Page 3 of Act of Passion

“Yeah, you two arenothingalike.” Malik stared atthem.

“This is going nowhere fast,” added Boomer, drawing more of their ire. He flashed a mocking smile. “And besides, you’re both wrong. I’m thebiggest.”

“Fucking cats,” snapped Duke, gaining him a nod of approval from theRussian.

“You guys are a lot like taking preschoolers on a field trip,” said Malik, feeling like he was turning into his team’s captain—Corbin Jones. Corbin often referenced how dealing with them all was like handling small children. He was starting to see the guy’s point, and considered issuing a nap time mandate before writing a lengthy apology letter to Corbin for having ever judged himbefore.

Garth shrugged, seemingly unconcerned with the possibility that pants were close to dropping around him. “I say we allow them to see who is bigger. Maybe then it will shut themup.”

“What a fine role model you are,” returned Malik, reaching out and touching a grenade fastened to Garth’s vest that wasn’t PSI issued. It was obviously an item he’d acquired since their arrival at the warehouse. “Tell me again who thought you should head your ownteam?”

“Somebody whose dick was actually pencil-sized,” supplied the Viking with asmile.

Malik looked up, silently willing himself to another location. Unfortunately, he was stuck with a bunch of testosterone-driven alpha males. If Corbin wouldn’t have split off and gone to a secondary location with the other portion of Garth’s team,hecould have dealt with the giant man-children.

“Och, if I knew we were taking a break I’d have stopped going through boxes that smell like they were soaked in rat piss and shite thirty minutes ago,” said Dougal “Striker” McCracken. The exceedingly tall Scotsman had given up shaving not long back and had a face full of scruff. His long hair was pulled up and he had thankfully left his kilt behind for the mission. It was hard enough for the man to blend in with his height (not that any of the PSI-Ops were considered short); adding a kilt was like adding a blinking sign. Not that Striker would have minded a blinking sign above his head. He was something of an attentionwhore.

He strolled up and leaned against a crate full of C-4, crossing one ankle over the other. He reached into the front pocket of his vest and withdrew acigar.

“Bad idea,” said Duke, pointing to the crates nearStriker.

The Scot shrugged. “Och, I’ve had worse ideas. And there is no blasting cap so where is theharm?”

Boomer motioned to the barrel behind the crate. “My Arabic is so-so but I’m pretty sure that one saysgunpowder.”

Duke nodded. “It does, which is why I told him the cigar was a bad idea. Let’s leave him here to smoke it and blow himself up. Serves himright.”

“We are taking a break then?” asked Striker, biting the end of the cigar off and spitting it onto thefloor.

“It’s not a break so much as a dick-measuring contest,” said Boomer, taking the cigar fromStriker.

“I’m in!” Striker had his pants undone and down before anyone could comment. He stood there with all his manly glory hanging out for the men to see. He put his hands on his hips, puffed out his chest, and jutted out his stubble-covered chin. “Och, there is no competition. Iwin.”

“For fuck’s sake, put that away!” shouted Duke, covering his eyes with one hand while supporting the launcher over his shoulder with the other. “My brain needs bleaching now to get that image out of myhead.”

“I agree with the American,” said Rurik, curling his lip as if he might be sick at the sight of Striker’s full-frontal.

Garth ignored Striker’s antics and began to remove weapons from the crate nearest him. He lifted out a Stuart Mitchell survival knife and ran his fingers over it gently. “Oh, I don’t have one ofthese.”

Boomer laughed. “Is it me or is Garth handling that like it’s a woman? He might need a private momenttoo.”

Garth’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “Gentle strokes bring out the best ineverything.”

Malik reconsidered the nap mandate. Not that it would do any good. They’d all ignore him anyway. They obeyed orders when they felt like it. He missed the good old days when he’d issue a mandate and thousandsobeyed.

His comm unit made a light noise before Corbin’s voice camethrough.

“Anything of interest discovered there yet?” asked theBrit.

“Not unless you count seeing Striker’s junk as interesting,” said Malik as he gave Striker a sternlook.

“Do I want to know?” asked Corbin, sounding as English as ever. “Wait. I am quite positive I do not want toknow.”

The Scotsman finally pulled up his pants, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He then reached into a pouch in his tactical gear meant for additional ammunition and pulled out aflask.

Malik rubbed his temple, a low-grade headache setting in. At least the flask was better than smoking a cigar while standing near explosives. “Captain, how is it you haven’t killed Strikeryet?”

“Pretty much a daily challenge,” repliedCorbin.

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