{"product_id":"surface-to-air-isbn-9780804169394","title":"Surface to Air","description":"\u003cb\u003eMalko Linge is assigned to tail a novice terrorist who has a plot to blow up Air Force One—and the weapons to make it happen.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn New Jersey, Parviz Amritzar is mourning for his family—killed by a U.S. airstrike back in Pakistan—and vowing revenge against his adoptive country. He devises a plan to shoot down Air Force One and gets a lucky break when he reaches a terrorist contact who knows how he can obtain a surface-to-air missile from the Russians. When the CIA picks up on the rumors of this plot, they call on Malko Linge to carefully observe the would-be terrorist. But as soon as Malko thinks he has a handle on the situation, things become more unpredictable and much more dangerous.Praise for the Malko Linge novels:\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “[De Villiers] writes as a hard-headed political realist.... His books tell unvarnished truths that many prefer to ignore.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Wall Street Journal\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Will win fans among those who crave thrilling espionage escapism, especially those who relish Ian Fleming and Clive Cussler.” —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Blazingly fast.... Entertaining.... Readers may wonder why American publishers waited so long to bring the series to this country.” —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weeky\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “De Villiers's books are ahead of the news and sometimes even ahead of events themselves.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eGérard de Villiers\u003c\/b\u003e spent his five-decade career cultivating connnections in the world of international intelligence, which allowed him to masterfully blend fiction with an insider’s knowledge of international affairs—and to anticipate geo-political events before they occurred. His bestselling SAS series of some 200 spy novels, starring Malko Linge, was originally published from 1965 until his death in 2013.\u003cp\u003eChapter \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e1\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eNew Jersey\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eParviz Amritzar was looking at Benazir but without seeing her. His eyes were locked on the telephone on the night table next to the bed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What’s the matter with you?” she asked in Urdu.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis wasn’t the first time he had taken his young wife to a hotel, but they usually started making love as soon as they got to their room. This time was different. For one thing, the Newark Liberty hotel was unusually charmless. It stood less than a mile from the airport runways and featured white walls decorated with banal prints and windows double--glazed against the aircraft noise. For another, Amritzar seemed distracted.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA good wife who never questioned her husband, Benazir didn’t ask why Amritzar had taken her to this cheesy place. They usually crossed the Hudson to spend weekends at one of the boutique hotels on the West Side of Manhattan.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar had recently brought his aged mother from Pakistan to come live with them, which tended to inhibit his sex life. So he got away as often as he could to enjoy his wife without constraint. He was a wholesale oriental carpet dealer, earned a good living, and aside from making a good Muslim’s \u003ci\u003ezakat\u003c\/i\u003e alms, had few expenses.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m expecting a phone call here,” he told Benazir. “After that, we can enjoy ourselves.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen he caught her dark gaze, Amritzar felt a pleasant surge of warmth in his belly. His wife really was very beautiful. She followed Islamic practice—-she wore a head scarf and dressed modestly when she went out—-but in the evening would dress up for her husband. Tonight she was wearing a tight sweater, a wide belt, and high boots. She had made up her mouth with special care and brushed mascara onto her long lashes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“A phone call?” she asked in surprise. “Here?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf it had been on his cell, she would have understood. But a call on the room telephone of a hotel they had just checked in to and which they would leave the next morning?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s right,” said Amritzar, without explanation. When Benazir looked puzzled, he went over and put his arm around her waist.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s men’s business,” he assured her. “Afterward, I’ll be all yours.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe young woman relaxed in his arms.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I hope you’ll give me a child,” she murmured.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBenazir loved her husband as much as he loved her. He was a handsome man, with classic Middle Eastern looks, very dark eyes, and a strong nose and jaw. He spoiled her and showered her with love. A perfect husband.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTheir lips were about to touch when the telephone rang, startling them both.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe ran to the phone and picked it up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Parviz?” asked an unknown man. The sound sent Amritzar’s pulse racing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s r--right,” he stammered.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m downstairs at the bar.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar had no time to say anything else. The man had already hung up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Wait for me here,” he told Benazir. “This won’t take long. You can watch television.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was already at the door, feeling as moved as the day he had asked for her hand in marriage.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe hotel’s lobby was as impersonal as its rooms, and the bar at the end of the hall was almost empty.