By Richard Graham-Yooll
Man Sinclair is an coverage agent. yet not only any agent. while the corporate director invitations him to a restaurant to discuss his doubts about the firm's global popular enterprise companions, the very last thing he expects to be is the objective of a suicide bomber. Miraculously surviving, he flies to Saudi Arabia to enquire a regimen declare that seems to be something yet regimen. Accepting one more invitation he must have grew to become down, Sinclair attends a celebration became surreal. Witnessing a brutal homicide, he unearths himself the suspect. The penalty below Saudi legislations? Beheading. the single one that can almost certainly aid him? The sister of the lady who blew herself, and his boss, to smithereens. Can it worsen? convinced. it could. whilst the path he follows leads just about domestic. And Sinclair's kin turns into concerned with him in a perilous overseas coverage.
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Extra resources for A Foreign Policy
The road ahead was all clear, the gate less than a hundred yards away now. It was the way Reilly had been driven into the Vatican, twice now, a grand entrance with twin marble columns topped by a solemn stone eagle on either side of the heavy wrought iron gates—gates that some Swiss Guards were now rushing to close. Not good. Reilly kept the pedal jammed down, feeling a hardening in his gut. With the two Alfas close behind, he cannoned past a few cars that were waiting to be ushered out of the gate onto the main road, ramping the SUV’s left wheels over the curb to squeeze by, before blasting through the gates and obliterating them in a deafening frenzy of twisted iron and steel—instantly followed by an eruption of glass as the Popequarium’s tall viewing box slammed into the intricate overthrow that spanned the top of the gate and burst into smithereens.
And her back. In fact, there wasn’t much of her that didn’t hurt. How much longer are they going to keep me like this? She’d lost all sense of time—all sense of anything, for that matter. She knew her eyes were taped shut. As was her mouth. Her wrists too, be hind her back. And her knees and ankles. A twenty-ﬁrst-century mummy of shiny silver duct tape and—something else too. A soft, thick, padded cocoon, wrapped around her. Like a sleeping bag. She felt it with her ﬁn gers. Yes, that’s what it was.
They were already way past that tipping point. He wondered whether he’d made a mistake by letting Reilly live, and frowned at the thought. He’d had his chance. He could have made his move when Reilly ran for the phone, when they’d rushed past each other, but in the heat of the moment, he’d felt a stab of doubt, unsure about whether or not he could take the man in hand-to-hand combat. He’d pulled back. He’d seen something in Reilly, a blaze of determination and self-belief that had made Zahed second-guess his own considerable skills.
A Foreign Policy by Richard Graham-Yooll