Brownley Harris started to talk about 'mad minutes' in Vietnam. If there were answering shots from a village, even one, they would have a 'mad minute'. All hell would break loose because the answering shots proved the whole village was VC. After the' mad minute', the village, or what remained of it, would be burned to the ground.
“Let's go into the den, boys,” Starkey said. “I'm in the mood for a movie. And I know just the one.”
“Any good?” Brownley Harris asked, and grinned.
“Scary as hell, I'll tell you that. Makes Hannibal look like a popcorn fart. Scary as any movie you ever saw.”
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter Nine
The three of them headed for the den, their favorite place in the cabin. A long time ago in Vietnam, the trio had been given the code name Three Blind Mice. They had been elite military assassins did what they were told, never asked embarrassing questions, executed their orders. It was still pretty much that way. And they were the best at what they did.
Starkey was the leader, just as it had been in Vietnam. He was the smartest and the toughest. He hadn't changed much physically over the years. He was six feet one, had a thirty-three-inch waist, a tan, weathered face, appropriate for his fifty-five years. His blond hair was now peppered with gray. He didn't laugh easily, but when he did, everybody usually laughed with him.
Brownley Harris was a stocky five feet eight, but with a surprisingly well-toned body at age fifty-one, considering all the beer he drank. He had hooded brown eyes with thick bushy eyebrows, almost a unibrow. His hair was still black, though flecked with gray now, and he wore it in a military-style buzz cut, though not a'high and tight'.