The three men that Peter and Franz saw visiting the restaurant earlier finally left. When they entered, they looked polished — their shirts starched, their suits pressed, and their shoes shined. When they left, they were loud, and they pushed each other around, shirts pulled from their slacks. It was evident that they were drunk, but they acted in total confidence. They had no idea that two men from Austria were watching them. Who would ever think of such a thing?
We are here in Port El Kantaoui, the safest hideout in Tunisia, that’s what the slavers thought, and that was the premise under which they operated.
Carefully, the friends followed them, keeping a safe distance. The Arabs headed for their boat, wobbling from side to side on the narrow road. They had their boat conveniently dock
