Iris (Mike Bravo Ops #1) Read Online Eden Finley

Categories Genre: M-M Romance, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Mike Bravo Ops Series by Eden Finley
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Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
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When we get to street level, Atlas takes out a thermal imaging device while I reach for my counter-IED equipment. Trav can afford top-of-the-line, pre-market gadgets, but the technology still needs improving. All those spy-like devices in movies and TV are complete bullshit.

I’d trust a bomb-sniffing dog more than I would this IED detector, but I’ve been told I’m not allowed one.

Dogs don’t like helicopters as much as I do, I guess. That, and with me as an owner, there’s no way any dog of mine would know when to keep its mouth shut. Trav said it would be a disaster.

Thermal imaging isn’t that great either. While it gives Atlas great night vision, trying to find live bodies or attackers in wait is hard when the view doesn’t penetrate through walls or buildings.

We’re armed and in full tactical gear—helmets, gloves, goggles—and wearing as much Kevlar as possible without restricting our movements.

Atlas leads, and I stay hot on his heels as we put as much distance between us and our landing site as we can in case they’re targeting it.

In these situations, it’s live or die. There is no chance to get your bearings. It’s go, go, go from the moment your feet hit the ground. Any hesitation and you’re dead.

We had a plan coming in—to clear the one-street town from south to north—hopefully finding some US operatives alive in the process. All the buildings are one or two stories, mostly made out of clay and mud.

The night is still, but the air is humid even though it’s well past dark. Sweat drips off my brow as we move from building to building with quick feet.

Atlas uses his device to quickly scan rooms, looking for any heat signature, but they’re all empty.

We’re equipped with bodycams that send a live feed to Ghost back in the small city of Darbardeh. That way, we don’t have to relay feedback and our team can see what we’re seeing.

Our intel has the black ops team last seen on the northern corner of the village, but on the off chance they’ve moved for safety reasons or by force, we need to check every nook and cranny along the way.

We also want to make sure we really are alone out here.

When we don’t find anyone, we take it as a good sign, but that’s also a bad sign. Because if no one really is here, where are our marks?

At the second to last structure in the village, Atlas holds his hand in a fist, telling me to stop moving. He goes into stealth mode while I press myself against the side of a building. He gets low to the ground and crawls his way across the dirt path and sits under an open window.

Atlas extends the handle on his thermal device, lifting the camera above his head to look inside where he thinks he saw movement.

My breaths sound like thunder in my ears. I’m not used to silence. The guys joke the only time I’m ever quiet is when my life depends on it, so I’m sure they revel in these kinds of missions. It’s the only thing I hate about an op. Silence unnerves me.

Atlas holds up two fingers to me, indicating how many people are inside, and then here comes the tricky part. There’s no real way for us to know if these are our guys, innocents in the wrong place, or targets we need to take out.

I ready myself, tucking my devices away and slipping my assault rifle strap around so the weapon sits at my back. This needs to be fast and quiet.

Atlas waves me forward, and I run in a crouch until I’m right next to the open doorway.

The murmurings inside are an Arabic dialect I’m not familiar with, so I can only identify some words and definitely not enough to piece a sentence together.

“Ghost?” I whisper into my comms.

His native tongue is Dari, but he’s multilingual and gained US citizenship by translating for US troops during the war in Afghanistan.

“I can get the gist,” Ghost says, “And this is paraphrasing, but they’re asking what to do with them. But they could be talking about anyone—the team of guys we’re looking for, us … Hell, they could be talking about their teenage kids for all I know.”

There’s more chatter from inside.

“The helicopter,” Ghost translates. “The other guy is saying: It was a flyby looking for signs of life. Not that they’ll find any.”

I close my eyes and let out a silent breath.

We’re too late.

“Do we wait here? What if they come back?”

“Let them. All they’d find is bodies. Let’s get out of here and tell Farouk the job is done. I want to be nowhere near here when the air strike hits.”

Air strike? Fuck.

I can hear them on the move, and I know they’re coming my way. There’s no time to run. I slip my knife out of its holster strapped to my thigh. My Glock would be more accurate and effective, but we can’t be sure these two are the only ones around, and I’m not going to risk drawing attention this way.


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