None wore shoes, which was either a weird coincidence or, as I suspected, Eric's people had taken them away to discourage attempts at running away. One was completely naked, one wore underpants-boxers with little red roses, actually-and the other four wore trousers and T-shirts. Judging by their states of dress or undress, the prisoners had been caught by surprise, probably asleep. Two of his men stood behind him with Uzis directed at six Arab gentlemen who were lined up against the wall.
Inside, Eric was seated on the corner of a desk, swinging his legs back and forth, the picture of casual intensity. At the end of the hallway was the final office, which we entered. The doors were all open, and several were splintered, presumably the handiwork of the SWAT ram I had watched one man haul inside. We took a left at the top of the stairs and ended up moving swiftly down a narrow, unlit hallway lined with four or five doors on each side.
0 kommentar(er)
