18
Lola kept an eye out on the nighttime desert streaking by close below. Low and fast, they flew into the night, racing back to Ravar. They were fully fueled by the Chinooks and, unlike the unfortunates of Operation Eagle Claw, had not flown over a single local vehicle or flown through any sandstorms. Now something was bound to go wrong. Had to.
The desert had been clean when they left. No sign of their stay in the heart of Iran other than Tim’s damn backgammon board.
Crap!
She’d been so pissed at Kee that she’d forgotten and left the playing pieces on the salt pan. For half a moment she considered turning back to get them, knowing such a thing was impossible, foolish, and dangerous combined. Someday, would a desert nomad pick up those six American quarters and wonder how they’d come
