She lifted her hand from the action of the model 70 and flexed her black-gloved fingers, studying them. "I found myself becoming a uniquely lethal individual, all on a purely theoretical level, of course. But then I visited Israel, following up a lead on a cache of genuine 'garage factory' Sten guns from their War of Independence. And one evening I found myself having dinner with a fellow historian from Tel Aviv University."
Valentina's voice grew softer. "He was a totally fascinating little man who not only taught history but had lived it. He was a holocaust survivor and had seen action in the first three of Israel's wars of national survival.
"We were dining at a small outdoor restaurant near the University. I recall we were discussing the historic Mideastern Jewish communities as a possible bridge between the European Jewish and Arabic cultures. Our meals had just been brought to the table. I'd ordered steak and I'd just picked up my knife when the smartly-dressed Arabic couple at the next table stood up and started killing people."
Smith listened and studied the subtle emotions playing across Valentina's face. He could sense it wasn't the remembering of a fear or revulsion, but an abstract reexamination of a defining moment in a life. A time and place this woman had revisited many times before.
"I heard gunshots and I was sprayed by the blood and brains of my dinner partner as he took a bullet through the head. Then the female terrorist shoved her pistol in my face and screamed 'God is great...'"
The historian's voice trailed off.
Gently Smith rested his hand on her back, letting the gesture grow into a few inches of caress. "And then?"
Valentina came back into herself. "And then I was standing over the thoroughly shredded bodies of the two Hamas terrorists. I was saturated with blood, none of it my own, and that steak knife was still in my hand, dripping. I had, in the vernacular, 'flipped the switch'-spectacularly, although I have no conscious memory of doing so. My studies were no longer abstract, but very much applied."
Smith could understand the spark that had jumped between them now; like had recognized like. He'd had his own defining moments, his own flipping of switches. "How did you feel afterward?"
"That's the interesting point, Jon," she mused. "I didn't 'feel' anything. They were dead and I was alive, and I was quite pleased with that outcome. I found my only regret to be that I hadn't reacted quickly enough to save my friend and the others in that restaurant. I've been told that I have the perfect sniper's mentality. I can rationally divorce myself from the emotional trauma of physical violence."
She shrugged and made a face. "If I work at it for a bit anyway."
"And that incident brought you to the attention of Covert One?"
"That and a couple of under-the-table research and acquisition projects I'd done for the Departments of Defense and Justice. Mr. Klein seemed to think my rather esoteric talents might prove useful to his little organization. And they have. Now I view myself as following in my father's footsteps. I'm a game control officer eliminating the rogues and man-eaters from our societal jungle. Maybe, eventually, I can make up for being slow that one night in Tel Aviv."
"Fred Klein knows how to pick his people." Smith smiled at her. "I'm pleased to know you, Professor Metrace."
"Thank you, sir." She nodded. "It's a pleasure to be appreciated. Some men tend to look around for the garlic and holy water after delving a little too deeply into my past."
Smith smiled without humor and looked over the barrel of the SR-25. "I make no claim on moral superiority."
"That's a relief. And now, Colonel Jon Smith, what about you?"
"What about me?"
"I have a fair idea of how you ended up with Mr. Klein, but just who are you? Where do you come from?"
Smith squinted at the sky. The cloud cover was definitely edging lower again. "My biography's not nearly as interesting as yours."
"I'm easily amused."
Smith was considering his answer when a small clump of dislodged snow rolled over the edge of the cave overhang, dropping in front of them with a soft pelp.
"Oh, dear," Valentina murmured, her eyes going wide.
Instantly, Smith snaked his legs under himself. Then he launched out of the cave mouth in a headlong dive. Landing flat on his stomach, he rolled onto his back, sweeping the long barrel of his rifle in an arc