Free The First Casualty by Gregg Loomis

supposedly snatched the watch as he plunged his homemade dagger into her chest. He still had it when arrested. How its present owner came by it was a subject upon which Jason could only speculate.
    The watch was a shiny mole on an arm larger than a leg of lamb. “Ain’ got time to go into all that.” She produced a manila envelope, handing it cross the desk. “It’s all in there.”
    Jason took the envelope. “You in a hurry?”
    â€œNope. You are. You got a flight outta Guernsey into Heathrow in a couple of hours. Only ten days left, remember?”
    Jason was suddenly aware his mouth was open. This was the height of presumption even for Momma. “Oh? And just where am I going?”
    â€œYou decide once you read what I just gave you, that and the book. The job pays one million, no taxes. You’re going to want to put together a team. I’ll cover those expenses.”
    â€œAnd just what, may I ask, makes you think I want the job?”
    â€œAmong other things, your old pal, Mahomet Moustaph, is involved.”
    Jason ignored the sound of grinding of his own teeth.
    â€œLast I heard, he was in some CIA hellhole of an interrogation center off the map.”
    â€œHe escaped.”
    â€œBut how . . . ?”
    â€œNot like them spooks over to Langley going to hand out press releases ever time they screw up. What I hear, though, is some of Moustaph’s throat-cutting buddies bribed the native guards.”
    That was the problem with detention and interrogation centers located in places too remote to come to the attention of U.S. officialdom: The incentive to the locals in allowing such a place to exist was purely financial, not patriotic. Consequently, the natives were often for sale to the highest bidder.
    Momma continued, “Thought of you the minute I heard.”
    Well she might. Jason made no secret of the fact he viewed Moustaph as his own personal quarry. If there had been any doubt he would take the assignment, it vanished with the possibility he might be able to track down the man responsible for his wife’s death. Still, he wasn’t going to let Momma think she could evoke a Pavlovian response every time the man’s name came up.
    â€œ9/11 was a long time ago. Other than Moustaph, what makes you think I want the job?”
    Momma’s brow furrowed as though she were in deep thought. “Well, first, you’re bored.”
    â€œYou’re guessing.”
    â€œAnd you need to leave the island.”
    â€œI can make my own arrangements.”
    â€œAnd you came here.”
    For that, he had no answer.
    He turned to leave, stopped, and turned again. “If the location of this, this . . . thing is known, there are any number of ways to take it out without putting boots on the ground.”
    Mamma nodded her agreement. “True. But a drone carrying a bomb can’t sift through the wreckage to make sure the machine is destroyed. Since it’s inside, the drone can’t confirm even if it’s there, for that matter.”
    â€œNo, but a team of Marine Force Recon, SEALs, or Delta Force could if confirmation is essential.”
    â€œThat would be putting those boots on the ground, wouldn’t it? No, way it is, the country has enough enemies in that part of the world to be sending in troops to blow up a mosque.”
    â€œA mosque?”
    Momma pointed to the envelope in his hand. “Jason, you really need to read this stuff yourself, ’stead of wasting time and maybe missing your plane. We know the area from which the weapon came. Some kind of triangulation I don’t pretend to understand. We have an idea of the size of a machine that could strike from that distance. Only building big enough to hold it around there is a mosque, a rather famous one as it turns out.”
    A job too dangerous for uniformed professionals in a hostile and volatile area. Sometimes Jason wished he had a higher boredom