Read Online JET - Ops Files by Russell Blake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Russell Blake
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aircraft’s nose flickered to life and played over the exterior of the mosque before moving to the courtyard side, where it sounded like a pitched gun battle was still underway. Maya groped on the ground for her pistol and found it nearby. More shooting split the darkness. A man screamed in agony and went down at the rear of the mosque. Disoriented, she held a hand to her head and probed the back of her skull under the hijab. She winced as she felt a swollen bump, and her fingers came away slick with blood from where a rifle stock had slammed into her.
The chopper’s big .50 caliber machine gun belched its deadly payload into the courtyard. More grenades exploded, and the interior of the mosque blinked orange as a firefight played out inside. The helicopter roared lower, firing as it descended, and in another minute the battle was over. Silence settled over the area.
Across the street handfuls of locals emptied from the buildings to watch the show, their natural fear of a battle overruled by the desire to see what had happened. IDF soldiers quickly established a perimeter around the mosque, and Maya watched as three of them approached her, two with rifles at port arms, the man in the middle…Kevod.
When they reached her, he looked down like she was something he’d scraped off his shoe. His tight smile of contempt was visible even in the dim light, and her stomach sank.
“So. Here you are, out of uniform, off base illegally, involved in an armed assault in hostile territory, creating an international incident that will be in all the Arab newspapers for the next month. I can see the headlines already: Israelis attack mosque in West Bank; brave Palestinians defend their sacred ground . Tell me how this could get any worse?”
“I…I sent a…a message to…one of the men.”
“A message? That’s nice. What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s…the men who shot…Sarah…a bomb…”
Kevod looked around uncomprehendingly. “I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re going on about, but we’re here in response to shooting and explosions, not some phantom message. Corporal, I want her shackled and held in custody, am I clear?”
The man on Kevod’s right looked uncomfortable, but nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“You…you’ve got it…all wrong,” Maya tried again, but her voice sounded odd to her ear, as if coming from the bottom of a deep well.
“Sure I do. Save it for your trial. You’ve gone way over the line this time. There’s no excuse. None.”
“But…” Maya drew a deep breath, steeling herself for a last attempt to explain her presence, but the sky began spinning, the stars and moon pinwheeling overhead, and then the world closed in.
~ ~ ~
Maya’s nose twitched. The air smelled like chemicals – astringent, a cleaning product or an antiseptic. She cracked an eye open and was treated to sun streaming through a row of white, partially open vertical blinds. The room she was in was painted off-white, and it took her a few seconds to register the IV line in her arm and the muted beeping of a monitor behind her. She was lying in a bed, presumably in a hospital, obviously alive.
She tried to sit up, but her head protested with a sharp spike of pain. When she reached up to touch it, she was stopped by the bite of a steel handcuff secured to one of the bed rails. Maya tried to recall what had happened, but her last memory was of Kevod standing over her after the gun battle.
A military nurse entered and wordlessly examined her vital signs and then changed the dressing on her head wound. Maya’s brow scrunched, and she sucked in her breath as the woman’s fingers probed the tender area, and then a warm relaxation flooded her when the nurse injected pain reliever into the IV line.
The stern-faced woman left, and moments later a tall man with a lieutenant’s insignia on his uniform entered carrying a briefcase. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat, regarding her with a neutral
The chopper’s big .50 caliber machine gun belched its deadly payload into the courtyard. More grenades exploded, and the interior of the mosque blinked orange as a firefight played out inside. The helicopter roared lower, firing as it descended, and in another minute the battle was over. Silence settled over the area.
Across the street handfuls of locals emptied from the buildings to watch the show, their natural fear of a battle overruled by the desire to see what had happened. IDF soldiers quickly established a perimeter around the mosque, and Maya watched as three of them approached her, two with rifles at port arms, the man in the middle…Kevod.
When they reached her, he looked down like she was something he’d scraped off his shoe. His tight smile of contempt was visible even in the dim light, and her stomach sank.
“So. Here you are, out of uniform, off base illegally, involved in an armed assault in hostile territory, creating an international incident that will be in all the Arab newspapers for the next month. I can see the headlines already: Israelis attack mosque in West Bank; brave Palestinians defend their sacred ground . Tell me how this could get any worse?”
“I…I sent a…a message to…one of the men.”
“A message? That’s nice. What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s…the men who shot…Sarah…a bomb…”
Kevod looked around uncomprehendingly. “I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re going on about, but we’re here in response to shooting and explosions, not some phantom message. Corporal, I want her shackled and held in custody, am I clear?”
The man on Kevod’s right looked uncomfortable, but nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“You…you’ve got it…all wrong,” Maya tried again, but her voice sounded odd to her ear, as if coming from the bottom of a deep well.
“Sure I do. Save it for your trial. You’ve gone way over the line this time. There’s no excuse. None.”
“But…” Maya drew a deep breath, steeling herself for a last attempt to explain her presence, but the sky began spinning, the stars and moon pinwheeling overhead, and then the world closed in.
~ ~ ~
Maya’s nose twitched. The air smelled like chemicals – astringent, a cleaning product or an antiseptic. She cracked an eye open and was treated to sun streaming through a row of white, partially open vertical blinds. The room she was in was painted off-white, and it took her a few seconds to register the IV line in her arm and the muted beeping of a monitor behind her. She was lying in a bed, presumably in a hospital, obviously alive.
She tried to sit up, but her head protested with a sharp spike of pain. When she reached up to touch it, she was stopped by the bite of a steel handcuff secured to one of the bed rails. Maya tried to recall what had happened, but her last memory was of Kevod standing over her after the gun battle.
A military nurse entered and wordlessly examined her vital signs and then changed the dressing on her head wound. Maya’s brow scrunched, and she sucked in her breath as the woman’s fingers probed the tender area, and then a warm relaxation flooded her when the nurse injected pain reliever into the IV line.
The stern-faced woman left, and moments later a tall man with a lieutenant’s insignia on his uniform entered carrying a briefcase. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat, regarding her with a neutral
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