Is this a good prologue for a thriller novel?

This is the prologue of my new thriller project - 'ZERO HOUR'

July 20, 1996
Ain Sokhna Hilton Resort, Suez, Egypt

He decided to come in the evening.
Hassan Abbas pulled his Mercedes SL-600 into a tight turn, before accelerating into the courtyard of the resort, the suspension expertly absorbing the cobblestones. He glided to a halt just beside the reception block, where he switched off the ignition, snatched up his jacket, and climbed out of the low convertible sports-car.
Walking round to the back, he used the remote locking system to electronically open the boot. The hydraulic arms lifted the carbon-fibre shell, allowing Abbas to pull out his leather attaché briefcase.
The resort just happened to be one of his favourites in Egypt, and the location â just off the Suez canal â could be stunning. He wondered who had recommended the hotel to the man he was here to visit â a man who Abbas knew was a complete sand Arab.
Walking briskly, he made his way across the courtyard, heading for the area where the swimming pool and bar were situated. The heels of his shoes snapped gently on the cobble-stones, giving a steady beat for Abbas to walk against. Walking around the entrance gate, he walked down the brightly illuminated path that led around the swimming and onto the bar that was atop and island in the middle of the water.
He wiped his forehead from the heat â twenty-five degrees Celsius. Even for an Egyptian night, that was very warm. Even he â a man who had lived in Egypt nearly all his life, didnât like this type of heat. Surprisingly, he preferred the British climate.
He walked along the bridge over the pool, and glanced around as he did so, looking for the person he had arranged to meet tonight. Sitting at one of the straw tables, was him.
The man definitely look like an Arab. More of a tradi-tional Englishman than a traditional Saudi. The immaculate grey suit was a direct contrast to Abbasâs relaxed polo-shirt and cream trousers. The shoes the Arab was wearing too, where obviously English leather.
Abbas stopped for a moment and looked around at the location where he was sitting, checking whether there were any other people in the proximity. After assuring himself that no-one would be listening on their conversation, he walked towards the man sitting at the table.
âAh, Hassan.â The man said warmly, standing up from his comfortable seat. He outstretched his hand, and Abbas shook it gratefully.
âSadoun Khamil, old friend, itâs good to see you.â Abbas replied in greeting, as both of them sat down at the small table.
Abbas placed his briefcase onto the ground, leaning it against one of the table legs. He glanced at the table itself. There was all the usual things that one would expect to find on a bar table, joined by an exotic looking cocktail.
âHassan, may I offer you a drink?â Khamil asked, his tanned face stretching into a grin.
âGratefully.â Abbas replied, wiping his forehead again. âPreferably something ice cold.â
Khamil clicked his fingers, and instantly a waiter strolled over to them.
âMojito?â Khamil cocked his head towards Abbas. âWhite rum, sugar, sparkling water, and spearmint. Original Cuban, and all ice cold.â Khamil gestured towards his own cocktail.
âYeah, that will be good.â
The waiter nodded, bowed, and walked away towards the bar, where three other men were sitting.
âAnyway, Hassan, we need to talk.â
âIndeed.â Abbas agreed, leaning down to reach for his briefcase. He picked it up, pushed himself away from the table, and clicked it open. Inside was a Apple laptop computer, a set of pens, and two identical files, each one marked with a simple phrase in Arabic.
Abbas took them both out, placing one on his side, and handing the other to Khamil, before snapping the briefcase shut, and placing it back on the ground.
Khamil had opened the file, and was flicking through the pages. âIâm guessing this is the research you told me about two nights ago?â
âYes.â Abbas nodded, opening his own file.
Khamil nodded too. âIâll tell you now, Iâm not happy about it. Even now, before we have made any contact with them, Iâm not comfortable about it.â He paused for a moment. âIt just seems so, unusual.â
Abbas sat back, taking in what he had just heard. âI too, am unhappy at the implications of working so closely with them, Sadoun, but we must face the facts. We cannot develop this technology for ourselves, at least not within the foreseeable future, and if even if we buy what we need we are still faced with the very difficult and important problem of delivery. My analysis in this report suggests that co-operation is the only option which offers us even a slight chance of success.â
Abbas stopped and waited. The two men were best friends, but Abbas worked for Khamil, and just there he had staked not only his career, but also his life on that single mo-ment. Despite his western appearance, Khamil was a ruthless, barbarian person, and he had extreme powe

Answer
As one thriller writer to another. It's my opinion but I think you overdo the product placement, the adjectives and the adverbs. This is basically good stuff but over-embellished. Setting a scene is necessary but should be done with an economy of words. A good edit's in order.
Talking of words heels usually clip or tap but not snap.
I guess this is a first draft so you won't have picked up the obvious mistake in the passage about the arab who looked like an arab but was dressed like an Englishman.
I find it hard to believe that two Muslims would drink alcohol together. I know they serve it in hotels in Egypt but mainly for the tourists.
I'm not worried about it being a prologue if, as you hint, it takes place some years before the actual happenings in the novel.
I can see where this is going. I can't see them doing a deal on WMDs with the Israelis so it will have to be either the Russian Mafia, the North Koreans or the Iranians. It would be interesting to find out.

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