Word: trailing
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...suggests, Pearl?s killing was a ?state crime,? orchestrated by a syndicate of Jihadist groups with the backing of Pakistan's Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), its CIA. Levy theorizes that Pearl was close to uncovering ties between ISI chiefs and al Qaeda. He also believes Pearl was on the trail of Pakistani nuclear scientists who may have helped the terrorist group...
...essential component of any murder investigation is motive, and Levy speculates on the reasons an assortment of Pakistani groups may have wanted Pearl dead. The French author believes Pearl had been on the trail of prominent Pakistani nuclear scientists, one of whom had travelled to North Korea for a ?vacation? and another who had ties to a secretive Islamic charity operating in Afghanistan. A month before his abduction, Pearl had co-written an article in the Journal alleging that Dr. Bashiruddin Mahmoud, one of the fathers of the Pakistani bomb, had discussed nuclear weapons with Osama bin Laden. Pearl didn...
...that reason, carrying extraneous items—such as more than two pairs of underwear for five days—may be hazardous to your back. Out there, you’re independent. Everything you could ever need to survive is within arms reach as you trek down the trail. I feel independent and sturdy because I am supporting what I need to live with my two feet and the strength of my body...
...passes of the new Vietnam. Step off them for a short while and you might encounter the old, glimpsing rain clouds rolling over banana plantations, with miles of jungle all around. And you can always run into recent history-outside Khe Sanh, we find a remnant of the old trail, untouched for decades and made up of 10 kilometers of jagged rock that's hell to drive, even on a Minsk. But it's the new road that points the way to some unknown horizon...
...last day of our weeklong trip, we travel this new road, going over mountains to A Luoi-where the main branch of the old trail veers off into Laos-and then take Road 49, a tortuously winding piece of the old trail, east to Hué. As we descend, I hear a mighty roar. It's Mr. Truong. He's finally figured out the gears on the Minsk and he's grinning as he passes us all. He is still wearing the helmet. But in my mind's eye, I picture his combover flying triumphantly in the wind, coasting down...