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Back Game of Snipers Save as PDF
Chapters (74)
  1. Cover
  2. TITLES BY STEPHEN HUNTER
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. PART 1
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. PART 2
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. PART 3
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. PART 4
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. 59
  68. 60
  69. PART 5
  70. 61
  71. 62
  72. Acknowledgments
  73. About the Author
  74. What’s next onyour reading list?

“Good move,” said Swagger, hearing in his mind the slide and click of MP5 bolts setting up for action.

•   •   •

Sister Abdullah, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I am not. I want you to be comfortable with me, and the fastest way I can do that is endure a great deal of pain. I am not afraid of pain. My faith will enable me to forget it quickly. And if I am beaten to a point where you believe I could no longer lie and would say anything to avoid further pain and I do not deviate in my story, I will have proved by ordeal its authenticity.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“I give you permission. I see it from your point of view. I will not file charges. I will go back to my room and heal and then go back to Baltimore, proud that I have served my faith.”

“You may give me permission, but the state of Michigan does not. I could end up in prison for ten years.”

“The state will never find out.”

“A guarantee you cannot possibly make.”

“Perhaps you should think this through a little more clearly. FBI agents are young women, athletic. I have varicose veins, and I haven’t seen the inside of a gym since high school. Would the FBI employ an old thing like me?”

“Young and beautiful FBI agents exist only in the movies. Who’s to say one couldn’t look like you?”

“So what do you recommend, the towels with water? I will undergo that. Many of the faith have.”

“I can only recommend what I’ve initiated, which is a detailed interrogation session, and these men will vet each answer on the Internet. It will be a long night. There will be great psychological pressure on you, if you are a spy, to avoid a mistake. We will see if you can stand up to it. When your story collapses, we will deal with what remains.”

She didn’t know if she could do this. The slow grind of it all, the utter concentration it would take to keep her details in trim, the mental effort against the deep fatigue—it would be too much.

Crack the button, she thought. Get the cops in here. Shake this place down, see what’s cooking. Smack el-Tariq and his pals around. Get them to talk. Get Juba that way. Find him, get him, kill him. You killed my Tom, and I turned into a different woman and I tracked you down and I killed you dead.

But—if she pushed the button, and they found nothing, the word would get out that the FBI was hunting a certain terrorist in Dearborn, and, if he were here, he’d know and vanish. Instead of hurting him, she’d have helped him.

“Mrs. Abdullah, you blacked out there.”

“I took a little nap,” she said.