Flynn stared at him. “You’re going to blow the wreck up?”

White nodded. “We’re going to sanitize this site, Captain. And thoroughly. This mess needs to be cleared up before any more unwelcome visitors arrive—say the international press, or members of several of the factions who claim they’re in charge of this godforsaken region.”

“Because otherwise they’d find evidence that you’ve been running guns to a different splinter group? Here in Libya? Or south in Chad?” Flynn said pointedly.

“A provocative assertion,” the other man acknowledged. His voice took on an edge of its own. “But since the matter is highly classified, I strongly suggest you let it drop. Here and now.”

“Or what? You’ll have to kill me?”

White smiled narrowly. “You’ve been watching far too many bad movies, Captain Flynn. We don’t kill people to protect our secrets these days. Well, not often, anyway.” He shrugged. “We prefer nonlethal measures.”

“Like what?” Flynn pushed with a wry smile of his own. “Amnesia drugs? MiB-style memory zappers?”

“Nothing so technical,” the other man said coldly, dropping any pretense at affability. “Now we rely on leaks to our allies in the media. We can count on them to shit all over people’s careers and reputations until everyone who matters is convinced our targets are either crazy or dirty.” His pale eyes glittered. “Trust me on this—you really do not want to find out what it’s like being on the receiving end of one of our smear operations. So just back the fuck off.”

Flynn stiffened and then felt Zalewski’s big hand land on his shoulder.

“The guy’s not worth the trouble, sir,” the PJ murmured. “Let it go. For now.”

Reluctantly, Flynn let himself be guided away. He glanced up at the technical sergeant. “You’re not going to give me some heartfelt lecture on the perils of wrestling with a pig, are you?”

“Hell no,” Zalewski said. He grinned. “I’m a suburban kid. Bacon and pork chops are as close as I ever get to pigs.” Then he nodded back over his shoulder toward where White stood watching them walk away. “But I’ve got a pretty good built-in detector for creepy sacks of shit. And that guy’s pegging the top of the meter.”

“What’s your read on his security detail?”

The PJ shrugged. “Mostly solid. Definitely ex–meat eaters.” He used the slang for Special Forces troops who took part in dangerous combat missions instead of training allied soldiers and local militias. “I figure their new Secret Squirrel bosses pay a lot more than ours do, though.”

Flynn thought about his monthly check with all its assorted deductions and nodded. “Safe bet, Zee.” He checked the crest of the dune again. Another couple of robed men had appeared and joined the others observing them. His eyes narrowed. “Can you make that hour deadline to get the bodies out?”

“It’ll be tough,” Zalewski admitted.

“What if I give you a hand? I’m checked out on some of your extraction gear.”

The PJ shook his head. “Appreciate the offer, sir. But it’s real tight inside that part of the wreck. As it is, me and Mike are having to take turns clearing a good-sized opening into the cockpit.” He followed Flynn’s gaze and nodded. “Anyway, I kinda figure we could use a good pair of eyes out here. Watching the watchers, if you get my drift.”