Free JET - Ops Files by Russell Blake Page A

sneaked out, day after day, working the locals for information until she was able to find one of the men responsible for the attack.
    Avi interrupted her. “How did you know it was him?”
    “I had a photo. Of both men, from the security cameras.”
    “Ah. Go on.”
    She explained how she tailed the terrorist, the discussion she’d overheard, and her final decision to follow the men to the bomb factory. She ended with the events leading up to the shootout. “Then I passed out. That’s all I remember.”
    “So your contention is that there was a bomb in the mosque?”
    “Not in the mosque. In the outbuilding.”
    “Right. And the ball bearings were part of the device.”
    “Correct. Like I said.”
    She yawned, exhausted, and Avi’s frown deepened. He made several more notes in the margins of the report and stood. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Again, Maya, do not speak with anyone. Do not answer any questions. If anyone attempts to interrogate you, refuse to answer and demand that I be called at once. Here’s my card, with my cell number on the back.” He fixed her with a cold stare. “This is deadly serious, young lady. I don’t know what you did to infuriate your superior, but he’s pulled out all the stops to see you buried.”
    “Right. Sergeant Kevod. He’s a shit. He’s angry because I wouldn’t have sex with him. He’s a liar and a bully.”
    Avi stood, motionless. “Your position is that this is all about a failed overture?”
    “If you want to call bullying and sexual harassment an overture, sure. Why do you think most of the time women in the IDF report to female officers? This is obviously why.”
    Avi nodded slowly. “Perhaps. But unfortunately it comes off as a weak defense, trying to tar and feather your superior instead of responding directly to the charges.”
    She matched his scowl with her own. “Right. Because we can’t have it on the record that it’s all about his small dick syndrome, can we? The boys’ club protects its own.”
    He moved to the exit and turned to face her. “Maya, let’s get one thing clear, shall we? I’m not the enemy. I’m the only thing standing between you and a world of hurt. So don’t talk down to me or accuse me of being part of your problem. I’m not. I’m your best friend, your savior, and the answer to your prayers. So lose the attitude. I’ll be back tomorrow. Get some rest.”
    The door closed behind him with the finality of a judge’s gavel, leaving her to consider her dim prospects in silence. The reality of her situation settled over her like a malevolent fog. She closed her eyes, the narcotic numbing the worst of her anxiety, and retreated into the recesses of her mind, where she escaped when the external world became unbearable, as she had in childhood when those chartered with her protection had betrayed her in the dead of night.
     

Chapter 13
    A female corporal led Maya to the interrogation room and latched her cuff to the arm of a scarred metal chair bolted to the concrete floor. She peered at the stitches on her biceps where the bullet wound had been sutured and was relieved to see that it had been competently closed, so at least she wouldn’t have much of a scar – the smallest of her worries in light of the ordeal to come.
    The room smelled of fear and desperation. The lead-colored walls did nothing to lighten the oppressive atmosphere, and the struggling air conditioner humming through the overhead vent did little to freshen it. Her head still hurt, but only a fraction of what it had the day before, which was the one bright spot in her morning so far.
    She gazed around the room, wondering how many times she would be chained to a stool before this ugly misadventure was over. Her act of heroism hadn’t gone quite as planned, and while she’d always understood that there was a chance things might turn out badly, being court-martialed hadn’t seemed realistic, Kevod’s blustering notwithstanding.
    How wrong she’d obviously