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSitting at a table was a swarthy man of about forty wearing a windbreaker over a heavy brown sweater. He didn’t stand when Amritzar came over.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor a few seconds, the two men looked each other over, their absorption only interrupted when the bartender asked for their order. Without consulting Amritzar, the stranger ordered two Coke Zeros.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen they were alone again, the stranger extended his hand and quietly said in Urdu:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Call me Mahmud, brother.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFeeling ill at ease, Amritzar sat down. The two men had communicated by email, but this was the first time they were meeting in person.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMahmud broke the silence.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I bring you greetings from those you sent your messages to,” he said quietly. “They want you to know they are praying to Allah and his prophet Muhammad, blessed be his name, that your project prove successful, inshallah.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Inshallah,” said Amritzar.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn the presence of this confident stranger who represented people fighting for the faith and the triumph of Allah, Amritzar suddenly felt himself moving from dream to reality.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSix months earlier, he had learned that a missile from an American drone had killed his uncle, his three brothers, their wives, and five of their children. They all lived in the village of Miramshar in the tribal area between Pakistan and Afghanistan. The official explanation? “Regrettable collateral damage due to incorrect targeting data.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe coalition authority wrote a letter of apology to the local government and offered to pay for the funerals.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut under Islamic law, the bodies had all been buried the very day of the attack, and anyone who accepted dollars from the infidels would have had his hand cut off. The village imam had assured everyone that all the martyred \u003ci\u003eshahids\u003c\/i\u003e would be under Allah’s protection until the end of centuries of centuries.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd that jihad would continue until the death of the last infidel.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen Amritzar learned the terrible news, he was shattered. He had never been particularly religious, but now he spent hours in the Newark mosque, trying to speak to God.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe imam there told him that Allah had sent this trial to test his faith. Over time, Amritzar gradually emerged from his despair, and pain gave way to a burning desire for vengeance.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTurning to Wikipedia, he plunged into the study of armed drones. He learned that the ones flown over Afghanistan were piloted long--distance by operators at a base in Nevada. The operators put in eight hours a day, then calmly went home to their families, risking nothing more serious than an occasional upset stomach or head cold.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar initially considered taking revenge on the drone pilots, but they worked on a very secure military base. Besides, he didn’t know which individual fired the missile that wiped out his family.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe began to visit a mosque close to his home more often. He had always been a believer, and never missed Friday prayers, but he rarely went during the week, preferring to pray at home or in his warehouse.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn addition to telling the imam, Amritzar started sharing his newfound hatred of Americans with some of the faithful. One of them suggested that he check out a website said to be closely connected with al--Qaeda that regularly called for jihad.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWithout much optimism, Amritzar created a Hotmail account so as to communicate in the website chat room, choosing his first name as his username.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe posted several messages expressing his desire to participate in jihad but got no answer. Then ten days ago, he received a Hotmail message from someone in a cybercafe calling himself Mahmud632. Amritzar of course noted the year of the Prophet’s death.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMahmud congratulated Amritzar for his desire to make jihad and asked him a few personal questions. They chatted online, mainly about religious matters. Then Mahmud suggested they meet in person, at the Newark Liberty hotel on Friday at nine p.m. Amritzar decided to take his young wife along, as he sometimes did on a weekend.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNow he was face--to--face with the man himself.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMahmud leaned over and again spoke quietly in Urdu.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You don’t know who I am, but I’ve read the messages that you posted on the website. I believe you are a good Muslim and that you want to take vengeance on the infidels. Have you decided on a plan?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSurprised by the question, Amritzar was silent for a few moments. After studying Mahmud’s eyes, he decided to trust him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yes, I have,” he whispered. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What is it? Do you think that the faithful who are making jihad can help you?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Maybe.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar’s thoughts were racing. For months he had dwelled on revenge while feeling sure that he would never be able to get it. After all, he was just a small businessman, a rug merchant. He was wealthy enough, but he didn’t have any contact with the people who carried out attacks. What little he knew he’d learned on the Internet or by reading specialized magazines. And now this man at the table was turning a dream into reality.