Free Seven Days From Sunday (MP-5 CIA #1) by M. H. Sargent, Shelley Holloway

inside the shop. Heisman could clearly be seen, and Peterson thought he saw some activity behind the long counter in the back. Peterson’s heart raced. What was he to do if the men caught Heisman? Was he to somehow intervene? Or go back to the base? It hadn’t been discussed.

    It was the second time in twenty-four hours Adnan had seen blood run free in the sink basin. He kept Aref’s hand under the water, cleaning it thoroughly with soap.
    “Remember the ink?” Aref asked with a laugh.
    Adnan nodded. The old man had voted in Iraq’s first democratic election, dipped his index finger in the well of ink, and then became panicked several hours later when he discovered that he couldn’t easily wash it off. While many people in Jadida had voted that day, all the residents knew that the sight of the ink stain could infuriate Sunni radicals who insisted the election was American propaganda. Aref didn’t want to quarrel with anyone and had come to the pharmacy asking for help in getting rid of the stain. Adnan had taken him to the bathroom and using a powerful cleanser, removed the ink stain.
    Now that the finger was clean, Adnan could better see the wound. He led Aref to the toilet and put down the seat lid with his foot so he kept his hands clean. “Sit.” The old man complied and Adnan started stitching.

    Peterson couldn’t believe it. Someone was walking down the sidewalk toward the pharmacy! It was way past curfew. The person was taking a huge risk. “Someone’s coming!” he blurted out. “Someone’s coming!”

    From which direction!? East or west? Heisman wanted to scream into his wireless headset. Exposed in the lights, he silently moved around the end of the wooden display case. He was now hidden from anyone looking in from the front, but completely exposed to the men inside the pharmacy should they look his way. He heard laughter now and surmised that the men were still in the back somewhere. He crept forward, staying low until he was crouched between the pharmacist’s counter and another free-standing product display case. Now the men would only see him if they came down the steps from the back and made an immediate left turn.
    “Okay, I can’t see you, that’s good,” Heisman heard in his ear. “Man still approaching. From the west... I think it’s the west, anyway.”
    Great, the ex-football jock thought. Just great. He didn’t like being stuck with the computer geek, but he had no choice. With Gonz and McKay in Kuwait, the choice had come down to bringing Peterson along or going solo.
    Suddenly the men’s voices from the back grew louder. They were getting closer.
    “Man still coming... Walking fast... Almost there,” Peterson told him.

    “Thank you, my dear friend.”
    “Don’t worry about it.”
    “How long do they stay in?”
    “I’ll check it in a week or so,” Adnan said. He opened the side door and turned off the overhead lights.

    Peterson watched through the night scope. The man briskly walked past the pharmacy, paying no attention to the fact the lights had just gone out. When he was a good thirty feet past, Peterson said, “The man’s almost gone. Repeat, the man’s gone. Street is clear. Street is clear.”

    Heisman collapsed on the floor, his back against the counter. He breathed deeply, for the first time realizing he must have been holding his breath ever since the two men had entered the shop. He looked at his watch. He’d wait a good ten minutes at least before moving.

The Green Zone, Baghdad, Iraq Thursday, April 13th 5:48 a.m.
    Marine Staff Sergeant Michaels was meticulously cutting his large stack of pancakes with a fork and knife when a DVD suddenly slid across the table, stopping at his plate. He looked up. Colonel K.C. stood on the other side of the table with a big grin, holding a food tray in hand.
    “What’s this?” the Marine asked.
    “Early Christmas,” Colonel K.C. said with a smile. Not yet six in the morning, the mess hall was full. Most were