Chapter SixWhy don’t you have a past?”
Debbie sat slouched beside Silvan after a brutally long mission deep into Libya to take part in wiping out an al-Qaeda camp. They’d made it back to the USS Harry S. Truman aircraft carrier with the first of the predawn light. By unspoken mutual consent, they’d found a corner of the hangar deck with a view out over the ship’s wake. There they’d collapsed and settled in to watch the sunrise over the Mediterranean.
For a long time—from dark blue to soft pink—Debbie just let the waves hold her attention. She felt their beat in her aching body. Little Birds were meant for two-hour out-and-back operations. Muhammad Ali’s “Sting like a bee”—that was a Little Bird’s sweet spot. Which fit her perfectly, as her full name, Deborah, meant “bee” in Hebrew. Long
