It's not so much the decisions a man does make that mark him as a Man--but the ones he refrains from making. Like the decision "I've had enough!"
e felt the shock wave. He got up, ran panicky, crouched, and dove behind the chair.
An inspector cracked the valve on a smoke grenade. A white fog spread through the building. They could see anyone who tried to rush them but the besiegers couldn't pick out targets.
Above the noise, he heard Rashid.
"I'm calling South Africa Station for a copter. It's the only way out of here. Until it comes, we've got to hold them back."
Read thought of the green beret he had stuffed in his pocket that morning. He stuck it on his head and cocked it. He didn't need plain clothes anymore and he wanted to wear at least a part of his uniform.
Bullets had completely shattered the wall in front of him. He stared through the murk, across the broken glass. He was Corporal Harry Read, UN Inspector Corps--a very special man. If he didn't do a good job here, he wasn't the man he claimed to be. This might be the only real test he would ever face.
* * * * *
He heard a shout in rapid French.