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What will you do to avenge your family?” asked Mahmud, sipping his Coke.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar hesitated to answer, and Mahmud pressed him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“We are fighting for the triumph of the same God, brother,” he said. “You have to trust me. As I said, I’ve come here especially to weigh what is in your heart. Your emails show a sincere desire for revenge, but we have to be careful. The infidels are powerful and very clever. If you really want to avenge your family, you must be ready to sacrifice your life. To become a martyr.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m ready!” said Amritzar, surprised by the firmness of his own voice. A strange exaltation had come over him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“So tell me what you have in mind.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt that, Amritzar began to speak in a quiet, almost inaudible voice. Leaning close, Mahmud listened tensely.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I need to get an Igla--S,” he said. “It’s a sophisticated Russian surface--to--air missile.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMahmud stared at him in astonishment.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“How do you know about those weapons?” he asked. “I thought you were in the carpet business.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I am, but I’ve learned a lot from the Internet. The Igla--S is the most effective weapon against a plane or helicopter currently available. The missile is 72 milli-meters in diameter and five feet long. It’s shoulder--fired and weighs less than thirty pounds. The warhead travels at 1,755 miles an hour and is effective to an altitude of 12,000 feet. Iglas have already brought down American planes in Iraq and in Serbia. In Chechnya, the \u003ci\u003eboiviki\u003c\/i\u003e rebels have used them to destroy Russian Mi--8 and -Mi--16 helicopters.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar had recited his lesson without pause, and Mahmud listened carefully.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Have you ever fired one?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“No, of course not,” Amritzar said with a rueful smile. “I’ve only seen them in pictures. But I know everything there is to know about them. Did you read about the jihadist in Morocco—-may Allah protect him—-who built a bomb using only information he got from the Internet? He could barely read and write but was guided by the hand of Allah. His bomb killed seventeen infidels in Marrakesh and spread terror among the unbelievers.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMahmud knew the story and seemed impressed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar waited, his eyes downcast.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What exactly do you plan to do with this missile?” asked Mahmud. “Assuming you learn how to use it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Shoot down Air Force One, the American president’s plane,” said Amritzar calmly. “With him on board, of course.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMahmud clearly hadn’t expected this. He was silent for a moment and took another sip of Coke. When he spoke, his voice was serious.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s a wonderful project, brother, but extremely difficult to carry out. You must know that since the blessed day of September 11, 2001, we have never succeeded in striking the Americans on their home soil.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I know how careful they are,” said Amritzar. “But I have a plan to get around their precautions.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What’s that?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I can’t tell you yet. You know our proverb: the man who knows nothing can say nothing. Do you think you can help me?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMahmud realized that he was dealing with neither a fool nor a dreamer. He had really only arranged this meeting to be on the safe side. Most would--be terrorists chickened out the moment you met them. This man was different, and the gleam of hatred in his dark eyes was real.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJust the same, he needed to push Amritzar a little harder.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Do you realize what you’re risking?” he asked. “You have a beautiful young wife.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar’s head jerked up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“How do you know that?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMahmud gave him a sharp look.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“We know many things about you,” he said. “We must be very cautious. The Americans are powerful, and they pursue us relentlessly. You might be an undercover agent, trying to draw us into a trap and destroy our -organization.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m not an agent!” cried Amritzar.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMahmud opened his windbreaker and lifted his brown sweater, revealing the automatic tucked in his belt.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“If I thought you were,” he said quietly, “I would take you outside and shoot you.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar looked at him coldly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“If I were an undercover agent, I would have arrested you by now. And you haven’t answered my question,” he continued. “Can you help me get a working Igla--S?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMahmud was silent for a few moments.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s a question I can’t answer,” he admitted. “I will pass on the request. Give me your cell phone number. It will make contacting you again easier.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar did so.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll call to set up another meeting,” said Mahmud. “And don’t ever, ever mention your project on the Internet.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Of course not!” snapped Amritzar, annoyed that he was being taken for an idiot.