I was looking for…for a bathroom. It’s an emergency,” she said in Arabic.
“A bathroom? What does this look like? How did you get in here?” the man growled, suspicion dripping from every word.
Maya knew he wasn’t buying it but had no choice but to bluster through. “I tried the door there. I thought maybe the mosque might have a service restroom. I’m sorry. I meant no harm.” She began walking away from where she’d been eavesdropping, but when she caught a glimpse of the man’s face, she could see he didn’t believe her.
“Not so fast,” he barked, reaching into his jacket pocket.
“I said I’m sorry,” she protested, her hand sweating on her pistol.
The man withdrew a snub-nosed revolver, its stainless steel length glinting in the moonlight. “Oh, you’ll be sorry, all right.”
The explosion of the Jericho 9mm pistol firing from inside her robe echoed off the walls. Her first shot caught the man in the chest. The second hit him in the throat, but he was still standing. She freed the gun from her vestment and fired a third time, taking off half his face, and he crumpled to the ground as the door she’d been listening at burst open. She darted to the building nearest the courtyard entrance as men piled out, guns in hand. Her slim advantage was the light inside the room, so their eyes would take a few moments to adjust before they’d be able to make anything out. She pulled at the door in front of her, and it opened. The creak of its hinges drew immediate gunfire, and chunks of the heavy wooden slab splintered off as a dozen bullets pummeled it and the surrounding stone wall, sending rock chips flying.
Maya bolted the door and found herself in a windowless storage room with musty air tainted with an odor of petroleum. She felt along the wall and almost tripped over the distinctive form of a generator. Beside it rested two jerry cans of gasoline, which she confirmed by opening one. More bullets pounded into the door, which then shuddered on its iron hinges as someone threw their weight against it. Maya knew it wouldn’t hold long, and she was vastly outgunned.
She felt for her cell and sent the text message to Samuel, hoping that he would be able to make good on his promise to send help. She barely made out the dark shape of a door at the far end of the room, with a faint light shining through a chink in its surface.
Of course – there would be a way to access the equipment area from inside the mosque in the event of a blackout .
Maya eyed the gas can as the courtyard door shuddered again. This time the wood next to the iron bolt split with a crack. She kicked the container over so that fuel spilled onto the stone floor and then ran to the mosque door and fumbled with the lever.
Locked.
The courtyard door shattered. She pivoted and shot four times into the opening as it swung inward, then turned her gun on the mosque deadbolt and fired at the wood around it. Desperate, she slammed her shoulder into the planks as more gunfire erupted from the courtyard. The lock gave just as a man’s frame blocked the courtyard doorway and the distinctive shape of a rifle swept the pitch-black room. She pirouetted and fired at the gunman and then at the generator.
Her third round caused a spark from its metal chassis. The gasoline on the floor ignited with a whump that drove her backward into the mosque, eyebrows singed. The second jerry can of gasoline exploded, sending a fireball through both doors, and she rolled onto her stomach and crawled away, wincing at a burn of pain where a ricochet had grazed her biceps.
The main entry rattled as someone outside pulled at it. She forced herself to her feet, blinking dust out of her eyes as she stumbled deeper into the darkened mosque. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, but she ignored it, choosing instead to slap home a fresh magazine in her pistol while she had the chance. Voices cried out from the exterior grounds as gunmen tried to find a way into the
“A bathroom? What does this look like? How did you get in here?” the man growled, suspicion dripping from every word.
Maya knew he wasn’t buying it but had no choice but to bluster through. “I tried the door there. I thought maybe the mosque might have a service restroom. I’m sorry. I meant no harm.” She began walking away from where she’d been eavesdropping, but when she caught a glimpse of the man’s face, she could see he didn’t believe her.
“Not so fast,” he barked, reaching into his jacket pocket.
“I said I’m sorry,” she protested, her hand sweating on her pistol.
The man withdrew a snub-nosed revolver, its stainless steel length glinting in the moonlight. “Oh, you’ll be sorry, all right.”
The explosion of the Jericho 9mm pistol firing from inside her robe echoed off the walls. Her first shot caught the man in the chest. The second hit him in the throat, but he was still standing. She freed the gun from her vestment and fired a third time, taking off half his face, and he crumpled to the ground as the door she’d been listening at burst open. She darted to the building nearest the courtyard entrance as men piled out, guns in hand. Her slim advantage was the light inside the room, so their eyes would take a few moments to adjust before they’d be able to make anything out. She pulled at the door in front of her, and it opened. The creak of its hinges drew immediate gunfire, and chunks of the heavy wooden slab splintered off as a dozen bullets pummeled it and the surrounding stone wall, sending rock chips flying.
Maya bolted the door and found herself in a windowless storage room with musty air tainted with an odor of petroleum. She felt along the wall and almost tripped over the distinctive form of a generator. Beside it rested two jerry cans of gasoline, which she confirmed by opening one. More bullets pounded into the door, which then shuddered on its iron hinges as someone threw their weight against it. Maya knew it wouldn’t hold long, and she was vastly outgunned.
She felt for her cell and sent the text message to Samuel, hoping that he would be able to make good on his promise to send help. She barely made out the dark shape of a door at the far end of the room, with a faint light shining through a chink in its surface.
Of course – there would be a way to access the equipment area from inside the mosque in the event of a blackout .
Maya eyed the gas can as the courtyard door shuddered again. This time the wood next to the iron bolt split with a crack. She kicked the container over so that fuel spilled onto the stone floor and then ran to the mosque door and fumbled with the lever.
Locked.
The courtyard door shattered. She pivoted and shot four times into the opening as it swung inward, then turned her gun on the mosque deadbolt and fired at the wood around it. Desperate, she slammed her shoulder into the planks as more gunfire erupted from the courtyard. The lock gave just as a man’s frame blocked the courtyard doorway and the distinctive shape of a rifle swept the pitch-black room. She pirouetted and fired at the gunman and then at the generator.
Her third round caused a spark from its metal chassis. The gasoline on the floor ignited with a whump that drove her backward into the mosque, eyebrows singed. The second jerry can of gasoline exploded, sending a fireball through both doors, and she rolled onto her stomach and crawled away, wincing at a burn of pain where a ricochet had grazed her biceps.
The main entry rattled as someone outside pulled at it. She forced herself to her feet, blinking dust out of her eyes as she stumbled deeper into the darkened mosque. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, but she ignored it, choosing instead to slap home a fresh magazine in her pistol while she had the chance. Voices cried out from the exterior grounds as gunmen tried to find a way into the
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