On the road, South of BaalbekW
afic Solani, a very reliable guide sun or moon, stared into the muzzle of the militiaman’s AK-47, shrugged, and reached very slowly for the vehicle papers in his glove box. This was the third time they’d been stopped at roadblocks since leaving Beirut. The first two were routine shakedowns by local bandits who didn’t bother to examine documents once the price of passage was quoted and paid. Shake had merely passed up the wad of demanded cash and never even had to get out of the cab.
This time was different. They were at the southern end of the Beqaa Valley and the thugs manning the checkpoint were uniformed militia who had the road covered with a DShK-38 heavy machinegun and RPG-7s on the high-ground either side of it. He’d seen the handmade yellow and gree
