The Uvalde Raider by Ben English (great books for teens TXT) 📕

so many other boys trying so hard to become young men, he tended to see the world in a starkly black and white manner. More so some men, some very good men, chose to go through their entire lives seeing that same world in mostly the same way. Ezekiel’s own brother, Micah’s father, had been that sort of man…

“Micah?” the softly spoken word on his uncle’s lips brought the younger Templar back from the faraway fog of the past. As it was uttered, all three men looked expectantly in the direction of their Shi’a guard, anxiously awaiting any sort of reaction. The armed terrorist, still standing by the partially opened door, looked their direction with an expression of indifference as well as a bit of boredom. Apparently, he was far more interested in what was happening in the adjoining room and returned his main attention there.

Tio Zeke continued speaking in a voice now just a bit louder and more distinct than needed. “They missed the blade I keep hidden. When I get the chance, I’ll cut myself loose.”

Micah stared at Ezekiel Templar with an incredulous expression, wondering what in the world his uncle was blabbering about. “Watch the guard,” he added, “and get ready, Jake keeps a revolver in a cubby hole above us.”

The younger Templar doubted that Tio Zeke could have kept any knife secreted through that search and there was certainly no loaded revolver handy. At first baffled by his uncle’s words and behavior, it took several moments before the true intent became clear. The older man was not even looking in the direction of his nephew when he spoke, but rather their Hezbollah guard. Ezekiel was testing for the slightest hint of comprehension or associated response from the Lebanese.

The Hezbollah sentry made a half-hearted effort to glance over his shoulder, and then returned to listening to what was being said among his comrades. Zeke watched him carefully, waiting. There was no change in the man’s demeanor. Once satisfied Zeke looked over to his nephew, winked and nodded. In his peripheral vision, Micah noted that Max nodded in return.

Tio Zeke spoke again but now keeping his voice down as much as possible.  “Keep it low and short, no need irking this guy with chatter.”

Max Grephardt nodded again in agreement. Once more, the guard glanced unmindfully their direction and returned to what was occurring in the next room. Ezekiel waited a bit more before saying anything else.

“These fellas are into something big, really big, and they’re using The Raider to get it done,” murmured the elder Templar.

Micah was a bit startled at the announcement. Evidently his uncle could understand Arabic but Micah had no idea of where or how that ability came into being. Ezekiel noted the further puzzlement on his nephew’s face and instinctively sensed why.

“Much like Spanish,” Tio Zeke hissed for emphasis. “Often same words but sounded differently. They pronounce from the throat, not the tongue.” Ezekiel paused again and looked over to their Hezbollah guard, gauging him.

The man did not acknowledge them this time with as much as a fleeting look. What was happening next door was of far greater interest and the Lebanese was observing the process intently. After all, his intimacy with that process had been his primary reason for existence for several months now.

The Hezbollah guard knew that in a few more hours history would take a drastic, irreversible turn. The years of planning, the months of repetitious training, the long journey from his homeland into the heart of the Great Satan, all coming to fruition as it unfolded before his very eyes.

It did not matter to him if his prisoners spoke a few cryptic words to each other. They were securely restrained, their sounds mere murmurs making for no interference to the voices of his fellows. Forcing them to be totally quiet would cause more disruption than just letting them whisper on occasion. His comrades were on a strict schedule, any distractions would eat into their remaining time and prevent him the enjoyment of seeing all their hard work finally come together.

The success of the continuing struggle in their holy jihad, their reputations among their likeminded peers, their enhanced ability to inflict a given amount of death and destruction, all were about to take on a completely new dimension in their perceived lethality. The Hezbollah member smiled grimly, savoring the knowledge of what was about to transpire.

At the same moment Micah was observing the Shi’a Lebanese, looking for those telltale signs of any possible intent. He took note of that unsettling smile and wondered at the why of it. One thing was for certain: it had the aura of evil ambition and wherever it had come from, the implication the expression carried with it was worryingly obvious.

He glanced over to Ezekiel and breathed, “Anything in mind?”

His older kin replied in like manner. “Nothing now other than decipher more of their plan. Use your Mexican and do the same. Comprendes?”

Micah nodded in return and put everything he had as far as concentration into listening. Almost immediately, the highway patrolman began picking out a few phrases that sounded something like a Spanish counterpart. Having been raised on ranches and in cow camps of this region of Texas, one couldn’t help but have some sort of background in the language. The trouble was the border slang usually spoken was not true Spanish nor was it even proper Mexican, making for yet another kink in attempting to draw meaning from the words.

Sitting there, Micah felt the nudge from a nearby foot and leaned forward slightly to hear better. “One more thing,” advised Ezekiel in a low tone. “Qassam is no fool and neither are these men. They’re dangerously keyed up. Let them wind down, we’ll get our chance.”

Ezekiel Templar returned to focusing on the voices from the adjoining area, and it was plain to Micah that