Clint looked down from the helicopter he rode on. The hovercraft raced over the pitch black sea. A cloud of water shot outward in all directions, as if the big craft was floating on a foaming wreath of white spray. Behind it, a long ribbon of ripped waves showed the craft’s passage even in his NVGs.
Maybe Nika was right and Clint had too much Santa on the brain. Hanukkah bush, huh? He’d show her a Hanukkah bush and raise her one Christmas spirit. Only problem was where did a man find Jewish tree decorations while flying over the Southern Med?
Actually, another problem: there had to be some way to think of something other than the woman driving the hovercraft racing below. He knew she’d had the training, had seen her drive it before—the slip of a woman and the ninety-ton behemoth. How had
