something like three months in that woman Joanne, before she decided she couldn’t handle you taking off at the drop of a hat and being unreachable for days or weeks.”
“It worked for a while, better than random f**k of the month,” Kurt said and his last word was interrupted by the chirp of an incoming text on Mike’s phone. “Are we a go?”
“Yeah.”
The two of them stood up almost in sync and headed for the door. Kurt’s brain began to shift into gear for the mission. Eight years as a Navy SEAL before his transfer to this division of SPAWAR had made him used to hurry up and wait tactics, followed by full speed ahead. Briefings had already occurred. There would be one stop to pick up fake passports and surrender all Navy ID, followed by a change into civvies then a drive to the airport to catch a flight to Baghdad. The cover involved them posing as ex-military mercenaries. Oh, like that was a big stretch skill-wise for either of them. Kurt let himself steal a single glance as Mike’s butt as he followed him down the hallway. Mmm, something about that well-muscled ass in that uniform.
So never gonna happen.
* * * *
“Do you believe it’s actually cool over here for change?” Mike Rousseau tossed his duffle bag in the back seat of the rental car.
“Yeah, something less than bake your brain heat is good.” Kurt slid into the passenger seat.
Mike got behind the wheel. They had landed in Baghdad an hour ago, cleared customs, and were about to head to Ishaqi to meet a contact. Part of that meeting involved picking up some weapons, then came the more dangerous bit: acquiring the Intel. Seventy people were being held hostage in Hawaji by ISIS forces. Rumors had it that the hostages were comprised of a mix of civilians and some members of the Iraqi police force. It was a vicious and volatile situation.
“Who are we meeting this afternoon?” Kurt asked. “Is it that dude who sticks his ink pen in his ear then stirs his coffee with it?”
“Memorable, wasn’t he?”
“Enh, that’s one word you could use.”
“Actually I think it’s Alwazir. We did a buy from him about eight months ago.”
“I’m starving. We need to eat before this goes down,” Kurt said.
“You’re always hungry.” Mike enjoyed ribbing his partner about his bottomless pit capacity for food. Kurt was a couple of inches shorter than Mike, had dark hair that was generally buzzed down to the length of an inch or so. The guy’s shaving habits were erratic at best, and he often sported a heavy five o clock shadow. Kurt had perfected the casual slouch and people often assumed he was relaxed and inattentive, unless you watched the calculated analysis in those blue eyes. Those eyes missed nothing.
“Airplane food sucks.”
“Okay, agreed. There’s that place over toward Camp Independence, the one you said had great falafel.”
“Yeah, go there. It’s only a couple of hours to Ishaqi. We have time. Oh and you know there’s a place that does tolerable milkshakes just around the corner.”
“Falafel and milkshakes do not go together,” said Mike.
“Say who?”
“You have the taste buds of a fourteen-year-old.”
“Yeah and?”
- Writer
