Dead Shot by USMC (Ret.) with Donald A. Davis Gunnery SGT. Jack Coughlin Read Free Book Online Page A

point?”
    “What if this Palace of Death thing was one of the backchannelagreements, something even the UN people did not know about? Hussein and the ayatollahs overlooked their differences long enough to make a deal for the future.”
    Double-Oh was interested. “Meaning us?”
    “I’ll get to that. What was the major thing people remember about the Iran-Iraq War? The use of chemical weapons by Iraq to blunt Iranian frontal assaults. Later came the biochem attacks in the Kurdistan region. You certainly remember the Arab saying that ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ Both sides consider America to be the Great Satan, and both sides anticipated that sooner or later, one or both of them would be facing us in combat.”
    Kyle finished his coffee. “So these crazies, the mullahs and Saddam’s thugs, start planning something way back in the 1980s? A jointly owned and operated bioweapons factory? Then they never used the product?”
    “If they were trying to come up with something really new and effective and deadly, perhaps it just wasn’t ready in time for the Gulf War, and things tightened up quickly during the current war. The United States sold weapons to both sides during the Iran-Iraq fighting, and so much matériel and cash has been lost or stolen during the current war that it cannot even be counted. Throw in the massive support the United States supplied to the Afghan rebels that fought the Soviet Union and it is reasonable to believe they had access to plenty of raw materials and plenty of time for development.”
    “So you think there really may be something to this Palace of Death idea?”
    “The name is just a name, like Saddam’s ‘Mother of All Battles,’ but they have to call it something. Whatever is out there needs to be uncovered.”
    “That’s the job. Kyle and I are heading down to Doha to pick up a MARSOC team, then go in early tomorrow morning.” Double-Oh stood and put away his map. “Give my apologies to Pat for my not being able to stay longer. I still have some money she hasn’t stolen from me at poker.”
    Kyle shook hands with Jeff. “Tell m’lady I’ll be thinking about what she said…and for her to have a good time in London. I’ll be back in a few days.”
    Sir Jeff slapped him on the shoulder. “Right. Only wish I was going with you.” He walked them to the helipad and waved as the helicopter lifted away.
     
    T HE M ARINE ASSAULT TEAM arrived at Camp Doha in Kuwait as fast as it could be assembled and flown out of North Carolina. They boarded a plane on a sunny afternoon, flew most of the night, and got off to find themselves in the desert sun of Kuwait. A waiting helicopter ferried them to a secure barracks in the special operations sector of the sprawling American base at Camp Doha, north of Kuwait City.
    Every member of the team had been to Doha before, during previous tours in Iraq. It was Little America. Uncle Frosty’s Oasis, the Marble Palace, the beach, and great Mexican food downtown at the La Palma. Pizza, camel races, ice cream. Doha was not a hardship post.
    They knew, however, that this was not going to be vacation time, for the first thing they saw in their barracks was a stack of hazmat suits on a table by the door. They pawed through the stack and picked out correct sizes, tossed the suits onto the bunks, and followed Captain Newman over to a private room in a mess hall for chow. Afterward, he disappeared for a briefing, and the rest of them ambled back to their small barracks. Special operators do not linger in the daylight when starting a mission, and they were glad the sun was going down.
    The lights were off, and Travis Hughes was the first one through the door, feeling for the switch. He was snatched from his feet by a big, meaty arm and thrown to the floor, where someone jammed a knee into his chest and pressed a knife to his neck.
    Darren Rawls, the next through the door, thought Hughes had tripped and fallen. Then he felt a pistol barrel