SEALS Book 11 Attack! by Kevin D. Randle

Author:Kevin D. Randle
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Speaking Volumes
Published: 2015-09-22T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Another day faded and there seemed to be no end in sight. The terrorists came and went, negotiating with the officials who had flown into the airport. Military men circulated through the aircraft, looking at the hostages almost as if they were animals in a zoo. They smiled at the women but they didn’t speak. After a few minutes, another group would come through.

The sanitary facilities filled, overflowed and began to stink. The corpses of the men killed in the firefight the first day were rotting, the heat accelerating the decaying process. Flies filled the interior of the plane, their buzzing an annoying undercurrent to the rest of the misery.

Calhern had been allowed to stand in the aisle for five minutes and had been allowed into the restroom. The terrorists refused to let the women close the door and Calhern wasn’t sure she could have stood being confined in the stinking, tiny room without the little circulation of air provided by the open door anyway.

At dusk, food was brought to the passengers, but again it wasn’t very good. Stale bread, and meat that smelled as if it had lain in the sun. Fruits were provided, but Calhern stayed away from them. The stench rolling out of the rear of the aircraft was bad enough. The last thing they needed was for the passengers to get diarrhea.

There was plenty of water. The passengers were allowed to drink as much as they wanted. They could wash in it, bathing their faces and necks and trickling some on their chests. The relief was momentary, but in a world where there were no longer the smallest of pleasures, a little water to waste was a luxury of priceless quality.

The heat and misery that hounded them made the smallest task seem Herculean. Talking was no longer discouraged by the terrorists. They didn’t have to. The passengers didn’t have the energy or the desire to talk. They sat crammed into the rear of the jet, the heat sapping their strength, their energy, and waited for others to decide their fate by pushing the button to blow up the aircraft.

When Calhern believed that things could get no worse, when she believed that she would not live long if something was not done soon, and when despair hit the lowest level because she didn’t know when the ordeal would end, it got worse. The chief terrorist pushed his way through the curtain that separated them from the front of the aircraft. He was flanked by two of his fellows, both dressed in khaki, their faces hidden by their kaffiyeh.

The leader stopped in the center of the aisle, an assault rifle held at port arms across his chest. He stared at the people, waiting for them to look up at him.

When he had their attention, he announced, “There has been a change in the negotiations. The governments of the world have decided to become difficult. They had decided that you people here, the innocent pawns in this continuing drama, are to be forfeit.

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