Читать книгу Desperate Passage - Don Pendleton - Страница 12

Mack Bolan was a shadow among shadows.

Crouched in a small stand of bamboo, he watched the sentry patrol using his night-night vision goggles. Around him the pungent aroma of the mangrove swamp was cloying. Above his head a sliver of yellow moon cast a soft illumination too weak to penetrate the darkness of the tropical swamp.