Gilli

A shrill ringing woke Olivia from her half-sleep. Grumbling, she pulled her arm out from under the bath towel and wiped her hand on the fluffy fabric, careful not to get sunscreen or sand grains on her mobile phone.

'I'm coming,' she mumbled and squinted at the far too-dark display with half-closed eyes. Blurred, she saw the first letters of a name she could never forget, even if she wanted to.

Man.

Sighing, she answered the call.

'Wollf,' she said curtly, sitting up straight on the deck chair.

'Sorry, Olivia, for interrupting your holiday,' Stefan's voice rang through the mobile phone,' but you're needed. Do you have access to a secure connection?'

'Yes. You know the number. I need a sec to get to my room. I'm on the beach at the moment,' she replied, already packing up her few belongings.

'Describe the view to me. It's been too long for me,' Stefan said longingly.

Olivia clamped her mobile phone between her shoulders and ear and folded her bath towels.

'Blue sky, a pleasant 35 degrees, beach as far as the eye can see. There's a secluded bungalow behind me, and I went diving this morning and would have gone windsurfing afterwards,' she said, sighing as she took one last look at the golden sandy beach.' How are things looking for you?'

'Sand. Lots of sand. It's hot and unpleasant, and there are smelly soldiers.'

'So, same as always?'

'Yep, same as always.'

She entered the airy bungalow, navigated past the living room and kitchen and entered the bedroom. In a few simple steps, she had opened a safe built into the wardrobe and heaved out an inconspicuous rucksack.

'Call me.'

Without saying goodbye, she ended the call.

A few seconds later, the backpack vibrated, and she reached into the foil-lined side pocket and took out another smartphone.

'Here.'

She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled a laptop out of the bag.

'Good, I've sent you some information via Proton. You'll find flight details and the pick-up location.'

She scanned her fingerprint and unlocked the device. Various programs appeared on the black screen.

Double authentication.

'Hold on, I need to enter the code,' she mumbled, taking the mobile phone from her ear.

3295b!sae appeared on her display.

'Good, I'm in.' She put the mobile phone back on her ear and logged into her email account,' Sparse information, Stef. Give me more. I need this holiday, and I'm not willing to cancel it for just anything.'

Stefan laughed briefly, and she heard voices in the background.

'The Middle East. PsyOps and everything that goes with it. Is that enough?'

Obviously. Fucking shithouse there. We made a mess; they have to pay for it.

'Got it. How official are we?'

'Well, it's UNTSO. I'm their liaison officer. You'd be there purely as a counsellor. As long as you don't leave the premises, there are no consequences.'

Good. Because I like my home country. And I don't want to be arrested as soon as I want to visit my parents.

'Got it. Do I know anyone?' she asked.

'Except the CIA agents... No, don't think so. Unless you worked with the SAS in Nigeria?'

Olivia held her breath for a moment. Don't wanna think about Nigeria. Then she exhaled slowly from her nose.

'Negative.'

'So I'll see you at the base in fifteen hours?' Stefan probed.

'See you then.'

'You've got 20 minutes until the taxi picks you up. Have a good flight,' he said and hung up.

Sighing, she lowered her mobile phone.

I was really hoping I could enjoy Culebra this time.

Olivia peeled herself out of her slightly sandy bikini and got into the shower. The luxuriously furnished bungalow, along with the rain shower and all the other accommodations, should have been her home for the next three weeks. She turned the shower on, closing her eyes in the process. Warm water splashed onto her sun-heated body, washing away the slightly sticky sun cream. Sand collected together with the somewhat milky water in the shower drain.

Probably my last relaxed shower for some time.

With a new fluffy bath towel now wrapped around her, she stalked through the half-open wooden building and collected her luggage.

I'm not there on super official business, so I'm currently keeping on my civilian clothes.

She stared at the long black cargo trousers she had pulled from her rucksack.

They're way too thick. But I can hardly walk around the base in hot pants.

