Redemption (13 page)

He’d read Batya’s dossier hours before an introduction for the mission. Israeli’s Mossad was their country’s best counter-terrorism unit. They’re storied past had it’s early ups and downs, similar to Justice’s beloved military Special Forces units, but when it came to the craft of killing, no one beat their spies. Batya, like many Jewish operatives, began her career in Shin Bet, Israel’s internal security unit, and then transferred to Aman, their military intelligence division. Her portfolio said she’d worked with both branches before called to duty as a Mossad covert operative.

Justice held up his left arm. His clinched fist signaled for Batya to freeze where she was. He snaked his long physique across a semi-level landing. The scope was pressed against his right eye. His left eye almost useless, he pressed it closed to minimize the distractions. Laser-focused, he cursed across stretched lips that tried to cheat the hot air for a whiff of cooler breeze.

“Three bogies.”

“So much for the veracity of your American intelligence,” she huffed.

He looked at the way back down to where their journey began, “It was a drone’s flyover. Just a few hours ago,” dejected, Justice licked his lips—they felt like sandpaper.

“You Westerners rely upon too much technology. Nothing beats old fashion eyes on target.” She sneered.

He broke visual contact with the three guards to glare at her. She gave off no emotional indicators. This woman’s bio read like a Sylvester Stallone movie character, but she was as real as they came. But, could she walk the walk when the shit hit the fan?

“What would you suggest then, Miss know it all?”

“My surname is Cohen, not Knowitall,” she challenged. “Who do those lost souls belong to?”

Justice shrugged his shoulders.

“You saved me from tumbling a long way down. Let me dispatch these three,” she said with cold confidence. Her light hazel eyes rarely blinked.

Justice chortled. His attention was turned back on their targets. He wasn’t able to detect insignia. They were either rebels or terrorists. He nodded to Batya. His lips curled upward—she understood he was questioning her.

“How deep did you dig into my resume?” she taunted.

“I heard you’re Kidon.”

“Yes, that is correct,” she stated with a matter of fact.

Justice’s first inclination was to laugh. No way was she an infamously covert assassin for the Mossad’s Caesarea. He’d soon find out, but if she was, he was in the presence of greatness. Though he’d never let her know how he felt.

She leaned deep over the rock formation until her dried, cracked lips almost touched his temple. The warm air from her whispers tingled the fuzzy lobe of his ear. He cracked another smile.

“Once you have had your fill of boyhood giggles, you will do well to pay me proper respect.”

He stopped grinning—insulted by her insolence.

“I can take out two from here without problem. The third one will be the one closest to us. He will panic and flee. You must intercept him.”

Is this woman fucking serious?

“Sorry honey, I’m here to erase Benjamin Franklin Ford, not chase down your runaways.”

“SF, FS”