DRY CHOKING HEAT. She hated it. It burned into her brain and body, as well as her eyes, despite wearing protective goggles from the glare overhead. The grit was everywhere, even in her damn underwear. CIA Agent, Karen Stone, crouched down in the tight confines behind the huge boulder leaning in against the solid safety listening to the Special Forces team leader, Sergeant Johnny ‘Jack’ Daniels, whisper instructions to the rest of the group. Simmons spread out the tactical data across his knees as others peered in over shoulders, scanning the topography on the aerial and hi-res shots. Stone wasn’t a part of their team. Just an observer. An unofficial, official observer. She had supplied the Intel and, as such, had come along for the ride, which was the official line— confirm the kill for the Agency. That was the supposition. At least, as far as the craggy-faced Sergeant Daniels was concerned. But she had her orders, other orders, outside of Daniels’ mandate. If these guys couldn’t bring Abu Musab al-Zarqawi down, then she had …