Sighing deeply again, she put on her trousers, slipped into a black compression longsleeve top, and tied her military boots, which she had packed for the planned hikes. After a quick look in the mirror, she pulled on a loose, moss-green T-shirt and tucked it into her trousers.

That should do the trick.

Crunching gravel in the driveway signalled the incoming taxi. With her wet hair in a braid, her luggage on her back, and a somewhat forced smile, she sat down on the back of the pick-up truck, which was equipped with two small benches. The driver had greeted her with a curt nod and stepped on the accelerator as soon as Olivia had sat down. Startled by the unexpected speed, she clutched the bench.

Now, my holiday is officially over.

After a few minutes, the wind and insects buzzing around her head made her eyes tear up. She fished in her rucksack for her black Wayfarer and put it on.

Better.

She gazed wistfully at the passing landscape. The island's beaches were tantalisingly empty, and the sea was deep blue, as if it was just waiting for her to jump in. But with every metre she drove on the pick-up, the idyll disappeared. Her inner peace burst like a balloon as she entered the small airport - the single tarmac - where a propeller plane was waiting to take her to the next point of her fourteen-hour odyssey.

I should get as much sleep as possible. Rest breaks are usually rare during a mission.

She put her rucksack next to her and fastened her seatbelt on the unpadded seat. Again, the pilot didn't bother to greet her; he just nodded briefly and started the small aircraft.

As if politeness would cost money.

Sighing, she leaned her head against the metal wall of the aeroplane and closed her eyes.

Luckily, I can sleep almost anywhere.

-

Two more stops and more transfers followed before she finally landed, tense, hungry and with a slightly stiff neck, her nerves on fire. The military aircraft had been far too big and almost eerily empty, with just her and the pilot inside, so she left the C-130 Hercules as soon as the cargo hatch opened.

She was greeted by dry heat. The sun, slightly slanted on the horizon, burned brightly on the busy tarmac. The smell of hot sand and gasoline invaded her senses. Pushing the upcoming and unpleasant memories aside -fuck the Sahel-missions- , she scanned the tarmac for Stefan.

Ah, there.

The liaison officer wore the official Swiss Army uniform and only had his SIG Sauer on his hip. The uniform stood out from the crowd of English and American soldiers. Stefan waved to her from a distance, his face friendly but serious. Next to him stood another man with ginger hair and pale skin.

Olivia walked firmly towards the two men with her sunglasses back on her nose and her rucksack on one shoulder.

Goodbye holidays.

'Major Wollf!' he greeted her and stood at attention momentarily.

'Lieutenant Meier. At ease!' she returned with a brief nod. She studied the man beside Stefan, who had also fixed his posture, standing straight now. He looked tense.

Technically speaking, I have the highest rank here. Yay.

'Major Wollf. Lieutenant Smith. I'm reporting for duty!' the somewhat slight man stepped forward and raised his hand in a salute. Olivia saw a slight film of grease on his reddened nose, where he must have applied sunscreen.

'Good afternoon, Lieutenant Smith. I need a SITREP.,' Olivia replied.

Let's see what these gentlemen have to tell me.

'I'll guide you to the briefing room. We'll provide you with all the information you need there. The Captain and his men are also waiting there,' continued Lieutenant Smith, glancing somewhat nervously at Stefan, who was standing there with his arms crossed.

As always, cool as a cucumber.

'Understood. Then please take me there.' - and please get me out of this dreadful heat.

The base was similar to any Olivia had seen: simple, sparse, practical and architecturally boring. Countless soldiers populated the corridors, making the place look like a dangerous anthill. But the atmosphere was eerily tranquil - no laughter, jokes, or even the usual background music could be heard.

Creepy.

Stefan walked next to her and watched her closely.

'They probably won't tell you so directly. But they're really in deep shit. You're one of their last hopes of keeping the casualty numbers as low as possible,' he said in Swiss German.

'No pressure.' She mumbled.

'How is the mood otherwise? Why does everyone seem tense?' she asked, pointing at the serious faces of the soldiers.

'There's just been another bomb attack. This time on one of our newly built housing estates, which would have given us an advantage with the population.'

