The Caliphate by André Gallo (books to read for 13 year olds .TXT) 📕

You can get out of this with little effort, and it will be more comfortable.”

     He substituted a short electric cord for the handcuffs.

     “I better go.”

     “There will never be a perfect time to break out of here,” Steve said, “and we can’t wait for the Israelis to come. I’d rather take my chances shooting our way out than to get shot by Israeli commandos or by al Khalil in a final act of revenge. The sooner, the better. Get us weapons Izem. Wait,” he added, catching Izem before left.

     He looked at Kella.

     “Kella wants you to rally your tribesmen. Tell him, Kella.”

     She spoke quickly. “Yes, tell them who I am, my ancestry, and that I expect them to follow our customs. Tell them that to do otherwise will sully their family names. If they won’t listen to you, bring them here to me.”

Steve had never heard Kella exercise her tribal leadership before. In fact, she had always downplayed it. But he saw by the look on Izem’s face she had struck a chord.

     “I will come back as soon as I can,” Izem said. “Be ready.”

     Steve saw Abdul peer in suspiciously when Izem went out the door.

***

Back in Building 12, a sergeant found Lieutenant Colonel Avidan in his office putting his combat gear on, handling the phone and reviewing maps.

     “Sir, our helicopters were destroyed in the UAV attack. I’m trying to obtain replacement choppers but there’s a lot of confusion out there. No one wants to make a decision, to sign off on an authorization.”

     Avidan looked up from the maps and shouted, “How is that possible? Where the hell was our antiaircraft defense? Our coastal radars? Was everyone sleeping? Were they on leave? Very well, get me Acting Commandant Shomron’s office.”

     “His office was destroyed. I can’t reach him.”

     Leaning forward with one hand on a map and the other pulling a Sig-Sauer pistol from a bag on the floor near his desk, his voice was a bit lower.

     “Call the crisis center, then. And get me the squad leaders in here right away.”

     Avidan laid out other weapons on his desk on top of the maps.

     “Crisis center? Yes, sir.”

     It took Avidan another thirty minutes to obtain authorization to use replacement aircraft. His five squads of eight-to-nine men quickly took their places on the helicopters. Avidan rode to battle with the first squad. As he looked down at the damage, he felt this was his moment. History would remember his name. His men were divided into groups with one of three primary skills: entry, rappelling and climbing, and snipers. They were equipped with older but extremely reliable M4A1 assault rifles with an M203 grenade launcher attached. Their side arms were Sig-Sauer .40 caliber pistols, the long-awaited replacement for the 9-millimeter model. The snipers used the Israeli-made Galil rifle, from the same manufacturers that had created the Uzi.

     After sending a reconnaissance UAV over the building to determine the strength and disposition of his enemy, Avidan took his three helicopters at treetop level toward the objective. Flying at close to two-hundred miles an hour, they were quickly on the target. As soon as they landed on a back parking lot, the Shaldag team found firing positions, which they had chosen from the real time images provided by their reconnaissance UAV. Avidan got on his GroupTalk cell phone and said, “This is Gideon One. We just landed. Tell me how the TIBAM team is coming along. I need them here as soon as possible with their laptops and CD blueprints of this building, to include 3D if they have them.”

    Avidan could see several men in defensive positions around the building. They moved inside when the helicopters landed. He also noticed several armed men making their way toward the main building from the guard gate in order to avoid being cut off. He sent a squad after them.

     At first, the Salafists skirted the fence around the property, until they realized the Israeli helicopters covered the back of the complex. Then, using what sparse cover was available, they headed directly for the building. They almost made it. As they were moving toward the entrance point used by the first assault team, Israeli snipers hit two of them. The other two ran for their lives toward their point of access. Neither made it.

***

Down in the underground center, al Khalil, alerted to the arrival of the Israeli troops, grabbed a phone and dialed the American Embassy’s number. When the receptionist answered, he said, “Give me the ambassador quickly. This is urgent.”

     “Who is calling please?” said the poised and friendly female voice.

     “Tell the ambassador that I have news of his daughter. This is an urgent call. I repeat, this call is urgent—for her and for him. Now put him on the phone.”

     His call was transferred upstairs to the chancery and to the ambassador’s secretary, who also asked, “Who is calling please? The ambassador is in a meeting. Let me take a message and he’ll get back to you.”

     “I told your other receptionist this call was urgent. It’s about the ambassador’s daughter.”

     The next voice, a male, said, “Hello, this is Ambassador Hastings. Who is this?”

     “I have your daughter, Kella. If you want her back alive, get in touch with your Jew friends and tell them to stop the attack that is now under way against my position. I am in command of what the Jews call the Desert Agricultural Center near Palmachim Air Base. They will know exactly where when you call them.”

     There was a moment of silence. Then Hastings said, “How do I know that you have her, that she is alive? Who are you? What do you want?”

     “That’s too many questions