The next morning, I wake up early and head out. I feel terrible about what I said to Melissa last night, and I can't face the looks from everyone else this early. Instead, I grab an early breakfast and leave a note behind. Need some stuff from the hardware store. I'll be back ASAP.

I know it's a flimsy excuse, but with the nearest town to where we are being the suburb of Asheville called Swannanoa, I can at least get some time to clear my head. Besides, I can get some more gas cans for the generator, I know Katrina at least will appreciate the extra electricity. And maybe I can buy a DVD for everyone to entertain themselves, and then I can...

What the hell am I thinking? I'm being a damn fool is what I'm being, and I'm running like a scared rabbit. Still, I take Carson's truck and drive slowly down the hill to the logging road that connects my property to the Blue Ridge Parkway. From there I can drive down to Swannanoa, maybe not the most direct route but it’s the easiest.

I get to Swannanoa just after eight, still a little while before most of the stores open, and head to the CVS first, since they open early. I kill about twenty minutes looking through the movies they have for sale, most of which I would never buy. Put it this way, if I have the choice of life on a desert island with one of these movies to watch or staring at the seagulls, I'll probably choose the seagulls.

While I'm wondering if I can get through a Mack Bolan novel without going into hysterical fits of laughter, my cell phone buzzes. I'm surprised, I forgot I even had it in my jacket pocket, but it's a habit, I guess. I take it out and look, intrigued when I see I got an e-mail.

I tap my inbox, my fingers trembling when I see who the message is from. Isis Bardot. My finger hovers over the e-mail, wanting to open it, when I remember who and what Isis is.

“I'm sorry Colonel, but I'm turning down the Army's offer.”

Colonel Christman looks somber, but nods in understanding. “I see, Sergeant Black. I heard your recent mission to Kurdistan had some... difficult circumstances.”

I nod. I'm not even in the United States, I'm in Vincenza, Italy at Caserma Ederle, or Camp Ederle as some of the soldiers who can't really even choke out basic Italian call it. Technically the Special Forces doesn't have any units in the area, but as the headquarters of the Army's African Command, and the home of a detachment from the 82nd Airborne, it’s a good base for us to work out of.

“Very difficult, sir.”

Colonel Christman sighs and sits back. I've worked with him in the Green Berets for a while now. “Sergeant Black... Nathan, you're a good troop. You've been in the Berets since you were what, an E-4?”

“E-3. Why are you asking, sir?”

“I'm just curious... what are you going to do now? No offense Nathan, you're good, but you've got an MOS that doesn't exactly lend itself to the civilian world. You don't have a college degree, so you can't get in with one of the ROTC batts. And let's face it, our skill and trade isn't one that really works in the regular world,” the Colonel says, scratching behind his ear.

“Doesn't really matter, sir. I've still got my GI Bill, and I've been smart with my money. I've got a nest egg.”

“Nest egg,” Christman repeats, signing and tapping the paper on his desk, my form that says I'm not going to re-enlist. “If you say so, Nathan. I can't force you obviously. I'm just going to give you a warning. You're going to find yourself very appealing to certain groups. A lot of the Berets who leave the service end up working for these groups.”

“You mean mercenary work.”

Christman nods, cutting the bullshit. “They prefer the term private military contractor nowadays, but yeah. I won't stop you. You've got a lot of anger, and I think you probably want to get your measure of revenge. Just... make sure the people you're working for don't end up getting you targeted by our own. Mercs might be strong, but you don't want the CIA after your ass, okay?”

The threat is clear, if unspoken. If I side with the wrong mercs, the CIA might be the ones spearheading the op, but I'd be taken down by Special Forces themselves. We clean up our own messes. “Understood, sir. Is that all?”

“Pretty much. I'm reassigning you to my staff here until you actually clear post, you can discharge here or back at Campbell, whichever you prefer.”

I think, then I shrug. “Might as well catch a free ride back to the States, sir. I'll come by and talk with the S-1 tomorrow, put in for my terminal leave. Where are you going to have me, by the way?”

“Actually, my personal staff. For the next couple of weeks, until your orders come down from SOCOM, you're my driver. Now, since I happen to enjoy riding my bike to work, and my office is in the same building as the base, you can see how busy your work's going to be. Check in each morning with me at 0900, and if I've got anything, I'll tell you. If not... well, just try to make sure you stay out of the bars until after 1700, got it?”

“Understood, sir.”

“And can the sir shit unless we're around the pogues. The name's Bill, okay?”

“Okay, Bill.”