She sighed softly.

No matter which country. It's always the same story. Fucking hell.

Lieutenant Smith stopped in front of a grey door and opened it. Olivia nodded to him and stepped past him into the sterile-looking conference room. Five men stood or sat around the grey oval table in the middle, where countless photocopies and reports were spread out.

One wears a mask, even in here. The other one needs a haircut. This one looks relatively normal, except for his baseball cap. Another one with a mask. Wonderful. And the-

One of the men, with a thick beard and moustache, approached Olivia and held out his hand. Blue eyes stared at her curiously.

'Welcome, I'm Captain John Price.'

But before she could shake his -broad and scarred- hand, Lieutenant Smith interrupted the Captain in a pointed tone.

'Excuse me, sir; this is Major Wollf.'

Olivia drew in a hissing breath, then turned to Smith.

Really? Reprimanding his superior in front of his men?

'Lieutenant Smith. Are these the men running the operation?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'Major.'

'Y-yes, Major.'

She glared icily at the man. The pale redhead's ears were bright pink, and dark stress marks slowly rose on his neck.

'Then you're no longer needed. Lieutenant. Dismissed!' she ordered and turned to Captain Price, her rough hand now outstretched. The sound of the door clicking shut signalled to her that Smith must have left the room.

Hopefully, I won't have to deal with this one again.

'Pleased to meet you, Captain. I'm Olivia Wollf. How can I help you?' she asked with a friendly smile now.

All was quiet in the room for a moment. Puzzled faces looked at her. Then, the Captain pulled himself together, a broad grin on his weather-beaten face. One of the men coughed slightly, which sounded suspiciously like a suppressed laugh.

'Lieutenant Meier told me about you. We've been at it for weeks, trying our luck, but the situation isn't improving.' He was still shaking her hand. His voice was deep and had a pleasant roughness to it.

English. SAS.

She gently pulled her hand from his paw, stepped towards the group seated around the table and lowered her rucksack to the ground.

'Gentlemen. I'm pleased to have been invited by Lieutenant Meier to assist you. But that's exactly what I'm doing here. Assistance. So, I would ask you to forgo any unnecessary formalities. After all, I'm officially on holiday right now,' she said with a sideways glance at Stefan, who shrugged his shoulders.

'In addition to her many years as a reconnaissance specialist, the Major has a master's degree in behavioural psychology and has been involved in several counter-terrorism operations and psy-ops.' He stepped next to her.

'Then you're going to tell us how to think?' asked one of the men wearing the short mohawk, while tilting the chair he was sitting on.

Scot?

She glanced at him. He stared back with incredibly blue eyes and a slight scowl.

'Based on my experience, that's hopeless in most cases,' she grinned dirtily,' no, I'm here to show you how they think.'

'And this is where I'm going to leave,' Stefan put his hand on her arm in a friendly manner,' are you going to be okay, Katla?'

Aha, you can be informal without Lieutenant Smith.

'Of course. Chrome.' She grinned.

Chrome Dome. Oh, he hates that.

He rolled his eyes but grinned slightly.

'I'll see to it that you get a proper room, and I'll have a uniform and other things sent over.'

'Understood. Thanks!'

Stefan nodded to the group and left the room.

'Before we start, I'd like to know who I'm working with here,' she said to the group, pulling one of the chairs towards her. Groaning, she sat down and stretched her right leg under the table. She grimaced briefly.

Fucking nerves.

Whenever she stood or sat for too long, the nerves in her right leg burned all the way up to the small of her back. When the weather changed, her back muscles on the right side tensed up, and her scars began to itch - a remnant of her time in Nigeria. Since she hadn't had time to sleep properly, exercise, or do any other relaxation techniques since the start of her journey, her body was now acting up.

Captain Price had returned to his seat and slid some files over.

'This here is Sergeant MacTavish, Lieutenant Riley, Sergeant Sanderson, and Sergeant Garrick,' he said, naming the men, who nodded briefly at her one after the other.

She nodded and deliberately made eye contact with each of the men. Then she looked at the brown files.

