Scanning the breakfast menu both men are amazed at the number of selections it offers. Breakfast menus are nothing like this back home, nor in Pakistan. Hussein chooses a small juice and an order of French toast. Dakham decides to eat hardy. He orders a large juice, two eggs over easy, plus an order of pancakes.
Suddenly, as they are just starting to eat, just as both agree they could get to like living like this, the man from the newsstand walks into the dining room and takes a seat along the opposite wall facing them. They cannot miss noticing him; he’s still wearing the same brown leather coat and bulky red sweater he wore on the plane yesterday.
“Shit,” Dakham says quietly. “Can’t we even have a comfortable breakfast?”
“Don’t lose it!” Hussein jokes. “However, I don’t believe in coincidences either, so I would venture to say we have a tail. Where he’s from I have no clue, but he sure as hell wants us to know he’s here. Any suggestions?”
Dakham replies, “Well, let’s take our time with breakfast and see how much time he has to spare. If he’s really a tail, he will wait until we move. If he’s not, then we may be just overreacting.”
“Maybe we are,” Hussein concurs, “maybe a little, since let’s face it, we are new at this. Yet my gut is telling me, other than how much it appreciates this French toast, that somehow this guy is here to play a part in whatever it is we are getting ourselves involved in.”
“Me too,” says Dakham. “I suggest we finish our breakfast and get out of the hotel for a while. See if he follows us, yes, but I will also lay you odds that our rooms are bugged. I would rather not say anything of importance within these walls.”
“Very wise,” Hussein compliments his partner.
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