That was stupid, he chided himself. You are a soldier of Allah; do not forget your place. There was no room for weakness now! He reminded himself that his family is under the Sheik’s protection and will be taken care of…as long as he did his part. About twenty feet from the pair, he stopped and looked back. They were watching him intently, fear obvious in both their faces, even at this distance in the dim light. He kept moving, but couldn’t keep from glancing back. As he edged to the other side of the room, the image of the two again took on the eerie appearance of his mother and sister. As he walked, he shook his head, as if he could physically dislodge the image from his mind. You are here now, there is nothing you can do, he told himself. It is all in Allah’s hands.
Shuffling his feet and keeping his eyes downcast, he wandered around the cafeteria, trying to blend in and look like one more frightened teen. Everywhere he looked, the students and teachers sat together, whispering in hushed tones, terrified eyes searching frantically for the next threat. As he moved among the knots of students and teachers, he was reminded that his earlier assessment was accurate. There were hundreds of teens scattered across the lunchroom, yet none challenged us, he thought. All held at bay by a few men. The Americans were, as he had been taught, selfish, spoiled and in the end, cowards.
Everywhere he moved in the large room, the scent of fear was overpowering, the odor of urine and excrement mixing with human sweat. He scanned the teens and adults as he shuffled quietly among them. He recognized the nervous actions of some as they stood and pranced, trying to control this function, and the resignation of others who had given up, no longer able to control themselves, and simply sat in their own waste. The smell assaulting his nostrils, he remembered his training on how hostages were to be denied such basic needs as going to the bathroom.
“This will humiliate those under your control and make them more willing to comply with your orders,” the trainer had said. “Especially with the ‘civilized’ Americans,” he had continued with disgust, “they consider this a great sign of weakness and this strategy will allow you to dominate them.”
Now, in the midst of the stench, Rashid found himself questioning that idea. These are not fierce, fighting soldiers, he thought. They are mere frightened sheep. It hardly seemed necessary to strip these students and teachers of all dignity.
As he slowly moved about the room, he found himself back near the Journalism group again, the students Miss Sterber had intervened for, and it had cost her her life. Then he remembered his responsibility and he listened again for any hint of threats. He kept himself just to the side of one of the massive pillars that sprouted through the floor of the room like huge tree trunks. He could hear and observe them, but they couldn’t see him.
“I can’t believe Miss Sterber’s gone,” said the student called Goat, both hands bracing his chin as if cradling his small, angular beard.
“Well, she’s dead all right,” muttered Tess bitterly,“and it’s all my fault!”
“Tess, you can’t blame yourself,” answered another. The black male put both arms on the shoulders of the editor Rashid had worked with on the interview. “It’s that asshole of a terrorist that did that to her. Besides, I know you and your mouth. It’d probably be you at the bottom of the lake, if Miss Sterber hadn’t stepped in front of you.”
“Don’t you get it!” Tess’ voice was almost a whispered scream and she used both hands to knock off Tyrone’s arms. “I wish it was me! I got her killed!” Then she started sobbing again, head buried in her own crossed arms.
Rashid felt her sorrow. Despite his efforts and training, he was not able to steel his heart completely. Maybe because he had worked with Tess at the prison or because he felt something for Miss Sterber, but as he heard the teen’s weeping in that darkened space, he could not make himself feel triumph. Instead, he found himself again questioning the humiliation that Jesus had submitted Miss Sterber to before he executed her.
But he told himself he could not let it get to him and forced himself to move on, floating between groups until he was back at the front of the cafeteria. There his eyes met Yassim and his eyebrows went up, asking the unspoken question. There was the slightest nod from the cell leader and Rashid edged around the corner of the room and into the kitchen area. There, just inside the doorway, he saw the yellow 55-gallon drum marked “Cleaning Supplies.” Rashid glanced back toward the doorway to make certain there were no eyes watching and he reached inside the huge container, his fingers exploring the contents in the near darkness of the small kitchen. It took a few seconds for his hand to probe through and beneath the soap granules and get to the bottom of the drum. Then he landed on what he needed. He grasped the plastic and pulled the package slowly out of the container. Although he couldn’t make out the model in the darkness, from the meeting last week he knew what he held--inside the sealed plastic bag was a nine-millimeter Glock handgun.
His eyes darted back to the door opening and then back to the gun in his hand inside the plastic. He took it out of the plastic bag and placed it in the pocket of the backpack.
Chapter 44
I squeezed my eyelids together so hard that my temples started to pound. Even with my eyes shut, I could tell that the lights in the office had been turned on. Someone else was in the small office with me. Where the hell was Jerod? My hands at my side, I tried to stay perfectly motionless, trying desperately to listen for the footsteps, but I could just barely hear them over the hammering of my heart in my chest. Then they stopped.
