Deckard squinted his eyes against the dust kicked up by the spinning props of the plane as he and Bill jumped off the back and hit the ground at Benina Airport.  They had just arrived in Benghazi, Libya.  The two Liquid Sky men stepped through the haze and out of the dust cloud.

Thirty feet in front of them at the edge of the runway, a lone figure stood with his arms crossed.  Waiting.  He wore khaki 5.11 pants, a black polo, Army-issue desert boots, and mirrored Oakley M-Frames.  His hair cut was both high and tight.

“There he is,” Bill said.

Deckard took one look and instantly regretted not having had Pat try to get recruited by Liquid Sky to replace Zach.

“The Operator.”

“A real life fucking legend,” Bill said.  “And available on short notice.”

“I wonder why,” Deckard said out of the corner of his mouth.

The two Liquid Sky shooters approached The Operator.  He was almost as big as Bill.  Almost.  Up close Deckard could see that his short-cropped hair was salt and pepper throughout.