Colonel Christman nods, and sighs one last time. “All right, Nathan. Then pop some smoke, get back to your room, and I'll see you Monday morning.”

I take the Colonel's advice and head off base, wanting to get as far from the military as I can without taking leave. I'm sitting in a sidewalk cafe on the Piazza dei Signori when I hear a voice behind me. “Nathan Black.”

My coffee cup tumbles from my numb fingers to explode on the flagstones of the sidewalk as I turn, and a dead woman stands in front of me. “Aisha?”

She looks just like Aisha, with waist-length black hair, the same dark green eyes and full, sensuous lips I used to kiss until both of us were bruised, lips that whispered words of love in my ear.

But it can't be. I blink, and realize that as similar as she is to my Aisha, she's younger, maybe just out of college. They are so alike though they have to be related, and my heart stirs as she comes over and sits down with a sly smile, just like Aisha used to give me. “No, not Aisha. Aisha was my older sister. My name is Isis. Isis Bardot. And I have a proposal for you.”

I shake my head, the memories slowly fading, my finger pulling back as I remember more about Isis. Beautiful, seductive, intelligent... and absolutely amoral. I turn off my phone after making sure that a copy of the message is at least in my phone, and leave the CVS, new urgency filling me. There's something nagging at me, and I know that before I open this message, I need to have Katrina take a look at it.

I get back to the compound just after noon, the back of the truck filled with supplies. I bought another thirty gallons of gas for the generator, a saw to help with taking care of the firewood, but most importantly electric blankets for everyone. Instead of running the energy-hogging space heaters, we can now sleep warmly with only one-tenth of the energy usage. Finally, using a pay phone, I call my maintenance man to have him come out tomorrow to take care of the furnace. He's bringing out a whole new furnace instead of fucking around with repairs. I should have done it when I had him do renovations last year, but it'd been summer, and I hadn't thought about it then.

When I get back to the compound, Jackson and Carson give me a wave from the chapel as they muscle the foam mats for martial arts practice through the door. Each mat weighs about thirty pounds and they've got eighteen of them to carry. “Hey, need a hand?”

“Nope, we're good,” Carson replies. “Pick up anything good?”

“Just a saw, some gas, and some electric blankets. Oh, and a maintenance crew is coming up tomorrow, bringing a new furnace with them,” I say, pulling out the first two cans of gasoline and taking them over to the fuel area. “Hey, you guys seen Katrina?”

“She's inside checking her online resources. Darcy's freaking out that we left so quickly,” Jackson says. He comes over and leans in close, lowering his voice. “And all the girls aren't exactly happy with you for taking off. Apparently, Melissa was a bit off this morning.”

“Yeah... Carson's not going to try and shoot me is he?”

Jackson looks over his shoulder and shakes his head, chuckling. “No, not right this second. I think he knows something's up, but he's used to 'Lissa being off. Either way, 'Lissa and Andrea are off on another walk through the woods, they should be back in a couple hours. 'Lissa said she wanted to look around the property some, get some ideas on art for when she gets settled down.”

“Okay. I need to talk to Katrina, maybe we can get this worked out.”

I turn to the main building, when Jackson reaches out and takes my arm. “Nathan. I said Carson isn't going to shoot you. I'd watch it with Katrina though.”

“Advice taken. Is BA with her? She won't shoot me in front of your daughter.”

Jackson shakes his head and hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “BA's got Daddy time right now. She's in her little snowsuit and loving her new playroom.”

The main room is dimly lit, but I can hear the whine of Katrina's laptop as I close the door behind me, giving my eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness. “Katrina?”

“On the couch,” she says, her voice not quite cold, but not as warm as it normally is. “You get what you need?”

“And maybe more,” I say, walking by memory until I can see the couch, and the glow of Katrina's laptop. “I think I might need your abilities.”

“And I should help you... why?” she asks quietly, and I can see her blue eyes glinting coldly. “Besides the fact that you're keeping us safe, I'm of a mind to try to kick your ass.”

“An ass kicking I probably fully deserve,” I admit, sighing. “I guess 'Lissa told you about last night?”

“To us girls, yes. That she finally worked up the courage to tell you how she feels about you, and that you said 'thanks, but I can't'? Yeah, real smooth there, Sergeant Black.”

“I... dammit Katrina, I stand by what I told Melissa last night. I’m honored, and I wish it could be… but I can't let her be ruined by me. Now, are you going to help me or not? I need your fucking computer skills. This might be a security issue.”

Katrina studies my face for a minute then sighs, pointing to a space on the couch for me to sit down. “Dammit Nathan, you're pissing me off, but I care about you at the same time. Why's this family got to be so fucking complicated? What do you have?”