'What about this?' she asked.

'I thought someone with a background like yours might be interested in our background. Some of it is… restricted.'

'Good thinking,' she said, neatly arranging the files on top of each other. ''Then tell me exactly what's going on.'

'Wouldn't you rather read it?' asked Sergeant MacTavish.

'Negative. Personal experience, directly from the people involved, helps me. Of course, I'll read the files, but this will give me a feel for how you all operate together and how we can tackle the problem,' she explained, leaning back in her chair, her face contorting again as a jolt of pain shot through her thigh.

MacTavish nodded curtly.

Sergeant Garrick, the one with the baseball cap, picked out some pictures from the chaos before them and placed them in front of her. They showed two men, gaunt and worn out.

'These are two of the three leaders of Al-Dimar. We haven't been able to identify the third person yet. Our scouts, our informants, or our intel... nothing has been useful.' He adjusted his cap and then sat down beside McTavish with a sigh.

Lieutenant Riley, one of the two masked men, pushed another picture to the centre of the table.

'We found various hiding places and storage areas and cleared them out. But none of the stolen weapons were found. No bomb-making caves or other important posts.'

Olivia studied the pictures in front of her.

Distraction. We only see what they want us to see.

Her eyes fell on Captain Price, who sat beside her, serious and arms crossed, his intense gaze boring into her.

'What did you find on your last mission?'

The bombing. They must have found something, and the organisation is distracting from it now.

'Why... how come,' Sergeant MacTavish asked, but Price interrupted him.

'Because the bombing was a direct response to our hit,' he grumbled, exhaling loudly.

'It's only a hunch,' Olivia added,' go on.'

'We haven't found out how AD communicates. Drones or other surveillance technology have only caught unimportant intel. None of it is of any use to us,' Riley continued.

'What we do know is that they also have foreign investors,' MacTavish added.

Olivia hummed, pushing the pictures aside and grabbing a pen from under a pile of paper.

'Here, Major,' Price tugged a beat-up flipchart closer to the table.

'Thank you.' She stood up and looked at the blank paper.

There are three leaders, two of whom have been identified: Amir Al-Rashid and Khalid Abdul. We suspect they work decentralised. They use unknown communication channels in the higher ranks, but they are organised, selecting strategic targets.

She rocked the pen back and forth, lost in thought.

'What are they trying to achieve? Al-Dimar, I mean,' she asked, no one in particular,' is there a manifesto? Videos? Anything?'

Someone clicked their tongue, and she turned around, her pen now ready to write in her left hand.

MacTavish, now standing, held a yellowed piece of paper out to her. She took it and studied the drawings and Arabic characters.

ابعد عن الغرب نقاء شعبنا

"Destroy the West, purity for our people" was written on a yellow post-it that was stuck to the paper.

It's always the same.

She exhaled heavily through her nose and turned back to the flipchart.

'So, they want to remove the Western influence on their country and people. That's nothing new.'

Olivia drew a circle marked with a question mark at the top of the paper. Then, she drew two circles directly below it, followed by the two known leaders and their names. More lines followed, connecting to form a complex system of smaller boxes. After she had circled the whole thing with 'hit' and an exclamation mark, she put the pen to one side.

'Please give me a few hours. I'll read the documents and then get back to you.' She turned to the men,' Give yourself a short break. Clear your head and occupy yourself with something completely different. That usually opens up new perspectives on a problem.'

Looking at the frustrated faces, she let out a short sigh.

I can't think with the whole room watching me. But I understand their frustration.

'I know how you feel.'

MacTavish snorted in disbelief.

'Really. But I'm trying to approach the mission with a new perspective and as an outside person.'

'You heard the Major,' Price grumbled, giving MacTavish a stern look,' empty your heads, and you'll be back here in four hours. Rested. Understood?'

General agreement came quietly from the men, and one by one, they left the meeting room. The room, now silent, a loud grumble sounded from her stomach.

Olivia looked somewhat sheepishly at Captain Price, who tried to suppress a grin.

'I'll see about some food.'