Tripoli's Target (Justin Hall # 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Carrie said as she entered in with a teacup in her hands. “How much longer you think?”
    George opened his mouth to venture a guess, but the image of Johnson returned to the screen. Her face looked paler and her eyes had sunk deeper into their sockets. “Hello, can you hear me?”
    “Yes, yes, we hear you,” George said.
    “I’m afraid I have bad news. There has been a series of explosions, car bombs in Tripoli, Libya, about twenty minutes ago.”
    “What?” Justin and Carrie asked almost at the same time and exchanged confused glances.
    “Yes. The information we’re receiving is still unconfirmed, but it seems four cars exploded close to major hotels in downtown Tripoli.”
    “Casualty count?” asked Carrie.
    “In the tens, I guess. We don’t have much intel yet, but we’re trying to—”
    Justin slammed his fist on the table. He startled not only Carrie and George, but also Johnson, who stopped talking. “That’s why the sheikh left in such a hurry, to escape the Libyan mukhabarat.”
    The Libyan mukhabarat was as notorious as its Egyptian counterpart for its powerful revenge, which extended well beyond Libya’s national borders. The looming backlash was more than a match for the Alliance and its leaders.
    “Very good, Justin,” Johnson said with a nod. “It is exactly so, confirmed by the sheikh himself. We just received word from him.”
    George let out a gasp, while Justin shook his head. Carrie kept her poker face on as she jotted down notes in her notebook.
    “The sheikh denied the Tripoli bombing was the work of the Islamic Fighting Alliance,” Johnson said.
    “Really?” Justin asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did he also deny his men ambushed us tonight?”
    “No, he took full responsibility for that attack. However, the intended targets were, let me find it . . .” Johnson shuffled papers on her desk and found her glasses. She began to read from one of the many documents covering her workspace. “Yes, the targets were ‘despicable collaborators of the infidels.’ I’m assuming that was Rahim and his nephew.”
    “Very convenient,” Carrie said.
    Johnson slid her glasses to the tip of her nose. “These words came through the sheikh’s messenger. It doesn’t mean I believe them. In any case, the sheikh still wants a meeting.”
    “No freaking way,” George mumbled just loud enough for Justin and Carrie to hear him.
    “This time he’s offering the guarantee of his personal honor to protect his guests,” Johnson continued.
    “When and where?” Justin’s eyes flared up.
    “He insists the information about the assassination plot is time-sensitive, and he would like to meet tomorrow morning, in Sudan.”
    Justin frowned. “Sudan?”
    “I’m assuming it’s because of Tripoli,” Johnson replied.
    Justin bit his lip. Sheikh Ayman was luring them into the deadly no man’s land. Sudan’s deserts had been the breeding ground of rebellion, civil wars, kidnappings, human trafficking, and all kinds of smuggling for decades. Refusing the sheikh’s invitation, especially after the ambush, would make the CIS appear weak. Justin had spent a long time building his own reputation, and that of the CIS, as brave and fearless. They were not going to start backing down now. He had been to Sudan three times. And had come back unharmed.
    He looked to his left at a tense Carrie. Her hand was pulling on the handle of her teacup as if it were a gun trigger. Let’s do it, her blazing eyes told him.
    “Do you have the meeting coordinates?” Justin asked.
    “Yes. I’ll get them to you.”
    “Excuse my interruption,” George said. His voice came out dry and staccato. He coughed then resumed his thought, “but sending a team to Sudan is the same as suicide.”
    A wrinkle the size of the Grand Canyon appeared on Johnson’s forehead. She lifted her glasses and peered at George.
    “George, let me tell you something.” Johnson’s frown melted and her voice turned soft, taking on