DAR, 1982
Rayhan pulled out his gun and surged into the marquee. His eyes widen while his mouth dropped open.
Five guns were pointed at his face. His eyes were on the wooden box on the ground. It was full of war rifles.
Christos raised his hand. “He’s with me.”
The men withdrew their guns, signaling Rayhan to leave the marquee. Rayhan walked out.
After two hours, Christos came out. He waved goodbye to the Arabic men. Rayhan followed him and Zander to the car.
“Are you dealing with arms trafficking?” Rayhan said after Zander drove away.
“There you are again.” Christos gasped. “Judging a day by its weather.”
“I saw the rifles.”
“The problem is you take it for granted you know the whole story. You judge a book by its cover and read what you want between selected lines.”
Rayhan raised his eyebrows. “Spare me a philosophy lesson. What the hell were we doing there?”
“Most men pursue pleasure with such breathless haste that they hurry past it.”
Rayhan clenched his teeth.
“What you saw today is about our next target.”
“We are not killing someone else, are we?”
Christos smiled. “The important lesson I’ve learnt from the Arabs today is that God is never late, we're just impatient.”
Rayhan sighed. “Will—”
“Be patient with your impatience.” Christos said, leaning on his seat.
They arrived at Christos’s house at dawn.
“Zander, call Latricia and Saleem. We have a job to do.”
“Now..?” Zander said.
“There is a problem which must be eliminated before our country falls in trouble.”