The figure exploded into action, grabbing Abrams’s wrist and gun, spinning him around, finger and thumb on each side of his windpipe, and using his body as a shield from Hartogg. One minute Abrams had felt in control, and then next he was disarmed, and now a hostage.

The SEAL screamed instructions, gun up, but obviously knew that he didn’t have a shot.

Abrams cursed. Idiot, amateur! he thought. He’d just witnessed this person take out two snipers’ nests by himself as easily as if he were ordering a burger and beer. And a minute later he was underestimating the guy.

“Be still.”

The voice in Abrams’s ear was muffled, but not deep. He calmed himself and they stood for a few seconds, Abrams held as a shield, and Hartogg neutralized. In another moment, the assassin loosened his grip on Abrams’s throat, and let his gun slip back into his hand. Abrams was pushed away, but the point was clearly made – I could have killed you, but I let you live.

Hartogg had his gun up, rock steady. “Got a shot – say the word, Boss.”

Abrams waved him down, breathing in gulps from a pinched neck.

The figure started to unwrap the covering over his head, ignoring them both now. The eyes stayed fixed on Abrams.

“What…?” Hartogg’s mouth fell open.

Long dark hair fell loose around a face that could have been beautiful but for an edge of brutality that urged caution, not trust. She wasn’t smiling, though there was no anger in her countenance. She was calm and totally relaxed.

For a woman she was tall, Abrams guessed about five ten at least. She looked around and then her eyes came back to him.

“Not a good time or place for a stroll,” she said without a trace of mirth.

Abrams blinked. “No, no indeed, and we should be driving but ran into a little unexpected IED trouble.”

“Here IED is not unexpected, but always expected – a child’s mistake.” Her eyes were hard.

Hartogg snorted, and the woman looked at him, and then to Berry’s smoldering remains. “You make mistakes out here and people die, hmm?”

“Fuck you.” The veins in Hartogg’s neck bulged.

“At ease.” Abrams cleared his throat, feeling like they, he, had been admonished enough. “Major Joshua Abrams; you mind if I ask who I might be addressing?”

“Joshua?” Her brows went up. “That is an old Hebrew name. It means the salvation of Jehovah. A good, strong name.” She nodded. “Captain Adira Senesh; I got your callout.”

“Israeli army?” Abrams asked.

Senesh ignored the question and instead looked around at the landscape, the sky and then back to Abrams. “Major, you are a long way from home…and not in a good place. What are you doing here?”

Abrams half smiled. The woman didn’t answer his question directly, but the obvious evasion was answer enough: she was a Mossad agent – Kidon or Metsada, he bet – and, by the way she took down all of the insurgents, a damned good one.