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

“Our schedule is to leave at sunrise and be on our way. Again, I am telling you this is so you can relate the story to others when the time comes. If all goes well, we shall have other discussions following the completion of our mission. My men have been instructed to treat you well, as long as you do not cause any problems. You will be provided with adequate food and water; among other needs you may have.”

Leaning forward, he addressed Ezekiel Templar in a slightly conspiratorial tone. “That includes medical treatment for you, Colonel. So like you Americans are fond of saying, please don’t screw it up.”

Qassam straightened again, a malignant self-satisfaction oozing from every pore. “My team is waiting outside, there are a few minor items needing review before we rest for our launch. So, I will take my leave now and join them. I would say wish me luck, but I seriously doubt you would wish me much of the right kind. Instead, I will share a verse from the Quran that speaks of what is to come this day. For it is written, ‘And the True Promise draweth nigh; then behold them, staring wide in terror, the eyes of those who disbelieve!’  Allah’u Akhbar!”

The three captives watched as the Hezbollah leader turned and nodded to Mustafa, who had repeated the obligatory “Allah’u Akhbar” when he heard Qassam utter the religious phrase. The two men stood looking at each other for a moment and then embraced. The terrorist leader took a step back and slapped his second-in-command on the left upper arm, smiling broadly. Mustafa came to attention with a facial expression as impassive as stone, his reptilian eyes brittle and soulless. The two men exchanged their verbal farewells in Arabic, and Qassam stepped briskly out the door.

Mustafa observed his leader through the large plate glass window, making his way to the old bomber. After a long minute he turned his attention to the hostages before him. If his eyes had appeared soulless before, they were now gleaming in a burning hatred mixed with utter contempt. When the terrorist stared directly at him, Micah slowly looked down and away. Starting a contest of personal will at present would accomplish nothing, and could possibly ruin any chance of stopping this madness before it was too late.

Since it did not appear they would be placed in the adjoining room again, the three men began to position themselves on the sofa for individual comfort. Micah noted that his uncle did not say a word and neither did Max. This was probably due to them sharing the same suspicions that he harbored about Mustafa, that the terrorist could understand at least a bit of English. That meant they could no longer risk any verbal communication.

The Hezbollah terrorist glared at the three men from across the room for a bit more, then he made his way over to the chair behind the large metal desk and sat down. From time to time, he would stand up again to look out the window, or walk about the room. Whatever he was doing, he continued to keep a close eye on his prisoners and made note of every single physical move made by any of them.

For his part Micah leaned back in the overstuffed sofa while Ezekiel slowly, painfully eased himself into a standing position. As the old man did so Mustafa gave him his full and undivided attention, following the motion with his reptilian eyes smoldering in hate and disgust. To Micah, the terrorist reminded him of an agitated western diamondback, already coiled and prepared to strike.

Tio Zeke must have noted the same response, because he froze where he stood. In cautious fashion, he made eye contact with Mustafa and then looked over to the chair placed beside the sofa. He let the terrorist follow his line of sight to the piece of furniture, and then cautiously began to sidestep toward it in a hobbling, uneven fashion. Mustafa seemed to relax, but still followed Ezekiel with cold, calculating eyes. The old colonel made it over to the chair and sat down, stretching his aching leg in front of him.

Micah shifted to one side of the sofa for the extra room, while Max did the same against the other. When Mustafa took another long look out the window, the younger Templar studied his uncle to better gauge his condition. In return, Ezekiel locked eyes with him in pointed fashion. The older Templar nodded his head ever so lightly and began shutting his eyelids in a deliberate manner. The message was clear, for now at least act as if you were resting. Do not give away any signs of animation or possible thoughts of resistance.

Out of the corner of his eye the highway patrolman noted that Max had evidently received the same message, and was already finding a more comfortable position. Admiring again how the two other men communicated so well Micah did the same, but not before settling where he could keep Mustafa in full view through barely opened eyelids. Allowing his head to roll back against the top of the sofa made it that much easier.

Micah reclined there, stretched out with his handcuffed wrists tucked in the open space between his lower back and the sofa itself. He turned his thoughts to what Qassam had said, trying to pick out something that might prove useful or important. The terrorist leader was making a real effort in keeping them informed as to what was occurring, as well as why. Obviously, how his reasoning and actions would be remembered by history were very important to the cell commander.

And exactly what would be remembered? What would the history books say if Qassam’s nightmarish plot was allowed to blossom in full fruition? Micah was still trying to get his mind around the staggering devastation that