Target America: A Sniper Elite Novel Read Online Free PDF

found them?”
    Zhilov nodded. “They’ve rented a house near the old Medina.” The Medina was the old Arab quarter of the city, full of markets and tourists anxious to haggle with the vendors. “They must have problems with money,” Zhilov added. “The place is a toilet.”
    “You’re sure it’s them, though, you’ve seen them?”
    Zhilov nodded again, signaling to a waiter for a glass of water by tipping his big hand toward his mouth. “They come and go without worry. They buy food and eat in the street like there is no danger. They’re watchful, but they feel secure. I can see.”
    “Are they armed?”
    “I think yes.” Zhilov wiped the sweat from his face with his hand. “They wear jackets, and it’s too hot for that, so I think yes.”
    “How did you find them?”
    Zhilov shrugged. “I ask the Jews. The Jews know everything in this city.”
    Gil narrowed his gaze. “What Jews?”
    Zhilov thumbed casually over his shoulder, as if the people in question might be standing in the doorway behind him. “Those goddamn guys with Mohave.”
    LX Mohave was another American-owned PMC, one that focusedprimarily on intelligence and cryptographic technologies, and the company was known to hire former Israeli Mossad agents.
    Gil’s eyes narrowed. “You were talking with Mohave about my mission?”
    “No,” Zhilov said irritably. “Why would I talk to them about you? They don’t care about you. I was talking to them about these goddamn guys you wanted me to find.” He snatched the glass of water from the waiter’s hand as he arrived, gulping it down. “Another,” he said, shoving the glass back into his hand and waving him away.
    “Hey, Sergei,” Gil said, “I need to know if Mohave knows about my mission here. It’s extremely important.”
    Zhilov leaned into the table, meeting Gil’s gaze. “Listen to me, you goddamn guy. Mohave doesn’t give a tough shit about your mission, okay? You got it? I don’t tell them nothing. These goddamn guys over there, they owe me favors, so I ask them. And I tell you these goddamn Jews, they know everything around here. Don’t ask me how they know, because I don’t care, and I don’t ask. All I care is that they know. See? That’s why your goddamn CIA, they hire me and not some other goddamn guy. They know I know who knows the shit. See what I say?”
    Gil chuckled and sat back. “Yeah, I see what you say. Can you show me where they live, these goddamn guys?”
    “You bet,” Zhilov said. “But first we eat. I know good place. Then we wait for dark. These goddamn guys over there, they’re watchful right now. They see your face, they gonna run because you look like what you are. Me, I look nothing like what I am. See? I can go anywhere in the daylight, but you, you goddamn guy . . .” He shook his head. “You look like a Yankee killer. They see you, they run. So you trust me. I know Casablanca. I know how to get you close to these goddamn guys. But first we eat.”
    Gil sat watching him across the table. “You fought in Chechnya, right?”
    Zhilov rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t ask me about Chechnya, Yankee. I don’t want to remember. Those goddamn guys with the Martyrs’ Brigade . . .” He shook his head again. “Salafi fanatics, they make these goddamn guys you’re hunting look like girl who suck penisfor a living.” He laughed. “That I tell you for free, you goddamn Yankee. Now, you ready to eat yet or what?”
    Gil smiled and stood up from the table. “I got a feelin’ I’m gonna regret it, but yeah, I’m ready.”
    Zhilov got to his feet. “Come on. I show you good place for last meal.” He clapped Gil on the back, laughing uproariously as if it were the funniest thing he had ever heard.
    Gil smiled without humor, watching the Russian guardedly. “I’m glad we never had to fight you people.”
    Zhilov laughed some more. “Me too! You goddamn Yankees still think you playing cowboys and Indians!”

6
    MOROCCO,