Read Alone and Unafraid (American Praetorians Book 3) for Free Online

the eye.  “What about you, Hassan?  Where do you stand?”
    He didn’t blink or hesitate.  “I have lived under both Sunni extremists and Shi’a extremists.  I do not want to live under either, ever again.”
    I nodded.  That was answer enough.  I clapped him on the shoulder.  “Stay close.  I think things could get…interesting around here.”
    Hassan and I had gotten to know each other well enough over the last couple of months that he didn’t need any explanation of my use of “interesting.”  He nodded, and patted the Tabuk slung on his back.  “I will, my friend.  I will.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 3
     
    It was the middle of the night, and the first time I’d gotten any sleep in over two days.  So naturally, I got shaken awake at 0300.
    “What the fuck?” I growled.  I’d been deep asleep, thankfully without dreaming about lost comrades for once.  My eyeballs hurt just peeling them open.
    “We’ve got a visitor,” Larry said.  “Sorry to wake you up, but he said he needed to talk to you.”
    “Motherfucker…” I grumbled at no one in particular.  This was what I got for taking the team lead spot.  “Give me a minute.”  I grabbed my boots and started pulling them on.  “Who is it?”
    “He says his name’s Renton,” Larry said.  I was at the point where I didn’t even pause in lacing my boots up.  So, our new spooky friend was being true to form and showing up in the dark.  I briefly wondered if any of the PPF knew he was there.
    I strapped on my .45; sleeping with it on my hip had quickly become a non-starter.  I briefly considered grabbing my rifle, but under the circumstances, I decided the pistol should be enough, at least initially.  A pistol is, after all, what you use to fight your way to the long gun you should have had all along.
    Dressed, armed, and as awake as I could be expected to be, I followed Larry to our little ops room.  Most of the rooms we had to use in the old Basra police station were small; the PPF got most of the space for their own use.
    The room was empty except for Mike and a PPF trooper.  I frowned, taking a second look at the PPF guy.
    He was wearing the uniform, and looked the part, except for something…just so slightly off about him.
    “You must be Jeff Stone,” he said, in perfect American English.  That was when I figured out what was off about him—he didn’t carry himself like an Iraqi.  He grinned and the look on my face.  “It’s amazing what some black hair dye, a deep tan, a uniform, the right accent and mannerisms, and some documents can accomplish.”
    The longer I looked at him, the more I could see that he wasn’t an Arab at all; his facial features were markedly Caucasian, not Semitic.  His eyes were gray—although that was not unheard of in Iraq, albeit it was rare.  “You must be Renton,” I said flatly.
    “In the flesh,” he replied, pulling off the PPF cap and setting it on the table while he scratched his scalp.
    “And you just walked in here.”  I have to admit, I was impressed.
    “Drove, actually,” he said.  “It looks more official when you show up in a car, and, generally speaking, most guards are less likely to scrutinize somebody who looks official enough.”  He looked around.  “We need to talk.  Somewhere secure.”
    I nodded curtly.  “This room is about as secure as we’re going to get.  They tried bugging us . Once.”
    He eyed me.  “What happened?”
    I smirked.  “We got our terp to figure out who was listening in, grabbed him, accused him of spying for ISIS, and were winding up to shoot him when al Hakim intervened and apologized.  They haven’t tried since.  We check regularly.”
    He raised an eyebrow.  “Unorthodox, but I can see how it would work out.  Although…granted, what’s coming might be inevitable under the circumstances, but making the Mullah lose face like that might make it a little more palatable to him.”
    “Alek said you think