The Pakistan Conspiracy, A Novel Of Espionage - Plot & Excerpts
The trip had taken three days and covered 2,450 miles. A porter appeared in the first class cabin occupied by Colonel Marchenko and Jacques LeClerc bearing hot, green Uzbek chai and black coffee in chipped china cups and saucers. LeClerc slept on, sitting upright in his seat. Marchenko drank coffee. Outside the train, he could hear a cacophony of tinny plops and drips—the sound of rain falling into a brigade of buckets spread around the interior platform beneath the leaking roof. Marchenko left the coach to stretch his legs. He was appalled at how the station had deteriorated in the two decades since he had last visited the city, the period since the Soviets had withdrawn. Judging by overheard conversations on the long rail journey, even the Uzbeks, who generally loathed Russians, seemed nostalgic for the old Soviet days when there was some semblance of a functioning economy, employment, and hospitals that actually cared for the sick.
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