Ghost

Начало книги

Jamid Halal stepped passed the two teenage mujahideen, pushed aside a flap of rotting canvas and ducked to enter the low doorway. The room beyond was small, no more than three meters on a side, dark and dirty with a litter-strewn, packed-clay floor and granite walls covered in Arabic graffiti. The only light was from the doorway, blocked by the canvas and his body, and a small paneless window on the south wall. Despite the size, five heavily armed mujahideen were packed along the sides leaving only a narrow spot in the middle. In this narrow spot a tall, spare, figure squatted behind a low table, typing on a laptop computer.

“Great One,” Halal said, dropping to both knees and bowing his head. “It is good to see that you truly survive!”

“Did you believe that Allah would permit the forces of the Great Satan to kill his most valiant leader?” the man said, soberly, his piercing eyes meeting those of Jalal with a real question behind them.

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