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

Beyond that he would have to maneuver the key while in an awkward position, and that would only be possible if the securing terrorist had left one of the lock holes facing rearward. Otherwise, the highway patrolman would first have to free one of his fellow prisoners and have them work the key for him. That presented even more complications and the need for even more time.

Thinking about it, Micah cautiously felt around on the handcuff securing his left wrist. He moved slowly, gingerly, not wanting to have the cuffs tighten on his wrists in case they were not double locked. He carefully checked the rearward face of the steel enclosure with his fingertips once, then over the same spot again to be certain. His heart sank, the lock hole could not be found and must be facing forward.

Doggedly he set his mind back to the task and switched sides, checking around the perimeter of the other cuff with his left hand. For a moment he was not sure, and Micah lightly probed the area again with his thumb and fingers. Yes, he was certain he could feel it. This lock hole was definitely facing to the rear. His spirit lifted at the vital piece of knowledge, but was quickly tempered by the realization that he would now have to work the small key with his left hand, and not his natural right. Furthermore, there was still the biggest hurdle of all, the dire need for the proper opportunity and amount of time to free himself.

CHAPTER FOUR

It was an hour or so before midnight when the Hezbollah guard stepped into the room and began prodding them with the muzzle of his Kalashnikov. The Shi’a pointed with the business end of the AK in the direction of the adjoining larger room, making for an invitation that could not be ignored. For himself, Micah was more than ready to oblige after hours of trying to find a semi-comfortable spot on the unyieldingly hard concrete floor. He put one knee underneath him, braced and managed to make it to his feet without too much trouble. He stood there for a moment, savoring the relief from the change in position as Max and Tio Zeke struggled to do the same.

Once able to, they made their way through the opened door and into the larger space. Micah stopped and blinked repeatedly before squinting against the harsh artificial glare, his eyes adjusting to the sudden onslaught of bright lighting contained within the room.

The heretofore dominant sounds of activity now faded to the visage of their captors conducting different tasks, all evidently part of some grand scheme of which Micah still had no real idea of. Qassam and his malicious shadow, the one he called Mustafa, peered over an aerial map set upon a large desktop to one side.

Both looked up after a moment, Qassam smiling with his white, even teeth as if genuinely glad to see them. Mustafa gave off no expression of emotion whatsoever, he simply looked at them with his flat reptilian eyes as if he was sizing something up for a future meal. If the Lebanese ever had an ounce of human kindness within him, the emotion had apparently evaporated a long time before.

“Colonel Templar and company, good to see you again” the Hezbollah leader effused. “I hope your lodging quarters have not been too uncomfortable. You have my apologies for the lateness of the hour, but I did want the chance to visit with you further. Now I have the time to do so.”

Ezekiel Templar cast a practiced eye on what was happening around him. There were aerial maps, flight charts, meteorological forecasts, assorted storage containers and color-coded notebooks placed neatly at different points in the room, all illustrating a well-executed attention to detail.

He had already picked up enough from his eavesdropping to realize this was no rag tag bunch of petty criminals. They were a disciplined, well-trained and highly motivated group of men who were working together to accomplish an overridingly important goal. He already had a fair idea of what that goal likely was, but had been silently praying that he was wrong.

“I don’t know about that, Qassam, you look kind of busy. Perhaps we should come back at a better time” responded the elder Templar with a hint of dryness.

Qassam laughed out loud in apparent merriment. “Oh no, you could have not come at a more agreeable one. Most of the work has already been done, at least for my part. It has been said the mark of a successful organization is for each member to know their job and do it well, and without any real supervision. Such motivation and skills make my duties far less stressful and carries the greatest promise in achieving the objective. I handpicked each of these men precisely with that in mind.”

“Evidently so” agreed Ezekiel. He looked beyond the confines of the room and out through the front window that faced the runway area. The Uvalde Raider sat there, the center of attention for the activities going on outside.

The Boeing was lit up by numerous portable lighting fixtures, and Qassam’s men moved with purpose both inside and around her. The bomb bay doors had been cranked open, and they were working on some sort of hoist and pulley device that was being lifted up through the open belly of the aircraft. Off to the side was a group of ten fifty-gallon drums, arranged neatly in two rows. The containers appeared to be made of some sort of heavy plastic and were blue in color.

His worst fears confirmed, the elder Templar took another step forward, focused entirely on the scene outside. “What are you doing to my airplane?” he asked quietly.

“Preparing it for jihad, Colonel. You might say that your airplane is being brought back into active duty” replied the Hezbollah leader.