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

Sitting there Ezekiel Templar considered one last try in reasoning with the Hezbollah leader, one last attempt to change the man’s mind in some way or manner. But he knew that he would be wasting his breath. People like Qassam never second guessed themselves or questioned their perceived righteousness, especially on something they had labored so hard and so long for. Qassam was a zealot of fanatical proportions, and fanatical zealots can never change their minds or their self-determined reasons for whatever wrong they do to others. Even including mass murder.

The Hezbollah leader seemed to be reading Ezekiel’s mind. “What, Colonel? No last ditch plea for the sake of humanity or for the imagined innocent lives that will be lost? No stirring appeal to my intelligence or inner conscience, nor an attempt to influence through some corrupted interpretation of my religion? You do surprise me.”

Ezekiel looked up at the terrorist leader with a resigned gaze. “Would it do any good?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Qassam chuckled drily in a way that contained no mirth. “But I expected you to try, all the same. Perhaps my reprimand to your left thigh had more effect than I first estimated. Still, I must admit that I am somewhat disappointed.

“Yet be that as it may, I am looking forward to a more leisurely visit with you in the future, under less pressing time restraints. There are events in your past that people of mutual acquaintance would assuredly like to know more about.” Looking over at Max, Qassam continued. “In addition, perhaps Herr Grephardt can help sort out a few of the murkier details.”

Refocusing back on Ezekiel, the Hezbollah leader remarked, “By the way, I almost forgot to tell you how pleased my pilot is with the condition of your aircraft. He is almost beside himself with the opportunity to fly such an enduring example of American technology from fifty years ago.”

Qassam paused for a moment more, and then added in a particularly malicious tone. “It makes one wonder if there will be much of anything concerning the United States of any value, fifty years into the future.”

The terrorist smiled again widely, taking full pleasure in the verbal cajoling of his captive audience. Leering over them in an expansive manner, he turned his attention to Micah Templar. Yahla al-Qassam considered himself a man of patience and of disciplined mind, so he had saved the best for last.

“Officer Templar, you might be interested in knowing that Mustafa will be in charge of your little entourage, and will also serve as your guard for the next few hours. I mention this in the hope that you do not give him any excuse to kill you. Do you understand me?”

Micah scowled up at the Hezbollah leader, mentally struggling to keep his temper and tongue in check. Too much was riding on what he said or did at this juncture, and he couldn’t tip his hand with any unusual inflection in his voice. Nor could he now let that temper get the best of him. The trooper swallowed the hot anger rushing up through him and responded with a monotoned “I understand.”

“Excellent” said Qassam. “It is truly unfortunate your wife chose not to accompany you on your uncle’s planned flight to Midland. After all, we did make arrangements for the taking of four hostages. Her presence among us would have suited my plan even better.” Glancing over to his second-in-command, he added “I know that Mustafa was looking forward to meeting her. But as they say, c’est la guerre.”

Micah bit down harder still on the mixture of shock, fear and evolving rage bubbling up from within. Recognizing that Qassam was deliberately trying to bait him into something foolish helped maintain his quaking self-control, along with the knowledge that he literally possessed the key needed in turning Qassam’s world upside down. That thought helped him focus beyond the interfering mental confusion of how Qassam knew so much about his family, and the appalling realization the terrorist commander had not only expected Abby to be here, but had planned for it.

Bringing forth every last vestige of calmness that he could muster inside of himself, the highway patrolman looked evenly at the Hezbollah leader. Then Micah quietly replied, “Things have a way of working out, Qassam. One way or the other.”

Qassam paused for the merest of moments, glancing at Micah a bit quizzically. The highway patrolman’s ability to contain himself and his response were not what the terrorist leader had been expecting. Of the three men before him, every experience in Qassam’s life guided him to hold this rural police officer in total disdain. The Hezbollah leader came from a culture where there was very little rule of any law not trumped by the rule of certain ruthless men. Law enforcement officials were corrupt, cruel and bullies of dull intellect who were either manipulated, paid off or done away with.

But Micah Templar posed an enigma to him, a peace officer who was respected and admired in the community that he served for his sense of fairness, integrity and honor in all things. He was also not a simpleton by any means, and possessed a reputation for competence and professionalism that did not reflect in those from Qassam’s part of the world.

Shaking himself from this slightest hiatus for contemplation, the terrorist leader proceeded on. “As with the other group my team will rest for the next few hours by your aircraft, so this is the last chance I have to speak with you prior to take off. I see no reason to attempt our flight in darkness, or to deal with the inherent difficulties of navigating in it. San Antonio will still be there in the morning, and our plan calls for a