JET - Ops Files Read Online Free PDF

the crew cast off and guided the boat to the wooden pier at the far end of the harbor. Three armed guards in white uniforms stood on the worn planks next to a crane with a manual winch, and within fifteen minutes the three crates that had been strapped to the pallet rested on two carts in the center of the pier. The sport fishing yacht returned to its mooring, job now done.
    “The boss wants this in the main storage building. He’ll be there shortly,” the lead guard said, shouldering his weapon and glancing at the crates with trepidation.
    A wiry Malay with a sparse goatee and skin the texture of beef jerky examined the top of the nearest crate, running his blunt fingers over the biohazard symbol stenciled on the lid in red, the black Korean lettering beneath it meaningless to him.
    “For God’s sake, be careful. I don’t know what exactly is in these, but I do know I don’t want to find out the hard way. Easy does it on the way to the compound,” the guard cautioned, and then murmured into his radio, his eyes darting from the crates to the tense faces of his peers.
    Their employer was accustomed to receiving unusual shipments from passing ships, but this was the first time in the four years they had worked there that they’d seen the biohazard logo. Usually it was shipments of weapons or explosives, either from North Korea, China, or Russia.
    “All right. Let’s do this,” the lead guard said, his confident tone belied by his nervous demeanor. His companions each maneuvered a cart like they were traversing a cliff edge, hopeful that whatever toxic cargo they were moving hadn’t been damaged in transit – they had little doubt that in the case of a leak or a spill, they wouldn’t live to see another morning.
     

Chapter 7
    Ramallah, West Bank
    Maya adjusted her hijab as she sneaked out of the barracks. Like every day for the last three weeks, she had dressed in native garb to blend in with the locals, her Jericho 941 9mm service pistol and two extra magazines hidden beneath her black robe. Ramallah wasn’t huge, with a population of only eighteen thousand, and she believed that it was just a matter of time before the men responsible for Sarah’s murder surfaced.
    She skirted the front of the checkpoint and moved to the rear gate of the barracks area, where one of her admirers was on guard duty from three p.m. to eleven. Samuel was handsome, with intelligent brown eyes set into a determined face, his high brow topped with wavy chestnut hair, and skin tanned a deep bronze from countless hours in the sun. Under different circumstances there could have been something there, but as it was, she preferred to keep her life uncomplicated, even if there was undeniable chemistry between them. Checkpoint duty in the IDF was neither the time nor the place for entanglements, and as a rule she maintained a cautious emotional distance from her male counterparts.
    Samuel looked up as she approached, and smiled. “You look marvelous, as usual. Very authentic. I like what they’re doing with shapeless women’s fashions these days.”
    “Ha ha. It’s hot in this damned thing. The only good part is that I could be toting a grenade launcher under it and nobody would know.”
    He nodded. “How long are you going to keep this up?”
    “As long as it takes.”
    He shook his head. “They could be long gone by now.”
    “They’re here. Emboldened at getting away with shooting up the checkpoint. Trust me. I can feel it in my bones.”
    “Hey, it’s your funeral. Just get back before my stint’s over.”
    Maya moved through the gate. “Thanks for covering for me.” Her duty on the graveyard shift started at 11:00, and she’d been making it to the barracks by 10:45 every evening, surviving on too few hours of sleep to count.
    “Remember – call if you get into trouble. It’s better to have to face Kevod’s wrath than be torn apart by an angry mob.”
    She’d begun her hunt for the terrorists in the mosques, mentally