Read Seven Days From Sunday (MP-5 CIA #1) for Free Online Page B

start.” McKay’s tone was harder than she intended, but the truth was she abhorred torture and didn’t want any part of it.
    “Actually, sleep deprivation, loud rap music, which I personally find quite annoying, then forced positions for hours on end, say squatting, until it feels like your legs and back muscles will burst.” McKay looked uncertain, so Gonz continued, saying, “Then we make it clear if she still doesn’t want to cooperate, yes, we’ll hurt her.”
    McKay gave him a sharp look. “Which makes you no better than they are. There is the Geneva Convention to consider–”
    “This isn’t a conventional war!” Gonz angrily retorted. “They don’t wear uniforms. They booby-trap bodies, send suicide bombers into packed crowds, killing their own men, women, and children! They target police recruitment centers, schools! For God’s sake, McKay!”
    She turned away, once again studying the Iraqi woman behind the glass. Gonz ran a hand through his closely cropped hair. He was frustrated beyond words. First losing Quizby. Then having the head show up at the checkpoint, and now dealing with McKay.
    As if reading his thoughts, she turned back to him and quietly said, “Sorry.”
    Gonz nodded, then said “Timothy Quizby would tell you to do whatever is necessary so another innocent American isn’t beheaded. Think of that.” Gonz studied her for a moment, than added, “Or ask his widow. Or his children. Children that will never see their father again.”
    “I get it, Gonz. I get it.”
    “Good,” he said with finality, bringing the matter to a close. “Then see what she has to say.”

Jadida, Iraq Wednesday, April 12th 8:12 p.m.
    “They took it! They just took it!”
    Daneen glanced at her husband pacing in the next room as she stirred the stew with one hand and bounced the baby in her other arm. Maaz had come home much later than usual, but she had dutifully waited for him, and now she was quite hungry. “Dr. Lami said you’d get it back,” Daneen reminded him.
    “But it was my camera,” her husband fumed. “They had no right to take it. Bastards. The lot of them.”
    Daneen was glad that their oldest, Faris, was spending the night with a friend. She had been teaching the nine-year old about their country’s past, the tenants of democracy and a free society. Which of course, meant respecting the rule of law and the police. She didn’t need Faris to hear such talk about the police. For how many years had they feared the police? Saddam’s henchmen? Besides, the boy had found the camera and had been so pleased that it had made his father so happy. If all went well, the newspaper owner could retrieve the camera before Faris even learned it was missing. “I know you’re upset, but he said he’d get you a new one if need be.”
    “It’s just the principle of it all,” Maaz scoffed in anger. “This is democracy? Then the Americans can keep it!” With that he strode over to their old television and flipped it on. The al-Jazeera news came on.
    Putting a lid on the pot and turning the burner to low, Daneen checked the baby’s milk warming on the other burner. Then she joined her husband in their small living room. As she sat beside him on the couch, he immediately reached for the baby and Daneen gladly gave him up. He was fourteen pounds now and getting heavier by the day.
    “We were there!” Maaz said excitedly, pointing to the television. “Right there. Checkpoint 2.”
    The television commentator talked over footage showing the U.S. Marines turning away cars. The newscaster explained that the head of the dead American had been left at the checkpoint earlier that day.
    “We were on the roof over there,” Maaz explained, pointing again. “You can’t see it, but it’s just over to the right. That’s where I got lots of photos! Lots!”
    Daneen could see her husband was still excited by all that had happened and put a hand on his leg. She smiled and said, “Good that you got the