By Gerald Seymour
Simply ahead of the invasion of Kuwait, invoice Erlich, a tender FBI operative, is tough at the heels of a terrorist. As he error in to the traces in which the Iraqi puppet-masters keep an eye on their undercover brokers in England, invoice realises he has long past past the purpose of bear in mind. he's engaged in situation Black - deadly attack in growth.
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Additional resources for Condition Black
He was not welcome, Erlich knew that. He could hardly have been welcome, because when he had entered the senior police officer's room it had been with two aides trying to keep him out by every manoeuvre other than manhandling him. He'd got there, and he was staying . . He hadn't been offered coffee. " The grating of the cup on the saucer. A pause. The snapping of a cigarette lighter. " " I cannot say . . " Again, a pause. The smoke curled between them, eddied to Erlich's face. A telephone rang in an outer office.
The guy was back in town, rang Harry. Harry liked to pump him . . " He laid the sheet back over the face. He skirted the two stretchers, then raised the sheet of the second. He swallowed back the bile in his throat. It would have been a back-of-the-head shot. A low-velocity round tumbling against the toughness of the skull bone. The exit was a mess where the eyes and nose of his friend had been. The mouth was what he would remember. Where the laughter was, where the good cracks were. Only the mouth told him that he looked on the face of his friend.
He laughed in the face of the Colonel, and at the watcher standing against the door. " S o what , . " he said. " "It was a good street, got me? It was great. It was dead, there was no one No nannies, maids, deliveries, really good. The target, he was already fidgety, I couldn't follow him all day, not a target who was that sharp. The street was right. If the American hadn't gone then he had my face, and he had the car. He had to go . . " At last the Colonel smiled, and there was the gravel growl of his chuckle.
Condition Black by Gerald Seymour