CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
The CIA’s Learjet aircraft touched down on the dusty tarmac of an abandoned Tunisian airstrip. The sun beat down hard, and the wind was dry and harsh.
The side hatch from the jet opened with a heavy clunk, then the steps extended towards the ground. Angry voices left the plane, and then Samara appeared at the top of the stairs. Samara raised a hand to shield her eyes. Blinded by the sudden, intense sunlight.
‘OK – get going,’ said a voice behind her. Samara walked down steadily, her hand still shielding her eyes while her other handheld onto the rail for support. Behind her was the giant man who had tried to take her to the old barracks. His nose was thick and purple, and dark circles surrounded his eyes. The rest of the team were behind him, each carrying M4 Mk 18
