"William W Johnstone - Ashes 33 - Enemy in the Ashes (txt)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Johnstone William W)

arrived in Mexico City, he was to take another commercial flight to Abu
Dhabi in the United Arab Emirates, where El Farrar had arranged for a
private Lear jet to meet him and fly him the rest of the way to their
base near the city of Kandahar in southern Afghanistan. He anticipated
no problems.

On the plane, when the flight attendant asked if he needed anything, he
ordered a double scotch on the rocks. No alcohol was allowed in their
camp due to Muslim prohibitions against liquor of any kind. Though
Muslim, Atwa was flexible in the parts of the Koran he chose to follow,
and he did love his scotch.

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When he deplaned in Mexico City, Atwa chose to pick up his luggage
himself instead of trusting the baggage handlers to transfer it to the
correct flight. It wouldn't do to have his luggage lost or misplaced and
sent to some other destination.

As he walked through the rather dilapidated airport terminal, struggling
with his three bags, Atwa glanced around to see if there was a bar
somewhere nearby so he could partake of another drink or two before his
next flight took off.

Always on the alert for trouble, he noticed two men standing nearby who
averted their eyes when his passed over them. Atwa's heart began to beat
faster and sweat pooled in his armpits. He knew the signs of
surveillance, and he suspected his cover was blown.

He gave no sign he'd picked up on the men, and turned into the first
rest room he passed after seeing them. He stepped into the last booth at
the end of the room and hurriedly unlocked his leather bag. He took a
Beretta nine-millimeter pistol from its compartment, attached a silencer
to the barrel, and jacked a shell into the chamber.

Stripping his pants and shoes off, he arranged them over the end of the
toilet so it looked as if he were sitting there. Once that was done, he
peeked out of the door of the booth and saw the rest room was now empty
of other people.

Running as quick as he could, he entered the first booth near the door,
and got up on the toilet so his feet couldn't be seen. And then he
waited; sweat dripped off his face and onto his two hands, clutching the
Beretta tightly before him.

Minutes later, he heard footsteps enter the room and the room door being
closed and locked.

Soft voices speaking Farsi whispered, but he couldn't

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