A Heaviness in His Eyes: a Call of Duty Novella

Chapter 9: Too Hot to Hold

The desert at night was an eerie scene. It was nearly pitch black aside from the one construction light in the back of Rodolfo's truck, the stark yellow beams reaching out and eventually disappearing into the consuming darkness. The wind had died down to a stifling stillness and in the distance, a pair of coyotes yipped and howled to one another.

The bag was ripped harshly from his head and Hassan's expressionless, nearly-black eyes slowly turned from one man to another. Ahead of him, Graves was setting up his laptop, adjusting the camera and tapping at the screen when the image crackled and pixelated. "Y'all got a clear picture?"

"Crystal," replied Shepherd, leaning over his desk to get a better look at Hassan in the background.

"All set," piped in Laswell as she set a smoldering cigarette in the ashtray beside her, a long, silver stream of smoke curling from her mouth and nose.

"Alright! We're live, folks." Graves turned to face Hassan, rubbing his hands together and snapping his fingers as if in muted excitement.

"Do you speak Arabic?" asked the Major casually.

"No."

"Farsi?"

Philip pursed his lips, trying to dampen them with his dry tongue. "... No."

Hassan's mouth turned up in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Course not. Then I'll speak your bastardized medieval English because you are all uneducated street dogs."

Novaleen, standing beside the light, rolled her eyes and choked back a scoff. "For a bunch of uneducated street dogs, we happen to be the ones holding you by the throat at the moment," she murmured to herself. "I'd pick your insults wisely if you don't want to be turned to dog food."

Graves shook his head. "Ahh, see... we're getting off to a bad start here, Hassan."

"You are talking to a Quds Force officer."

"You're the commander of a foreign terrorist organization."

Hassan tilted his head forward, his brows setting and the smile fading from his face. "I could say the same about you."

Philip looked up to the star-scattered sky and sighed. "What's your target... Major?"

He cocked a brow in response. "What was your target when they sent missiles to my land?"

"Oh well, wild guess... To nail your ass." The corner of Graves' mouth turned up in a sarcastic, jeering smile and he batted his eyes to emphasize the mockery in his tone.

"So insolent and foul-mouthed." Hassan grinned back, a glint of challenge in his dead eyes. "You will learn to respect me when your nation sees fire."

Novaleen noticed the back of Philip's neck sparking with rage but recognized the glimmer of fear in his eyes. She glanced over at Ghost who himself was tense and she clutched her water bottle tightly. "Don't..." she whispered. "Don't kill him yet, Philip..."

Graves stepped forward, leaning down into the Arab's face with a snarl. "You are in bed with the cartel, Hassan. If you disappeared, no one would know where to look for the fuckin' stain!"

Unbothered, Hassan chuckled, not even moving away so he wouldn't feel the Commander's breath on his face. "I have no doubt you'll take pleasure in torturing me," he purred.

Soap couldn't sit still and watch them threaten each other anymore. "Who'd you get American missiles from?" he demanded.

Shepherd cut him off before Hassan could reply. "I don't care who they're from, I wanna know where they're going."