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By Stephen Hunter

A moment chance...

In the windswept sands of the center East, Paul Chardy fought facet by means of part with Ulu Beg: one, a charismatic, high-strung CIA covert warrior, the opposite a ferocious freedom fighter.  Then Chardy fell into the fingers of the enemy, and Beg was once betrayed.  Now the 2 males are approximately to satisfy again.

A moment gun...

Beg has come over the Mexican border lower than a hail of bullets--determined to assassinate a number one American political determine and avenge his people's betrayal.  The CIA desires Chardy to forestall the hit.  Chardy desires to retailer Beg's life.

Between the 2 males is a sad prior, a failed venture, and a lady who knew them in war--and who is aware their secrets and techniques now.  Around either males is a conspiracy of lies and violence that reaches again to the chilly War.  But as Beg strikes in for his kill and as Chardy breaks free from his handlers, a poor fact starts off to emerge: someplace, somebody wishes either males to die.

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He moved quickly onward, the dirt thick in his throat. The saguaro cactus towered above him, unique and beckoning. And 100 different needled monsters, a few whose gentle plant life mocked their gruesome spikes. Small tricky leaves slashed at his boots. He raced forward, uncovered within the nice undulating flatness. He knew he had just a day to make the adventure, for he’d freeze out right here at evening, and the next day to come the solar might come and bake him. “A day, if it involves a desolate tract crossing. You’ve received an afternoon. Your physique can take not more. ” They advised him tales of Mexican illegals who’d been led into the barren region via unscrupulous smugglers and deserted and the way they’d died in terrible anguish in exactly hours on the most popular time of the day. He driven forward, feeling the blood pulsing in his temples. The blouse off and wrapped approximately his head within the style of a turban gave a few reduction from the warmth; he wore simply an undershirt over his physique. yet at every one upward thrust he prayed the mountains had moved nearer and at each one upward push he was once disenchanted. Kurdistan ya naman. The pack had turn into highly heavy, but he clung to it. He driven forward. within the early afternoon, there has been a helicopter, low off the horizon. continually helicopters, he proposal, continuously helicopters. He ducked speedy right into a ravine, beginning his wrist at the knifelike leaves of a few ugly plant. The blood spurted. He listened to the roar of the computing device, a virtually liquid sloshing, the emerging pulse. He crouched into the aspect of the ravine because the noise grew. He reached contained in the pack and touched the Skorpion. however the noise died. He climbed and confronted an analogous vivid frozen sea of sand and spiny crops. His head now ached and the wrist wouldn't cease stinging. In all instructions it was once the same—the crests of sand, the cacti, the harsh scrub below a huge sky and a fierce solar. within the distance, the mountains. Ulu Beg rose and headed on, dealing with dying. by means of midafternoon he started to get groggy. He fell as soon as and didn’t consider falling, merely discovering himself on his knees on the backside of a slope. He stood, his knees buckled, he went down back. He bought up slowly, respiring demanding, preventing to leisure together with his palms on his knees. He idea he observed that bus, that loopy bus pulling towards him, filled with blond americans, wealthy and well-fed, their youngsters driving prior to them on bicycles. He blinked and it was once all long gone. Or was once it? stuck in his brain was once a reminiscence of the automobile, the awkwardness of a specific thing so large. In its tentativeness, its absurdity—but additionally its determination—there’d been a reminiscence. He known as it up sooner than him. they'd marched for days down throughout the mountains to the foothills close to Rawāndūz, and set the ambush good, with nice persistence and crafty. Jardi was once with them. No, Jardi used to be one in all them. There were thirty of them altogether, with Ulu Beg’s personal son Apo alongside simply because he’d begged to move. they'd the recent AKs that Jardi had introduced and the RPG rockets that he’d proven them how you can use, and a gentle computer gun; and Jardi had his dynamite, which he’d planted within the highway. They stuck the Iraqi convoy in a slender enfilade within the foothills, males of the eleventh Mechanized Brigade who had now not per week ahead of razed a Kurdish village, killing every body.

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