Echo Six: Black Ops 6 - Battle for Beirut Read Online Free PDF

stretched out, his shirt cuff slid back, revealing his wristwatch. A Patek Philippe, solid gold, 24 carat, with tiny inset diamonds in the face.
    Naturally.
    "Sir, I'd be careful showing that watch around. It would be a prime target for thieves if they caught sight of it."
    The Commissioner gave him a stare that dripped with icy contempt. He held it for a couple of seconds and then glanced again at his aide.
    "When I need your advice, I will ask you for it." He turned to his aide. "If you would show the Commander out, I believe our business is finished."
    Except Talley wasn't finished.
    "Sir, I have a favor to ask you. I need to get to Beirut on an urgent matter. I wondered if I could travel with you in your jet."
    Every man gaped at him, astonished at the blatant infringement of protocol. The aide dragged him away, murmuring, "You can't make that kind of request to the Commissioner. It would have to go through the proper channels."
    Talley glanced up at Jensen, but the man's expression hadn't changed. These people took their exalted rank seriously, but it had been worth a try. He resigned himself to wait until the next day to reach Beirut and start the search. He also made himself a promise.
    If Andreas Jensen ever comes to me for help, he'll get nothing. The guy’s a pompous ass.
    He drifted back into the main terminal and found a restaurant where he could eat. The food was lackluster and uninspiring, served by an Arab who regarded his uniform with suspicion. Inwardly, Talley smiled. The guy looked like so many other Arabs he'd fought on battlefields across the Islamic world. The difference was that instead of an AK-47, he held a jug of coffee. A lesson his people would do well to learn. You earned a living and provided for your family by working hard, not be killing people.
    The food was as grim as he'd expected, like airport meals the world over; some kind of Arab cuisine that tasted like curdled goat piss. He abandoned it after a few mouthfuls and refreshed his coffee. He couldn't stop thinking about Nava, and he went to the airport bookshop to find everything they had about Beirut. It would be a long night in the terminal, and he'd have a chance to catch up on some local knowledge.
    He found a bench seat and sat down to read. After a half-hour, he went to the bathroom. As he pushed open the door, he could hear raised voices inside, the harsh cadences of Arabs speaking English, and the smooth, almost accent less tones of Jensen, the UN Commissioner. Something was wrong. He entered the facility unobserved, to weigh up the situation.
    Jensen was furthest away, faced by two Arabs. They were both armed with wicked looking daggers, and one was pointing at the Patek Philippe. Their intention was obvious, but the Commissioner was either very brave or a fool. He shook his head.
    "Do you know who I am? You can't just rob a Commissioner of the United Nations. My security staff will hunt you down, and you'll spend a long term in prison."
    One of the men grabbed his wrist and tried to wrestle the watch away from him, but Jensen resisted. The other man hissed out a warning.
    "Give us the fucking watch, infidel. We don't give a shit who you are. Hand it over, or we'll cut your wrist off. We want your wallet as well, and you'd better make it fast. Unless you want us to cut your throat first and leave you choking and bleeding to death on the floor."
    With a shrug, Jensen gave in and started to unstrap the Patek Philippe. Talley had had enough. Even though the unlikeable bureaucrat had done him no favors, he couldn't see any man robbed by a pair of murderous Arabs. He wasn't carrying a weapon, but he had something else; long and bitter experience of dealing with men just like these. He stepped forward.
    "Let him go!"
    They swung around to face him, and both smiled when they saw he wasn't armed.
    "Fuck off, Mister. Unless you want a knife in your guts and blood on your pretty uniform."
    Talley walked forward slowly and calmly, his hands