The 15:17 to Paris: The True Story of a Terrorist, a Train and Three American Heroes. Anthony Sadler
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СКАЧАТЬ target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#litres_trial_promo">Chapter 20

       Chapter 21

       Chapter 22

       Chapter 23

       Chapter 24

       Chapter 25

       Chapter 26

       Chapter 27

       Chapter 28

       Chapter 29

       Chapter 30

       Chapter 31

       Ayoub

       → PART III: ANTHONY SADLER

       Chapter 32

       Chapter 33

       Chapter 34

       Chapter 35

       Chapter 36

       Chapter 37

       Chapter 38

       Chapter 39

       Chapter 40

       Chapter 41

       Chapter 42

       Chapter 43

       Chapter 44

       Chapter 45

       Chapter 46

       Notes

       Acknowledgments

       About the Authors

       About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

       TUE, AUGUST 18, 11:03 AM

       Anthony Sadler:

      Still alive dad we’re in Amsterdam and staying at the A&O hostel. We will be here till Friday

       Pastor Sadler:

      Okay Son—how are you doing?

       Anthony Sadler:

      I’m great leaving wifi, talk to you in a bit

       Pastor Sadler:

      Okay

       THU, AUGUST 20, 11:07 PM

       Anthony Sadler:

      Hi dad so it’s 8am on Friday here right now. We head out of Amsterdam to Paris today at 3pm and will get around 6pm. I’ll text you hotel info when I receive it

       Pastor Sadler:

      Okay son

       FRI AUG 21, 4:43 PM

       Anthony Sadler:

      Call me dad

       THALYS TRAIN #9364

      Somewhere in northern France.

      Five hundred fifty-four passengers on board.

      Spencer is holding two fingers against a pulsing wound in Mark’s neck. As the train races through the countryside at over 150 miles per hour, he’s trying to plug the carotid artery because if he doesn’t, Mark dies.

      Anthony watches from above.

      If there are screams, Anthony doesn’t hear them; if the sound of wind rushing by the windows is loud, he doesn’t register it. He is totally focused. The terrorist is bound, hog-tied on the floor. Mark groans. Anthony feels as if the people lying there below him are the only other people in the world.

      The carpet is covered in blood. There is so much blood. It is astoundingly quiet.

      The bell that signals the train doors opening and closing is the only other noise, an eerie, antiseptic chirp. Anthony might as well be in the hushed corridors of a hospital. None of it feels real. Did we just do that?

      The train moves along quickly, smoothly—normally—as if they’ve imagined everything that just happened. The motion is almost soothing. No one seems afraid. No one seems here. There are no extraneous people around Anthony except the ones who took part in the drama that just played out. No one except the ones he’s immediately concerned with. He seems to have blocked the rest from his mind.

      He’s blocked a lot of things from his mind. Including some important things, like the notion that the terrorist might not have been acting alone—that there might be two more, or five, hiding somewhere on board, about to attack. There’s no good reason to think there’s only one. Still, as far as Anthony’s concerned, there’s only one. He’s become wholly absorbed with only this man, solving the problem that is immediately in СКАЧАТЬ