Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1) by Dana Arama (e reader for manga .txt) 📗

Murat Lenika,

November 15, 2015

The whole event started out one way and ended completely differently. First, Yassin jumped up towards his son where he lay on the floor, picked him up in his arms, sat on the floor with his back to the wall and cradled the child in his arms. And, with his son close to his heart, he rocked back and forth monotonously and whispered sentences in a language which I didn’t recognize, but it sounded like Arabic chanting.

“I am going to get a doctor to come,” I said to him. Yassin didn’t change his position but nodded his head. I picked up the receiver and dialed the reception. A male voice answered me politely. “We have an emergency,” I said, “And we need a doctor urgently!”

The polite voice answered politely, “I have put in a request. Please wait patiently, the doctor will arrive in the next fifteen to thirty minutes.”

“It could take fifteen to thirty minutes until the doctor comes,” I said out loud.

The one with the soft voice, whom I had learned was Karrol Assad, grabbed the phone out of my hands and yelled a chain of curses to the clerk, who tried to shorten the waiting period.

“That’s how you do it with these infidels!” Karrol Assad told me after he hung up the call.

Ten minutes passed and there was an eerie silence in the room and just the frightening raspy sounds of the child battling to breathe. Suddenly the child woke up and started coughing.

“Give him some water,” Yassin said and both Karrol and I jumped up to go and get a glass. Karrol beat me to it.

“Maybe I should go and check up on your wife,” I suggested cautiously and walked up to the closed door of the bedroom.

“Yes. Check if she is alive.” All of Yassin’s warmth and empathy towards his son disappeared when speaking about his wife.

I opened the large door slowly and carefully. The room was dark, and I called out: “Mrs. Graham?” I heard groans from the bed. I left the door open and walked towards the huge bed. The green wife now looked red. I leaned over her and touched her forehead; it was burning up.

“Would you like some water?” I whispered to her. She opened her blue eyes ever so slightly and answered me with a sneeze, which turned into a rasping heavy cough.

I repeated my question and she answered weakly, “Yes.” I looked around and I managed to make out a table holding two bottles of mineral water and two glasses. I poured some water into one of them and tried to give her the water. She took two sips and fell back into the cushion behind her.

I went back to the main room and said, “I think she has a fever too.”

Laura Ashton,

November 15, 2015

My boss said, “I know it is not a rational decision, but it came directly from the Oval Office. Someone there decided to play the cowboy. So, if you recognize Yassin, shoot him.”

“I can’t do that. That is in complete contradiction with the understanding I have with the Israelis.” I took a deep breath and reminded him, “If the kidnapped boy is not in the room, there will be no way of finding him.”

“If we have to pay the price of one boy’s body, then so be it. We will be preventing the deaths of many others. There are others in the room. Maybe one of them will be able to direct us to the kidnapped boy. We can’t rely on solving all the problems with just one person.”

“Despite the fact that this one person put this whole intricate operation together?”

“The decision to shoot him and then to publicize the news. When his men hear the news, they will realize that there is no reason to go ahead with their scheme and no-one to claim it. If they realize we managed to take down the head of their organization, we will get to them as well.”

“And what if it causes them to go ahead with all this madness anyhow?”

“According to our profilers, this operation has come about because of one man and his personality. In cases like these, when the leader is neutralized, the cult disperses.”

“This is not a cult; it is a terrorist organization!”

“It has the characteristics of a cult. According to the profilers.”

“So, the profilers are wrong.” I was frustrated. “Did you emphasize to the decision makers in the Oval Office that maybe Yassin has already given the green light and that he is the only one who can stop this nightmare?”

“Their estimation is that he will never give the signal to stop the attack. So, if he won’t cooperate alive, we will use his body as a message to warn them.”

The conversation with my boss ended and a new conversation, one we had been anticipating, started. The voice recognition recognized Murat Lenika. I listened to the conversation and the agent who took the call said a doctor would be coming shortly. We knew the situation in the room couldn’t be good. The bugs we had planted in the adjacent rooms were our contact with what was going on in the room and were limited to specific areas only.

The conversation continued with another male voice, and the agent answered him courteously, too. In the beginning he gave the same answer and then gave in and answered, “The doctor will be there in less than ten minutes.” Then I heard a flood of curses in English with an Arabic accent. The agent once again promised, still very courteous, that he would do his best to get the doctor to come earlier. There was another flow of curses and then the call was disconnected.

“We will send the medical team up in another five minutes,” I notified the team and added with determination, “If you identify Yassin, shoot him.”

“Shoot to wound?”

I looked him in the eyes and answered with a decisiveness I didn’t really feel, “Shoot to