Vengeance by Newt Gingrich

Author:Newt Gingrich
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Center Street
Published: 2017-10-10T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Owiti’s private compound

Near the Somalia/Kenya border

Still haunted by her recurring nightmare about her wedding, Brooke Grant was only half asleep when she heard the door to the guest room opening. She bolted up into a sitting position and instinctively reached to her right, where she normally kept her Beretta M9 pistol on a nightstand before realizing it wasn’t there.

“Get up!” Ammon Mostafa ordered. “Assemble your things.”

She glanced at her watch. It had been four hours since she and Khalid had met with Owiti in the main room.

“Hurry,” he said, turning his back to her so she could dress. Khalid was waiting in the hallway with his bags.

“No speaking,” Mostafa ordered. He led them down several unguarded hallways and out a side door where a Land Rover was waiting with its engine running.

“You get in the front seat,” he said to Khalid as he hurried around the vehicle to the driver’s side. Because of its tinted windows, Brooke couldn’t see inside the vehicle, but when she opened the rear door, she discovered their two aircraft pilots and the flight attendant already seated on the second and third seats. They rode in complete silence along the driveway to the sentries on duty, who saw Mostafa driving and immediately opened the front gate.

“What’s going on?” Brooke asked quietly.

“Quiet,” Mostafa said. “If you value your life.”

When they reached the airfield, Mostafa stepped from behind the wheel and drew his sidearm, a chrome-plated Desert Eagle .50-caliber handgun.

“Everyone out of the vehicle. Now!” he commanded. “Bring your belongings and form a line facing the aircraft.” He followed behind them.

“I’m not going to get shot without fighting,” Brooke whispered to Khalid as they exited the Land Rover.

“Shut up and do what you’re told.”

She didn’t know why, but he seemed unusually calm for being in such a tense situation.

The two sentries guarding the Chinese-made Y-12 aircraft ran forward to assist Mostafa, who was now positioned behind Brooke, Khalid, and the three-member flight crew. As ordered, they were facing the airplane.

As the two sentries moved into position behind the prisoners, Mostafa took a step back and called out, “Raise your hands above your heads and lock your fingers together.”

Again, Brooke whispered, “We should have taken him before we got here. Now there are three of them. I’m not going to be—”

“Don’t do anything, you fool,” the flight attendant standing next to her snapped. “Play along.”

Play along? Brooke thought.

By this point, the security guards were unslinging their AK-47s. They were now positioned in between Mostafa and the five prisoners.

The next sounds were two of the loudest gunshots that Brooke had ever heard. She turned her head and saw Mostafa standing over his two sentries. He’d shot both in the back of their heads.

“Go now!” he ordered.

All of them bolted for the aircraft, but as the pilots were starting its engine and Khalid and Brooke were buckling their seat belts, Brooke looked outside and saw the flight attendant handing Mostafa a large duffel bag. She then hurried back into the plane.

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