17
“You ain’t shit.”
Lola spun to face the snarl.
The D-boys had called for pickup after three days and nights. For the last twenty minutes the flight crews had been scrambling about in the dark erasing any sign of their time perched in the desert plateau above Desert One. Anchor spikes pulled, camo nets folded, area swept for trash.
Lola had been squatting to gather the fifteen nuts and washers and six quarters from Tim’s impromptu backgammon board. She’d wished she could chip the board out of the salt and take it with her, but maybe it was better this way. Safely lost in the vast emptiness. Now she’d always know it was here, could picture it here in the high Iranian desert.
Sergeant Kee Stevenson stood close behind her. “I’ve got you in my goddamn sights, LaRue! Don’t think I don’t
