Flash Point Read Online Free PDF Page B

“This is Mr. Ricketts. He is from the DO.” Directorate of Operations. Spies. The ones who do the covert operations. “Like a few others of you, he is not a regular member of my counterterrorism section. He had some time and I asked him if he would join us, at least until he had to go about other things. He graciously accepted. He brings a different perspective — the perspective of someone who has actually fired weapons and knows what to do with them, instead of the rest of us, who study them in cubicles.” He nodded to Ricketts. “So what’s the message?”
    “This op was easy,” he said, speaking with just the slightest hint of an accent, but not one that was identifiable. He rubbed his unshaved chin. He could pass for an Arab, an Egyptian, an Armenian, an Israeli, or even a Serbian. His dark, pockmarked face was chameleon-like, and changed when he wasn’t even trying. Sami was fascinated by him.
    Ricketts went on. “They were willing to tidy up, sip a spot of tea, and watch a movie before heading off. They are very good, and very well trained. They just wanted to be sure we knew that.”
    “Who are they?” Cunningham asked.
    “That’s the big question, isn’t it?” Kinkaid continued. He went to the next slide. It was a gruesome photograph of one of the Palestinian guards up close. A hand was holding open the dead man’s bulletproof vest, sticking a finger through the hole in the vest and showing the entry wound on the dead man’s chest at the same time. “Since we were talking about equipment, I thought we should note this. They had bullets for their M-60 machine guns that were designed to penetrate Kevlar vests. Steel-jacketed with a lead core. Experimental until very recently. The kicker is, these bullets had a Teflon coating outside the steel. Even our special forces don’t have them. These guys are way ahead of the curve.”
    “Where’d they get them?” one of the women on the task force asked.
    “We don’t know. That’s one of the things we’ll be checking out.” He brought up the next slide in his PowerPoint presentation. “Take a look at this van. No serial numbers at all, and the inside of the van — the sides actually — are lined with Kevlar. No bullets went through. And,” he clicked, “solid rubber tires. In case someone tried to shoot them out. They meant business.”
    “Well planned,” Ricketts commented.
    Kinkaid continued, “So. Who are they, as Mr. Cunningham so aptly put it? We have no idea, and that’s what we’re going to find out. That’s why we asked the Israelis for all the inside information they had, and we even got some from the Palestinians, although the idea of cooperating with us to track down Islamic terrorists — if that’s what they are — is sort of new to them. They will definitely not give us their best information. I can guarantee that.” He thought for a moment. “Nor will Israel, for that matter. But we may get some usable information from those sources, and we’ll take a look at whatever we get.” He got out of PowerPoint and closed the screen on his laptop. “You’ve all seen the photos of the shooting. These guys are a different breed.” Kinkaid was clearly puzzled. “I’ve never seen this kind of operation. Anybody?”
    No one wanted to sound stupid.
    “They disappeared into Gaza City, which may mean two things. One, they had help. Two, they can probably pass as Palestinians. Which means either they are Palestinian, or close, or they’re well hidden. Could be disguised too, I guess—”
    “What about those weapons?”
    “It’s a little puzzling. Bottom line? The machine guns were probably on the arms market. Taken from the Marines in Beirut twenty years ago. Either kept by someone in Lebanon — which might mean the shooters are Lebanese — or someone just bought them, which then, of course, means nothing. We’re trying to track that down.”
    “Anybody claiming responsibility?” Cunningham asked. He had already run