CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The alarm woke Fadil the next day. He was the first to rise at five o’clock. Every Monday morning was a rush to get washed and ready for the journey back to Redhill Aerodrome. As they all slowly clambered to their feet and used the bathroom in turn, it wasn’t until they were having tea and toast that the realisation suddenly dawned.
Amir was missing.
After a brief search of the flat, Fadil addressed the situation. ‘Maybe he met woman or perhaps got drunk. Maybe slept it off somewhere?’
Jamal Abboud, a twenty-nine year old Palestinian and Amir’s pilot friend, looked worried. ‘What we say to Ericson?’ Jamal at six-foot-two with a short back and side’s dark brown haircut was unofficially second in command of the terrorist group. With his muscular figure and sharp features
