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

brother stared at me from the reflection. Would Jonathan be here? The chances were very slim and still, it was worth the risk that I was entering into a trap. I continued driving at about 15 miles per hour, then slowed down even more as I approached the house. I opened the window, searching for signs of life. A sudden dust cloud, a noise from another engine, the sounds of horses galloping or whinnying in the silence around me, or maybe even the cocking of a gun, a whistle of a bullet or the crackling noise of a two-way radio, but all was quiet. Had I arrived at the right place?

I parked the car on the left-hand side, in a stretch of dirt between the house and the huge barn and for a moment I had a good angle. I could see them both. One of the curtains in the house was carefully pulled aside. I opened the car door and stretched my legs on the hardened ground. A short guy walked out of the house. He looked like a mass of muscles, with an automatic rifle in his hand.

“Hands up!” he shouted at me. He was very muscular, and he had a swastika tattooed on his chest. The rest of the tattoos on his arms told me that standing before was a hostile Nazi. I had not expected that. Even though cooperation between Aryan factions and anti-Israeli terror groups was not impossible, it was not very common. After all, even the Aryans were heretics and therefore needed to be annihilated, and, on the other hand, the Muslims in America were foreigners and were worthy of being eliminated as well.

I raised my hands in response but stayed behind the opened car door, which gave me relative cover. “I want to see my son!” I declared.

I heard the laughter of a man coming from within the house and then a tattooed man emerged. His bald head was covered with a baseball cap, which gave him the appearance of a good boy, from the neckline up. Below, his body was fully tattooed, leaving no bare skin.

“Welcome Professor Niava.” He beckoned me to enter the house. “Your son is not here, but you are.”

“I have come to set my son free. You promised me you would set him free then.” I remained in my place.

“So… the thing is that right now your son is in good hands, elsewhere. A lot more interesting there, where all the action will be. There will be no action here.” He adjusted his cap on his head and continued, “He is in the hands of another faction planning a large operation. We have received orders to kill you as soon as you arrive, but here, as you can see, we are still chatting. Do you want to know why?”

“Why?” I asked, as expected of me.

“Because we are a different faction with other motives.”

“Where is the faction who is holding my son?” I used his terminology. There was something not quite clear here. I realized that he had no idea who he was dealing with. Yassin Graham was not ‘another faction’ of an Aryan anti-Semitic organization. He was fanatic Muslim whose main purpose was to kill as many heretics as possible, those who didn’t practice Islam.

“I will be happy to tell you as soon as we get some information out of you,” he answered mysteriously, vaguely, as expected from someone who doesn’t know what he is talking about. “Or maybe with your connections, you will give me the information I need, or because of your importance to Israel they will give us information to release you.”

“What information do you want to know?” I wondered what their motive was, but it definitely wasn’t the time to persist with my questions.

“Did the Israeli Mossad participate in an invasion of a Mexican civilian by the name of Raphael Igiaris, also known as El Desconocido?”

I wondered if this was a game they were playing with me. Did they know that I was the ‘Mossad who visited there’? I felt my hair stand on edge, as it always did when I was in danger. I asked myself if they’d been in the jungle, and if they’d seen me down there. I replied quickly, “I don’t know. How could I know? I am just an Israeli citizen. The Mossad doesn’t tell me what they do…”

“If you don’t help us get this information, you will die here and now because you are not helping us at all,” said the tattooed guy in a disappointed tone.

“What information do you need?” I asked quickly. “And what are your motives?” I diverted the conversation to another angle.

They looked at one another and smiled. “Aside from wanting to get rid of all the foreigners and get good drugs cheaply, we have long term motives,” one of them said, walking up to me. The second guy said, “Motives shared by Mr. Graham, Raphael Igiaris and with us.”

“Long term?” I repeated his words, hoping to get him to explain a bit more.

“Reorganizing the future of America!” answered the short one with the rifle, with pride.

“And the other faction, the one holding my son, do they have other motives? Short term?”

“The other faction belonging to Mr. Graham, is busy at the moment in an interesting venture you will hear about in the next couple of days,” answered the bald one, who was the taller one of the two. His answer was even more vague than before, and from it I understood two things: That he wanted to appear more involved in the plans than he really was and that he was unaware that Mr. Graham was actually Yassin Graham and that he was a devout Muslim.

Instead of answering, the shorter one holding the rifle signaled me to start walking towards the house, but the taller one stopped us. “Hey, what is that suitcase in the car?”

“That is the suitcase that controls the Israeli satellite.” I turned to him and explained simply, “That is