“Here,” I say, handing her my phone. “The e-mail on there, it says it's from Isis Bardot. I want you to scan it, make sure it is legit and safe.”

Katrina jacks my phone into her laptop, shaking her head in slight amusement as she does. “You know, after I hacked your phone so easily last time, I thought you'd get a new one. I don't even need to try to hack this anymore, the hole's already there.”

“If I thought I couldn't trust you, I would have done just that,” I tell her. “Can you get a signal to get the e-mail?”

“Hold on, I'm pulling your e-mail into a box here, let me... oooh, Isis, you naughty bitch,” Katrina says, her eyes sparkling. “She tried to get her hooks on us.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. “And please, plain English.”

“She tied in a piece of invisible malware,” Katrina says, tapping away at her keyboard. “It would have hijacked your phone, turning it into an active tracker for her. I’ll get rid of it though. Let me see... there's a picture, and a message.”

“What's the message?” I ask, and Katrina whistles softly. “What?”

She turns her laptop to me, and I see Isis for the first time in nearly twenty years, still achingly beautiful, looking more like Aisha than ever, winking and blowing me a kiss in a selfie. Underneath is a four word message. See you soon, lover.

“Wanna explain that one?” Katrina asks. “I'm asking not because I want to know about your sex life, but because I want to know how much of a threat this woman is.”

I nod, sighing. “I guess someone else in this family has to know. And maybe... maybe you'll be able to help me figure out how to tell everyone else about this.”

I wake up, and the first thought on my mind is that I must have dropped into a time warp. The past eight months have been nothing but a bad dream. There was no battalion of Republican Guard, Aisha didn't leave the convoy behind to try and attack them single-handedly, and I haven't left the Army at all. She's here, with me, her jasmine-scented hair still tickling my chest after an amazing night.

“Mmm, good morning lover,” a soft, lilting French-Kurdish voice says, breaking my fantasy. Despite my initial thought that she sounded just like her older sister, Isis has spent most of her life outside of Iraq, and her pronunciation reflects it. “You were absolutely amazing last night.”

“You were pretty damn good yourself,” I reply, stroking the silky smooth olive skin of her back. “I never knew a woman's body could do some of those things.”

“You inspire me,” Isis says, reaching down and cupping my balls. I'm quickly hard as a rock again, and she chuckles, taking my cock in her hand and stroking me slowly. “I thought I had a high sex drive. You never seem to go soft when we're together.”

“The way you touch me... how could I not?” I ask, turning my head to kiss her plump lips. “Do we have time?”

“Mmm, I doubt it,” she says with a frown. “Knowing the Colonel, he will keep to his damned schedules like clockwork. Still...”

Isis slides down my body and without a pause sucks my cock all the way into her warm, tight mouth, my eyes rolling back it feels so good. She pumps me in and out of her mouth a few times and then lets me pop free loudly, chuckling. “Just so that you have motivation for today's work. If our mission is successful, I’ll finish that and more tonight. Maybe even let you have my tight little asshole, would you like that?”

I groan, knowing how good that feels. She does have a sexual appetite, with no limits except that she wants to be rocked to body-shaking orgasms every time we have sex. It's hot, it's kinky, and even if there is a little niggling voice in my mind that says it's not quite what I want, I'm drunk with the passion of it all, and I can't stop even if I wanted to.

“And if I just want to cuddle and talk about the future?” I tease, causing her to frown. I chuckle and sit up, stroking her perfect face. “You'll just seduce me some other way so that my tongue is buried deep inside your pussy instead, most likely, and I'll just end up with a set of blue balls for the night.”

“Sounds fair. Come, let us get ready for work.”

We put on clothes, a robe for her, and a man's full suit with head scarf for me. It's nothing at all like what we would normally wear, but I know that underneath her long, loose robe, she's wearing tactical gear, including boots identical to mine. Also underneath her robe is the rifle we're using today, while underneath my left armpit is my Colt 1911 in a shoulder rig I've been practicing with for a week. It still feels strange though, I wish I had it on my thigh like I did in the Berets.

“Let's go, lover,” Isis says with a kiss on my lips at the door, her jasmine scent stiffening my cock again. “Time to strike back.”

We make our way through the streets of Kirkuk, approaching the headquarters of the Army base that's on the edge of town. Things are going well for Saddam's troops recently, Clinton's letting him bring in new 'humanitarian supplies,' while up in Russia the politicos are in Gazprom's pocket so much that they're letting him smuggle out even more oil on a regular basis. Who knows how much they're paying him for it, but it gives Saddam enough money that his oil fields are working pretty much all the time.