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe two men stood up and hugged briefly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Don’t try to follow me,” Mahmud whispered. “It would be dangerous for you.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar watched as Mahmud went out the revolving door. Then he put a five--dollar bill on the table and left the bar. He felt as if he were walking on air. What had started as a vague dream of vengeance was becoming concrete, turning into a real project.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen he opened the door to his room, Amritzar was still elated. And when he saw Benazir, he felt happier still.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe was lying on her side, so absorbed in watching television that she didn’t even turn her head when he came in. For his part, Amritzar couldn’t take his eyes off the curve of her hips in her tight pants. He felt as if all the excitement of his conversation with Mahmud had now rushed to his crotch.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen he stretched out next to his wife, she started.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh, it’s you!” she murmured.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Who did you think it would be?” he growled. “You’re a she--dog, who would let any man lie with you. Yet you swore before the imam to be faithful.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBenazir realized she had made a mistake. She turned around and gently touched her husband’s crotch.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I hope you get me pregnant tonight,” she said. “I very much want to have a child.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar put his hand on her hip and pulled her close.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“So do I,” he said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eActually, this was a lie. At that particular moment, all he wanted was to take his young wife from behind, the way he used to when they were engaged. He had wanted to marry a virgin, and they both developed a taste for anal pleasures.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBenazir was now feverishly kicking off her boots and pulling down her trousers, leaving only a skimpy pair of panties that Amritzar promptly yanked off. He raised his hips to shed his jeans, revealing bulging red underpants.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOnce freed, his cock sprang into the air.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What a beautiful thing you have,” she said admiringly. “So big and hard.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe hadn’t yet brought herself to perform fellatio on him, as American women apparently did. In her eyes it was haram—-forbidden. A man’s penis was made to enter certain openings in a woman’s body. Not her mouth.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Come here,” said Amritzar, pulling her over.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBenazir obediently lay down on her belly, hips slightly raised, arms stretched out before her. Then she reached back to spread herself for him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKneeling behind her, Amritzar pushed her thighs farther apart with his knee.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTrembling, Benazir gave a small cry when he entered her. It always hurt a little at the beginning, though she was dripping wet in front. Amritzar thrust hard, plunging deep into his wife’s body. She gave a strangled shout.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s right!” she cried. “Deeper, darling.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar was now thrusting with all his might. Before his staring eyes floated the image of an Igla missile, as slim as a needle—-which is what the word meant in Russian—-and as deadly as a poison dart.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePlastered against Benazir’s rump, he stopped for a few seconds to thank Allah for giving him so many joys in one day.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePanting, Benazir interrupted his brief pause.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Don’t come yet,” she begged. “When you’ve enjoyed me, make me pregnant.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar was chatting with one of his customers, a wholesaler from Minneapolis, when his cell phone rang. It displayed no number. When he answered, he heard a man’s voice.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll meet you at the northwest corner of Forty--Second Street and Broadway at nine o’clock tonight.” It was Mahmud, who immediately hung up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt had been two weeks since their meeting, and Amritzar had given up hope of hearing from him again. He found it hard to resume his conversation with the Minneapolis businessman. All he could think of was to go to his back office, unfold his prayer rug, and thank Allah for helping him with his revenge.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs he touched his forehead to the rug, it occurred to him that happy events never come alone. The previous night, Benazir had announced that she was pregnant. So he would be leaving a son behind if his project unfolded as planned. All of Miramshar would celebrate his exploit, and his widow would raise the child to honor his father.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt this point he couldn’t be sure it would be a boy, of course, but he had prayed so hard, Allah could hardly refuse his wish to be a \u003ci\u003eshahid\u003c\/i\u003e who died fighting the infidel. The dearest fate for a believer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmritzar hoped the next few hours would pass quickly. The fact of the meeting meant that Mahmud had found a way to get the thing Amritzar most wanted: an Igla--S surface--to--air missile.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Vintage Crime\/Black Lizard","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303416058085,"sku":"NP9780804169394","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780804169394.jpg?v=1767737617","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/surface-to-air-isbn-9780804169394","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}