Flash Point Read Online Free Page A

mind.”
    Cunningham sat on the corner of Sami’s desk. “Maybe it’s time.”
    Sami wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to overstate it.
    “Want me to set up a brief with the section head?”
    “I think I’ll bring it up at our meeting this afternoon.” He glanced at the pictures again. “What did the Palestinians say about the weapons?”
    “American-made M-60 machine guns, American TOW missile launcher.”
    “Anybody trace them?”
    “Actually, yes. Funny you should ask. The guns still had the serial numbers on them.”
    Sami frowned. “Why would they do that? And they left them in the van? They didn’t care if anyone found them?”
    “Nope. Like they wanted them to be found.”
    “Could they trace them?”
    “Yeah. Easy. United States Marine Corps. In Lebanon. After the barracks were blown up they were never found. There has always been a suspicion a bunch of weapons ended up with the Druze in Beirut.”
    “Druze?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You sure Druze?”
    “Yeah. Why?”
    Haddad didn’t reply. He glanced at the NSA report. “The signals were from Lebanon, and the Druze . . . I don’t want to jump to conclusions.”
    “Better bring it up at our meeting.”
     
     
    Woods stood by the track in the Naples train station where he was supposed to meet Vialli, his reluctant co-tourist for the day. He had convinced his roommate to go with him to Pompeii. He glanced up again, scanning the crowd for Vialli, as he tried to open the triangular box of Toblerone chocolate he had just bought with Italian money, a piece of paper that had so many zeros on it it looked like monopoly money.
    Woods checked the time. The big clock at the end of the track, past the engine, was five minutes behind his watch. Typical Italian efficiency. Can’t even keep their clocks right. He had been in the Naples train station dozens of times. This was his fourth cruise to the Mediterranean, two with his first F-14 squadron, and one other with this squadron, VF-103, the Jolly Rogers, the ones carrying on the decades-old tradition and name of the most famous fighter squadron in the Navy. Woods loved their whole image, the tails with skull and crossbones, the traditional pirate flag. He was proud to be a Jolly Roger. And with this squadron and the one before, he knew Med cruises meant going to Naples, one of the finest ports in the Med, and the home of the Sixth Fleet.
    He had been through this train station leaving on a ten-day skiing vacation in Switzerland, and for trips to Rome, to Venice, and to Paris. He was comfortable traveling in Europe even though he didn’t speak any foreign languages. He had always taken advantage of the leave he accumulated to see Europe while in the Med. Few other officers did, so he often traveled alone.
    Woods took his wallet from his jacket pocket, pulled out a small, two-inch square sticker, and peeled off the back. He looked around to see if he was being watched. He reached behind him and stuck the zapper — a sticker with the Jolly Rogers logo on it — on the light pole against which he was leaning. He smiled to himself.
    Suddenly, he saw Vialli jogging toward him through the train station.
    Vialli reached him breathless. “Hey! Sorry I’m late. I didn’t think I’d make it at all. The boat I was on flamed-out. We had to do a mid-ocean transfer to another boat. What a flail.” He glanced at the train. “Did you get the tickets?”
    “Yeah. We’ve got to get on,” Woods said, stuffing the Toblerone box into his back pocket like a set of drumsticks and moving quickly to the train.
    They climbed up the stairs of a passenger car and walked down the hallway next to the compartments. Woods finally found an empty one, slid the door open, and they stepped in. Vialli closed the door behind him.
    They sat down next to the window across from each other. Each had two empty seats beside him. Vialli leaned his head against the top of the vinyl seat and closed his eyes. Woods stared out the window.