We find our spot, the fifth floor of an office building that overlooks the base. It's a long shot, over eight hundred meters, but after being with Isis as her mercenary partner and lover for the past six months, I know she's also a very, very good sniper.

Reaching the room we've picked out, she strips off her robe, revealing her lithe body in a tight olive colored cotton t-shirt and British desert camo military pants. Her ass looks amazing in them, but it's time to work, and I keep my attention on the door while she assembles her rifle. “Sure you don't need my help with a spotter's scope?”

“No way. Colonel Masri always follows the same pattern. After morning formations, he tours the motor pool for an hour before heading indoors. And with that garish fucking uniform of his, he's easy to see.”

I nod and take out my binoculars anyway, scanning the base. The motor pool is one of the most open areas on the base, although I know it's mostly for show. Of the forty vehicles on the line, only ten of them are currently operational. The relaxed rules on humanitarian aid and black market parts might be getting Saddam lots of caviar and a Mercedes back in Baghdad, but in Kirkuk it's not doing too damn much to help his troops.

I see the battalion of the Republican Guard lined up, and I have to give them credit, they at least look like professional soldiers. Some of the other units look raggedy, and not in the relaxed way I was in the Green Berets, but in the 'I don't want to fucking be here, fuck this, fuck that, fuck you and fuck this place,' sort of way.

“You ready to take the shot?” I ask, listening as Isis tightens the stock on her rifle. It's the only piece of American equipment she uses.

“Two minutes,” Isis says, clicking in her scope and checking her attachments. She slides a magazine into the receiver and chambers a round. “Ready.”

The morning sun gives us plenty of shade to hide what we're doing, and she sets the rifle's bipod on the top of the table we've positioned under the window, giving us even more security. There's not going to be any muzzle flash or wink of light off the scope for the Iraqis to see.

I put all my attention on the door to the room while Isis settles in, her right leg stretched out to give her body as stable a position as she can get with the space we're in. The seconds tick by, and I hear her flick off the safety on her rifle. Four seconds later, two shots ring out, one right after another, and she's up, clearing her rifle and breaking it down. Ten seconds after that, it's all on her back again, and I'm helping her with her robe. Thirty seconds after the shots, we're slipping out the back door of the building, where the streets are busy, but very few people are reacting. We're far enough from the base, people don't quite recognize yet that the sounds weren't just a car backfiring.

As we make our way back to our hotel, she slips her hand into mine, a move possible only because the Iraqi government is not as strict in their interpretation of Islamic law as their neighbors to the south. “Good job, lover,” she says in French, one of a half-dozen languages she speaks, and one we're sure nobody around Kirkuk speaks. “Let's go fuck. Then we can collect our money.”

Katrina sits back, giving me an evaluating look. I sigh and look down. “For eight months, it was like that on nearly a daily basis. We would wake up, fuck like rabbits, train, eat, fuck, and kill when we had a job. I was numb by the end of it.”

“I bet. She sounds like she liked you at least. What happened?”

I laugh harshly and lean back, rubbing at my temples. “Isis Bardot may have liked the way she and I killed together, but Isis Bardot has never loved anyone or anything in her entire life except for two things. She loves money, and a good fuck. I was apparently a very good fuck, since it took a million dollars for her to betray me. When I got identified on one of our ops in Eastern Europe, the word was put out, my head was worth a million dollars, dead or alive. The very next op, she... well, let's just say my face and my ass still carry reminders of what happens to people who trust Isis Bardot.”

“So why is she doing this?” Katrina asks, referring to the picture and message. “Why not just come after you?”

I shrug. “Who knows? I know she has stayed active, she is one of the best in the world over the past twenty years. She started so young, so she’s still not too old for it yet. Maybe she's just bored.”

Katrina sighs, and leans back. “Okay. I guess I can understand now why you'd go to work for a human snake like Peter. He was a step up from Isis it seems.”

“At the time I thought he was,” I admit. “Now do you understand why even though I love Melissa, I can never let myself be with her?”

Katrina shakes her head. “I can understand why you hate yourself, I can understand your guilt. But no, I can't understand that. I'll try my damnedest though to try and explain it to her when she and Andrea come back.”

“Thanks, Katrina. And if you want, when you want to have that sparring match with me to see who's really better... I’ll be waiting.”

I get up, and head for the door, thinking maybe I can help the guys out. Just as I reach it, Katrina answers.

“I may just take you up on that.”