6
Luke decided to grind out another five klicks. The sun was just cracking over the sprawling city and the dawn temperatures were running about seventy Fahrenheit—fifty above the chilly midnight mission in Hathyaron’s Pakistani compound. A welcome respite. It wouldn’t become too hot and humid for running here until May or June.
But it felt like he was part of some damned cross country team. Nothing organized, but there were a lot of guys and a few women out for a run in twos and threes. He’d never been in a country so filled with runners—no one jogged here, they ran.
Then between one heartbeat and the next he was running alone.
The muezzins’ call echoing from the minarets of the mosques cleared the streets. On the next arm swing, he tapped his fingertips against his SIG Sauer P239 comp
