CHAPTER 9THE OPPOSITION
Craig and Darius waited in their black Chevrolet sedan in a clearing next to the east bound road, ten miles outside of Monrovia. Craig tapped rhythmically on the worn steering wheel with the fingers of his right hand. A line of thunderstorms was forming along the coast. They could hear the distant thunder building like an ominous drumroll. Occasionally, a lighting flash would illuminate their faces, temporarily blotting out their night vision. “When did you say they would be here?” Craig asked.
Darius glanced at his watch. “They’re thirty minutes late now.”
Craig unholstered his nine-millimeter Beretta, pulled the slide back, then released it, sending a round into the chamber. The hard, metallic clack of the slide locking into place caused Darius to flinch.
“I t
