Sniper Elite by Scott McEwen

much time to sit around watching TV.”
    â€œOh, I don’t know about that,” Shroyer said, rocking back in his fine leather chair, tapping an unsharpened pencil against the edge of the mahogany desk. “Isn’t it possible such a video might put some fight back into the American people? We’re losing in Afghanistan. This might be the catalyst we need to reignite the will to win.”
    Webb wasn’t so sure about that. “Possibly, but—”
    â€œBut the president doesn’t think like that, so it doesn’t matter,” Shroyer said, dismissing the idea. “I’m headed back over there after lunch. I’ll tell him about the speaker’s back-channel threats and see what he has to say. In light of this little development, I’m sure he’ll choose to make payment. Christ, he hardly has a choice now. Canyou imagine the backlash of that rape playing out on the internet? He’d be crucified in the liberal media.”
    Webb agreed that much was probably true.
    â€œSo, on to different business,” Shroyer said. “The president green-lighted Operation Tiger Claw this morning. It’s going into effect immediately. The Turkish government is supplying the aircraft and crew, and Agent Lerher and his staff are already in the ATO.”
    â€œGood to hear it,” Webb replied. “It’s bold, and it’s original. The Iranians will never see it coming. It’s going to Delta Force?”
    Shroyer shook his head. “The Joint Chiefs want to give it to the Navy. It’s going to be a black operation with a single player, which puts it in DEVGRU’s court.”
    â€œA black operation? Is that necessary?”
    â€œWell, we can’t have the Iranians accusing us of an act of war in the event anything goes wrong now, can we?”
    â€œNo, of course not. Disavowing one of our own operators sounds like a much better plan.”
    Shroyer shuffled a stack of papers from one side of his desk to the other. “Well, they do volunteer for the privilege, after all.”
    Webb didn’t like the sound of that. “I’m not exactly sure that’s what they’re volunteering for, George, though I guess I can see why some here in Washington may find it more convenient to see it that way.”
    Shroyer eyed him across the desk. “Cletus, I sometimes wonder if you understand what the military is actually for.”

7
AFGHANISTAN,
Jalalabad Air Base
    The briefer was obviously nervous. Gil had seen the fiftyish-looking man arrive in a British helo early that morning dressed in plain clothes and carrying a leather laptop bag. He now sat at a table near the wall in a folding metal chair, continuously checking his iPhone, making the occasional notation in a file, and he was careful to avoid eye contact. Though Gil initially believed him to be an advisor with British Special Forces, he was rapidly coming to suspect that circumstances were different from what he had assumed half an hour earlier, when he had unexpectedly—and somewhat urgently—been ordered to appear in this little building on the far side of the airport for an emergency mission brief.
    His natural assumption was that DEVGRU had received actionableintelligence on Sandra Brux’s whereabouts, but this brief was already starting to feel like something else.
    He sat down in a chair near the center of the room. “Where is everybody?”
    The Brit finally glanced up from his iPhone. “Oh, I should think they’ll be along forthwith,” he replied affably.
    So they really did talk that way over there. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Warrant Officer Brux, does it?”
    The Brit looked confused. “I’m afraid I don’t know that name.”
    This was all Gil needed to hear. He leaned back, an eager anxiety rising up in his gut as the adrenal glands began to secrete, bringing his internal combat systems online. He stared at