else.”
Dunnigan’s orders were harsh. “You do as you’re told, or else.”
Justice lifted his face to the desert sky. He breathed in one, two breaths and allowed his quivering muscles to settle down before responding. Pure adrenaline-fueled rage flamed within him. He hated the smug bureaucrats back at HQ. They’d never served in the military or operated in the field. They were promotional faster trackers, bound to a cubicle, who liked to drop hints of their CIA credentials at happy hours.
Justice held the microphone close to his dried lips. “Not you too, huh, Dunnigan? Unlike Boyd, we’ve actually served together, but I guess in the end the suit is more important than the code.”
“What are you talking about, Justice?”
Justice detected uncertainty in Dunnigan’s voice—he’d expected better from the long-time spook.
“Choose your battles carefully, Carl,” Justice warned.
He snapped the power off and waved his fingers across his throat to signal Batya that he was no longer on the call. She placed a notebook and pen in her blouse pocket as she neared him.
“Problems on the front of your home?” she asked.
The slandered slang broke the tension for Justice. He touched the outside of her arm. “Trouble on the home front, you mean?”
“Whatever. As long as you get the point,” she bristled at his correction.
She spun away and worked to rewrap the shawl around her head, thus concealing her beautiful face and hair. Justice pumped his fist in disappointment, but knew he had to focus on their situation.
“Sometimes the suits back at headquarters forget what its like to work the field. Many have never been out here, and that makes it impossible for the real operatives to get the job done.”
“In Mossad, we have no bureaucrats. Only employees that not do actual field work are secretarial staff.” She finished tucking her long curly locks beneath the headdress. “Those who never did, will never tell those who do, how to do it.”
“I envy your chain of command.” Justice squinted, taking in Batya’s eyes that peered through the slit of the checkered cotton cloth.
“I know your frustration though. Lets get this crazy killer and go home.”
Justice moved closer. “Your home or mine?”
Batya shoved him in the abdomen, “You flirty with me at a time and place like this?” He watched her roll her light eyes and snort at him.
“I’ve got to cope with death somehow. Beats swallowing a bullet.” He sheepishly raised and lowered both shoulders in contrition.
Batya leaned against the solid front bumper of their vehicle. “Okay, good point. I forgive you, but still creepy.”
“Well, that’s a start.” He gathered their supplies, preparing to head out. “Tell me something Batya, are you really?”
“Really what?”
“Your name means daughter of God. Are you really?” Justice teased.
“Yes, I most certainly am. We are all God’s chosen people—His children. The Jews, I mean.”
Justice noticed she fidgeted while making sure she clarified the part about the Jews. He’d keep that slip-up in mind in case it was needed down the road.
“It’s a tough position the original Batya was in back then,” Justice said. He waited until her attention was directed away from the notebook she’d retrieved from her pocket and back to him. “Pharaoh’s daughter, and still, she saved Moses from the Nile. She could’ve easily lost her life. Why’d she do it?”
“Easy answer—it’s the right thing to do.”
“It’s easy for you to disregard your agency’s rules if it interferes with the right thing to do?” Justice put the suggestive words in her mouth. He climbed into the driver’s seat and paused, lost in the dilemma he’d presented for her reply.
“I love my country, like the Biblical Batya loved her father, but human life is worth taking the risk.”
“I knew you had a soft heart.” Justice patted his hand over his heart and let a slight laugh linger.
Batya whipped
Dunnigan’s orders were harsh. “You do as you’re told, or else.”
Justice lifted his face to the desert sky. He breathed in one, two breaths and allowed his quivering muscles to settle down before responding. Pure adrenaline-fueled rage flamed within him. He hated the smug bureaucrats back at HQ. They’d never served in the military or operated in the field. They were promotional faster trackers, bound to a cubicle, who liked to drop hints of their CIA credentials at happy hours.
Justice held the microphone close to his dried lips. “Not you too, huh, Dunnigan? Unlike Boyd, we’ve actually served together, but I guess in the end the suit is more important than the code.”
“What are you talking about, Justice?”
Justice detected uncertainty in Dunnigan’s voice—he’d expected better from the long-time spook.
“Choose your battles carefully, Carl,” Justice warned.
He snapped the power off and waved his fingers across his throat to signal Batya that he was no longer on the call. She placed a notebook and pen in her blouse pocket as she neared him.
“Problems on the front of your home?” she asked.
The slandered slang broke the tension for Justice. He touched the outside of her arm. “Trouble on the home front, you mean?”
“Whatever. As long as you get the point,” she bristled at his correction.
She spun away and worked to rewrap the shawl around her head, thus concealing her beautiful face and hair. Justice pumped his fist in disappointment, but knew he had to focus on their situation.
“Sometimes the suits back at headquarters forget what its like to work the field. Many have never been out here, and that makes it impossible for the real operatives to get the job done.”
“In Mossad, we have no bureaucrats. Only employees that not do actual field work are secretarial staff.” She finished tucking her long curly locks beneath the headdress. “Those who never did, will never tell those who do, how to do it.”
“I envy your chain of command.” Justice squinted, taking in Batya’s eyes that peered through the slit of the checkered cotton cloth.
“I know your frustration though. Lets get this crazy killer and go home.”
Justice moved closer. “Your home or mine?”
Batya shoved him in the abdomen, “You flirty with me at a time and place like this?” He watched her roll her light eyes and snort at him.
“I’ve got to cope with death somehow. Beats swallowing a bullet.” He sheepishly raised and lowered both shoulders in contrition.
Batya leaned against the solid front bumper of their vehicle. “Okay, good point. I forgive you, but still creepy.”
“Well, that’s a start.” He gathered their supplies, preparing to head out. “Tell me something Batya, are you really?”
“Really what?”
“Your name means daughter of God. Are you really?” Justice teased.
“Yes, I most certainly am. We are all God’s chosen people—His children. The Jews, I mean.”
Justice noticed she fidgeted while making sure she clarified the part about the Jews. He’d keep that slip-up in mind in case it was needed down the road.
“It’s a tough position the original Batya was in back then,” Justice said. He waited until her attention was directed away from the notebook she’d retrieved from her pocket and back to him. “Pharaoh’s daughter, and still, she saved Moses from the Nile. She could’ve easily lost her life. Why’d she do it?”
“Easy answer—it’s the right thing to do.”
“It’s easy for you to disregard your agency’s rules if it interferes with the right thing to do?” Justice put the suggestive words in her mouth. He climbed into the driver’s seat and paused, lost in the dilemma he’d presented for her reply.
“I love my country, like the Biblical Batya loved her father, but human life is worth taking the risk.”
“I knew you had a soft heart.” Justice patted his hand over his heart and let a slight laugh linger.
Batya whipped
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