Starfish Prime (Blackfox Chronicles Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

area and headed slowly out the main gate. The speed limit on military installations was usually at least five miles an hour less than what would be encountered in the civilian world, as they were normally set by the installation commanders based on the logic that slower is always safer. He remembered being deployed to a post in Kuwait—Camp Arifjan—that had a posted speed limit of ten miles an hour, which almost made walking a faster option. 
    Once outside the gate, Buford accelerated the big V8 and steered the pickup north along Dale Mabry Highway towards West Gandy Boulevard, which would take them across the Ta mpa Bay to Saint Petersburg. 
    “I got us a meeting with the detective listed as point of co ntact regarding the warrant on Captain Blackfox. Her name is Marilyn Ramirez―maybe she’s a hottie,” said Gunny Rob, hopefully.
    “More likely a nottie,” replied S SGT Buford, who appeared to be pouting because Rob had nixed his plans for “lunch among the Wing House honeys.” 
    “How about exhibiting a little optimism there, Staff? Here we are styling around in this brand spanking new G-rod pickup on a beautifully sunny March morning, and all you can do is grouse about not getting to stop at Hooters to ogle some teenager’s scantily clad rear end over some greasy chicken wings. You could be back in Iraq or even Marja,” he said, referring to a particularly bothersome district in Helmand Province, Afghanistan that was the Marines’ current area of operations.
    “Yeah, that would definitely suck,” replied Buford with a sudden smile. “Maybe Detective Ramirez is deployment hot.”
    “Shit, man, now you’re talking. Maybe she’s deployment hot!” echoed Gunny Rob. 
    The expression referred to men finding women more attra ctive based on several factors, including the ratio of men to women; the greater the ratio, the greater the multiplier. A gal who might be a plain Jane back in the burg would be virtually transformed into a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model if the ratio was high enough. And nowhere in any of the services was the ratio of men to women greater than in the Marine Corps. It was said that most women got five bonus beauty points just for being deployed with the Marines. Commanders, of course, had done their part to control the raging hormones of their young charges by outlawing sexual conduct in theater―which had worked about as well Prohibition worked for curbing alcohol abuse. 
    Marilyn was on the phone when they were escorted to her o ffice by a deputy. She waved them in and motioned towards the chairs in front of her desk.
    “Dude, she isn’t deployment hot, she’s real-life hot,” whi spered Buford. 
    Marilyn Ramirez was a thin, olive skinned beauty with a kil ler body and a face that seemed more suited to a beauty queen than Sheriff’s detective. She wore a tight white blouse that showcased her thin, but taut physique and a pair of tight, low cut, jeans, with what appeared to be a W on the pocket. Scattered about the office were several plaques and trophies that seemed to indicate an interest in competitive events, including 10K runs and triathlons.
    Gunny Rob held out his ID card; the Detective gave it a cu rsory inspection and handed it back to him. 
    “OK, Eddie, I’ll tell them. Give my best to Carla,” said Mar ilyn. She placed the handset back on the base, withdrew a business card from a silver holder shaped like a Colt forty-five caliber pistol and quickly scrawled something on the back. 
    “That was Detective Doyle,” she said , getting to her feet and extending her right hand for a quick but firm handshake. “He was originally assigned to the case back in 2004. Your Marine and his friends were a virtual crime wave a few years back―killing some people that probably needed killing, blowing holes in historical sites, stealing a vehicle, and possibly absconding with a lot of gold coins, but we’re not sure about the last part. I was involved in the case, but