“See? Pretty sure she’s firing live rounds.”
“She doesn’t scare me,” I lied, a corner of my mouth lifting. “Get the others up here. We’re still on Astor duty,” I ordered.
“On it.” He took off.
I took a deep breath and walked into the suite. Izzy had dragged the landline telephone over to where she sat on the couch, files spread out on the table in front of her.
“And I’m telling you that form was submitted, so look again,” Izzy snapped, not even bothering to look up at me. “Taj. T-A-J Barech. He submitted his application in April.”
Serena’s interpreter.
I sat back on the windowsill to her left, where I could see both her and anyone coming for her through the door.
“Yes, I know you have eighteen thousand applicants in the pipeline.” Izzy white-knuckled the receiver with a still-ringless hand and yanked on her hair, dragging it over one shoulder to get it out of the way.
That little strip of skin she’d just revealed on her neck had my instant attention.
She’d loved it when I’d kissed her neck.
What the hell had happened between her and Dickface that he’d flown off without his fiancée? Or did that term no longer apply to them? I’d promised myself I wouldn’t ask, wouldn’t pry into shit that wasn’t my business, but this was Izzy.
“And I understand that,” she continued, drumming the fingers of her right hand on the edge of the couch. “But as difficult as it is for you to process these as quickly as possible, I can promise you it’s infinitely more difficult to be an interpreter who publicly worked with US forces sitting in Afghanistan right now, praying your visa gets processed in time to evacuate.”
Damn, she was beautiful when she was angry. I was just glad the anger wasn’t directed at me. Yet.
“No, I will not relax, and I’m not calling you from my cushy office in DC. I’m in the embassy in Kabul.” She yanked the receiver away from her ear and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply.
“Need me to take over?” I offered. “I’m the trained killer in the room, remember? Not that you’re not doing an admirable job of slaughtering the State Department.”
She shot me a glare and put the phone back to her head. “Oh, you found it. Good. Can you tell me what the holdup is? Because I’m holding his completed file.” Her eyes flew wide. “You’re missing what?” She thumbed through the file on the table. “His record of military service is here. Twelve years translating for various units—” Her shoulders fell.
I pushed off the windowsill and moved to her side, reading the file over her shoulder.
“His letter of recommendation.” She sighed, searching the papers again. “It’s not here either. How hard can it be to get one of those?”
My stomach twisted. Hard enough.
“You’re going to want to put that call on speakerphone,” I said softly.
“Because you think you can—”
“You need a general or a flag officer,” I replied. “Know any of those?”
Her mouth snapped shut, and she poked the speakerphone button, setting the receiver down.
“—and until we have that letter, our process is at a standstill, Ms. Astor.” The man’s superior tone lifted my hackles. “And we have thousands ahead of him who have their paperwork complete. Even if you could get the letter of recommendation submitted, moving him to the top of the list would be unfair, and given the shortage of interview appointments—”
“I can figure out the damned interview,” Izzy interrupted, color rising in her cheeks.
“If I can get that letter of recommendation over to you within the next few hours, can you process his file or not?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, but who am I talking to?” the man asked.
“Sergeant First Class Green,” I replied. “I’m with the Joint Special Operations Command.”
Izzy’s gaze jumped to mine.
“Could you process the file within twenty-four hours if you had the letter?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest.
“I’m sorry, are you implying you can even get a letter here within twenty-four hours?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Because we’re a little overwhelmed here at the moment, and I don’t have time to keep a file on the back burner just waiting to see if a letter magically appears.”
“I can have it to you within—” I checked my watch and did the time-difference calculations. “Two hours. Can you process the file to interview status or not?”
“If it arrives.” If eye-rolling was verbal, that would have been one. “I’ll make a note in the file that you’re sending it. What unit did you say you were with?”
“Thirty-Third Logistics Group out of Bragg.”
Izzy’s mouth dropped open.
“Logistics, huh?” The sound of typing came through the speaker.
“Yeah, you know us. We’re always the ones getting shit done.”
“Right. And who can I expect this letter to be coming from?”
“Someone way above your pay grade,” I answered. “You get his email?” I asked Izzy.
She nodded.
“Good, then we’re done here.” I hit the button and ended the call.
“What are you going to do?” Izzy asked as I closed Barech’s file and picked it up.
“I’m going to solve the one problem I can.” I carried the file to the door and opened it, finding Graham, Parker, and Elston already waiting. “Get this to Apex,” I told Elston, referring to Webb’s call sign as I handed the redhead the file, “and tell him that we need him to wake up the general for a letter of recommend.”
“Will do.” He took the file and disappeared down the hallway.
“Sergeant Black.” I looked at our medic. “I need the status of every checkpoint between here and Mazar-i-Sharif, and which ones are going to let an American photojournalist through without needing . . . convincing.”
“On it.” He nodded once and took off in the same direction Elston had taken.
“Sergeant Gray, find someone who can get a dependable cell phone into Serena Astor’s hands.” It was worth a try.
“You got it.” He went the opposite direction, leaving the hallway empty despite the mayhem going on below us.
Awareness skittered up my arms as I backed into Izzy’s room and shut the door.
“What’s wrong?” Izzy asked, smoothing the lines of her wrap-style blouse as she stood. It was emerald green and brought out the depth in her eyes, but I kept that observation to myself.
“This five minutes?” We were on day nine. We were officially tied for the most consecutive days we’d spent together. “Nothing.”
“And that’s worrisome to you.” She walked barefoot to the kitchenette and pulled two bottles of water from the fridge, then threw one at me. I caught it. Had to admit, I kind of loved it that she always thought of me, even when she was pissed at me. “I can tell, because you have that pinched look right here.” She touched the spot between her brows. “It’s your tell.”