“Sixteen months,” I told him.
He barreled on. “— don’t just whoops into the same mission. Especially when those people are twins.”
That got his unit’s attention. My eyes raked the room. Yup, amazement in all corners.
Geez, hasn’t he told them anything about me besides my name? I mean, omitting the fact that you’re a twin? How pissed do you have to be . . .
I guessed I knew the answer to that.
The guy who’d uncovered the lantern sauntered over, rolling the toothpick he carried in his mouth from one side to the other. Cole twitched so hard he actually bumped me. A glance in his direction showed him biting his lip. Uh-oh. Our interpreter had something of an oral fixation, which he generally soothed with varying flavors of bubble gum. Unfortunately, he’d run through his entire supply on the trip over. I crossed my arms, jabbing him in the ribs as I did so.
Toothpick-chewer stopped beside Dave and looked up at him, nodding, just nodding, as a smile spread across his broad, pitted face. I liked him immediately as well, which didn’t bode well for any mole-hunting I’d be doing in the future.
Come on, Jaz, you’re supposed to be the neutral party here.
But this dude, you could tell he’d been through all kinds of hell. If the acne had been cruel, the shrapnel had been brutal, leaving a spray of scars across his forehead, cheeks, and neck that the beard and mustache only partially disguised. I also noted a ridge just in front of his ear that made me wonder if somebody had, at some point, been required to sew it back on. And still this immense humor danced in his hazel eyes, just waiting for the right moment to leap.
Like the rest of us, he was dressed in traditional Middle Eastern clothes, looking comfy in a flowing white thobe and shalwar pants to match, a maroon kufi resting on his brown hair. We would only wear these sorts of clothes while we traveled across the eastern edge of Iraq and crossed the northwestern corner of Iran. Once inside Tehran we’d change into the more commonly worn Western wear of the city folk. Button-down shirts and khakis for the guys. Hijab and pantsuits for the girls that involved a knee length, button-down tunic and comfy, elastic-waisted pants, covered by either a chador or a manteau — both of them dark and shapeless coverings — when we went out. Not that we meant for anyone to get a close look. For obvious reasons Vayl and I moved at night. Lucky for us, Dave’s unit preferred the same.
“Cam?” said Dave as his sergeant continued to nod with a general air of amusement.
“Yeah?”
“You got something to say?”
“Well, sir, on behalf of everyone here I’d appreciate knowing if she’s as big a pain in the ass as you are. Because, if so, we’d like to request double hazard pay and an extra week of leave after this one’s wrapped up.” Chorus of chuckles from Dave’s team.
Our dad, the marine, would burst a vessel at such a breach of military etiquette. But it just didn’t track among people so highly skilled they worked only the most top-level, skin-of-your-teeth, crap-down-your-leg missions available. In fact, it got in the way. However, since he’d put Dave in a helluva spot just now, I fielded the man’s question. “That one’s going to be tough to answer, Cam. As siblings, we’re very competitive. Which means we could probably argue this issue all night long and never come to a satisfactory conclusion. Actually, though, if you’d ever met our dad, you’d probably agree that the award for overbearing, tyrannical, asshole of the century would have to go to him.”
Which was when I realized how this little coincidence had been arranged. Albert Parks was a semiretired consultant to the CIA. He might have been able to pull enough strings to pair his kids on the same mission if he felt either one of us would benefit from it. But in order to do so he would’ve had to know about it. Yeah, he could’ve found out. I wasn’t sure how, but with his contacts, I could practically see his hairy paw prints all over this deal.
“Jaz?” Dave asked. “Are you okay?”
Oh, absotively, brother dear. Well, okay, I want to thump our father over the head with a large blunt object. Like his ego. Because what the hell is he trying to prove? Interfering old poop. But other than that, I’m just peachy.
“I’m fine,” I said. I sounded okay, too.
Good
. But to help bring myself back to center, and because I really did want to see his reaction, I said, “Did I tell you Albert bought a motorcycle?”
My brother’s mouth fell far enough open that I had to stifle an urge to wad up the nearest napkin and try my rim shot off his upper lip. “You’re shitting me!”
“Nope. He has a purple helmet to match the gas tank, which glitters in the sunlight like Mom’s old bowling ball — I’m quoting him here. Also he bought a full set of leathers. I think Shelby —that’s his new nurse,” I reminded him, “has to spray him with Pam before he slides into them.”
“How does he start it?”
“Push of the button. No kicking necessary.” His knees weren’t what they used to be.
Dave shook his head in horrified disbelief as he rubbed the back of his neck, maybe imagining our dad breaking his. “What the hell was he thinking?”
I shrugged. “He just became a grandfather. I guess he’s trying to pretend he’s not an old man despite all evidence to the contrary.”
“You guys are making me squirm,” objected Jet. “Colonel Parks is practically a god in my house. If my dad knew you two were talking about him like this he’d beat the shit out of
me
!”
Dave nodded toward my shooting buddy. “I guess Albert saved his dad’s life a couple of times. You know how it is.” I did. Jet’s dad had probably spent more time with mine than
I
had. Even now, all grown up and taking care of myself, I couldn’t help the spear of jealousy that skewered me when I thought of their relationship. They’d never struggle to understand one another. Never question each other’s motives. Their bond was unbreakable. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure Albert and I had one.
I shoved my hands into my pockets. My left forefinger brushed against the memento I always kept there. The engagement ring Matt had given me two weeks before he died had only lately begun to remind me of a relationship that hadn’t made me want to pull my hair out by the roots. And that only because I’d finally accepted that now, sixteen months after his death, maybe Matt wanted me to be happy. Too bad my closest male relatives didn’t always feel the same.
“Jaz? Are you sure you’re okay?” Dave asked again.
“Yes.”
Shut the hell up and leave me alone
.
He reached forward, pulled my hijab down, snagged one of the long curls that framed the right side of my face. Usually they’re a vibrant red. I’d dyed them black for this mission. Except . . . “Did you have an accident recently?” he pressed.
“Why do you ask?”
He pulled the twirls of hair straight and stretched them across my vision. My lips went dry. “What,” he demanded, “has turned your hair white?”
The first thing I did was grab another hunk of hair and yank it forward. Whew! It was still black. Only that bit beside my face had turned. The relief was so intense I laughed. Not so my crew.
During the moments of babbling, confusion, and near panic that followed I had to remind myself that I hadn’t just been in a near-fatal car accident. Nobody had shot or stabbed me. We were just talking about some hair tintage here, folks. But you’d never have known that by the frenzy my crew fell into. And damned if they weren’t getting me wound up all over gain.
“Ohmigod, somebody’s gotten to her!” yelled Bergman, clenching his bony fists like somebody was about to take a swing at him. “She’s probably caught some vile disease!” He hadn’t forgotten the close call we’d had with a virus called the Red Plague that had been designed to wipe out ninety percent of those who were exposed to it. He scuttled to the farthest corner of the room despite the fact that it put him next to the woman who’d covered the windows — a six-foot-one-inch amazon with the face of a beauty queen.