Read Online The Shroud of Heaven by Sean Ellis - Free Book Online

War, even on such a personal, visceral level, was not the element which had forged him like steel and set him upon the path he now followed. Something else had happened that night in the desert, something he still could not fully explain. Somewhere in the world however, there was at least one person who did know, and Kismet had sworn to find that man. When he did, he would demand an answer to his questions and settle a very special account—a debt payable in blood.
    He had been on that path for more than a decade, finding little in the way of solid information, but had never lost hope. In all that time however, his quest had not returned him to the desert sands where he had been reborn. It had taken another war to bring him back here.
    He was not returning as a soldier to battle a modern enemy, but rather as a protector of ancient wonders. The second Gulf War—designated Operation: Iraqi Freedom—was not over. Not officially, as the objectives of the war plan had yet to be fully realized, and not literally. Not by a long shot. Men were still fighting and dying in nearly every corner of the country. Sporadic resistance continued to break out, both from organized groups still loyal to the fallen regime and from enraged citizens, striking out blindly at the foreigners who had come unbidden and shattered their world. In many cases, that violence had been directed at objects rather than at people. Several days of looting had followed the collapse of the regime, mostly from government offices, but also from hospitals, banks and museums. It was the latter area of need that had prompted Kismet’s return to the desert.
    As the city grew closer, the pilot put the plane into a shallow dive, shedding altitude rapidly. The engines whined with exertion, but Kismet knew they were actually giving up airspeed, slowing down in preparation for landing. He nevertheless got the feeling that the pilot was in a hurry to get his aircraft on the ground. The jet would never be more vulnerable to attack than when on final approach. The landing gear came down with a thump, and he sat back in his chair, knowing that while the flight was almost over, the journey was only just beginning.
    Kismet took his place in the queue of passengers poised to disembark. He found it slightly amusing that he was nearly at the head of the line. That never happened when he traveled. Always a stickler for obeying the flight crew’s directive to remain seated until the plane stopped moving, he usually found himself fighting to get out of the cramped row and into the aisle. Evidently no one on this flight was eager to leave the aircraft, their last link with a world that was, if not completely civilized, then at least recognizable.
    He noticed one group of Red Cross workers who, like himself, were not put off by their arrival in the war zone. They moved with calm assurance toward the exit, shouldering their gear as if they were simply reporting for another day at work. It was not their collective demeanor that drew his attention however, but rather the face of their leader, a red-haired woman who pushed past him with a confident stride that could only be earned through years of experience in dangerous areas. She caught his appraising glance and returned it with a contemptuous curl of her lips. On a face less lovely, it would have been a sneer.
    Must be French , he thought, answering her with a wink.
    The heat of the day was beginning to fill the cabin, rapidly displacing the cool air-conditioned environment. The effect was welcome, buffering the passengers against the furnace blast that awaited them on the tarmac. Kismet squinted involuntarily as he stepped out onto the gantry, and then quickly descended. The recently re-christened Baghdad International Airport had not exactly been designed with a view to making travelers feel welcome, but an overwhelming presence of armored vehicles made it seem downright inhospitable. Like his fellow passengers, he was eager to be