I held my breath and then I noticed something else. I could feel a slight breeze on the left side of my buttocks, the side facing the closet door. Panic shot through me. Some part of my body must have been exposed, the sweats dropped away, I thought with horror. The intruder will see me!
I didn’t have time to decide what to do, and that probably saved me. The footsteps approached my hiding place and my fear froze me. Oh God, he’s coming over here, I screamed inside my head and stifled a crying squeak. The footsteps stopped just outside. I heard the door swing open. I braced myself for a bullet. I released an anguished cry, telling God I was sorry for everything I did. By this time, I couldn’t tell if any of this was aloud or only in my head.
Then I heard a thump that sounded oddly like the home run hit by Hal Thompson in the faculty softball game. Within seconds, I felt this incredible weight land on my back. I squirmed, only to find myself trapped under an enormous burden. I gasped for air. Then, just as quickly, I felt the weight lifted off me and heard Jerod’s voice.
“Dee Dee, are ya all right? Dee Dee?”
Jerod was kneeling over a body, bending his head down next to mine. The ceiling fluorescent light painted a bright halo around his face. “Yeah, I think so. What happened?”
“Well, this guy was the one searchin’ the office,” Jerod said, thumb gesturing to the prone figure on the floor at the foot of the closet, “and I gave him something to look at. ”
“You what?”
“Well, I knew the only chance I had was t’ catch him with his guard down. So I opened the one closet door and exposed a corner of your beautiful body,” Jerod explained.
“You did what!”
“Yeah, well, I knew if he saw that pretty pink skin of yours on the floor of the closet, he’d have to come to investigate. So when he bent down to have a close look at your tush, I smacked him as hard as I could.” Jerod brought a beaten aluminum bat into my focus and pounded the floor once with it. “He went down like a sack o’ taters.”
“Is he...dead?” I asked.
Jerod reached over and placed a finger on the neck of the lying figure. “Nope, but out good.”
“Well, do you think, can I get out of this place now?”
“Sure,” he said, standing up and taking a step back from the door to give me room to maneuver.
Bringing my legs to my chest, I tried to swing them out of the opening, all the time trying to avoid touching the body on the floor. Jerod stood a few feet off, watching me str
uggle and then extended a hand to help me rise. I needed it. My joints creaked as I tried to move and he ended up having to use both hands to help me get to a standing position. Getting out of the closet was such a physical ordeal, at first it didn’t dawn on me that I was standing there naked until, uh--well, I was. Suddenly, modesty overcame me and I called to my rescuer, “Turn around!”
His eyes did a quick dance up and down my nude form--I swear men will never change--and replied, “I’ve pretty much seen everythin’ you got up close, but okay.”
Holding on to the closet for balance, I bent down to check the clothes, sending new streaks of pain slicing through my head. I rummaged quickly through the discarded sweats that had served as covers, trying to come up with something, anything that would work.
I grabbed any two pieces, just hoping that I had a top and bottom. Luckily, I did and slipped the one over my head and stepped warily into the other, needing to balance on the closet door to keep from falling. The clothes were dirty and smelly, but at least I was dry and covered.
“Okay, you can turn around,” I said, looking around at our surroundings.
We were standing in a makeshift office with gray concrete block walls adorned with athletic motivation posters. The floor space was littered with football equipment and jerseys scattered around a table, a couple of filing cabinets, a beat-up desk and two closets. Then I looked at him again and said, “Where’d you get that?” I noticed he was wearing new red and white jogging pants.
“Found it in the other cupboard,” Jerod said, pointing to a small corner closet next to the desk and saw my face. Both closets, the one he was indicating and the one we had just crawled out of, were little more than plywood walls and doors, hastily thrown together. He quickly added, “It wouldn’t fit ya anyway. And that’s not all I found.”
“What?”
“First things first,” he said. “We gotta get this guy tied up. Help me look for some rope.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” I said and stepped around the body over to the desk. I pulled out the top drawer and sure enough, it was right there. Every coach I’d ever known had kept a roll or two of athletic tape in the top drawer of their desk. One coach I dated had put the tape to some interesting uses…well maybe I’ll cover that later.
I pulled it out, walked back and handed it to Jerod. “How will this do?”
“That’ll work fine,” he said, taking the almost full roll of tape. “See if you can find a rag small enough to stuff into his mouth,” he added, pointing to the heap of sweats I had huddled in.
I rummaged through the pile, but couldn’t find anything small enough. I grabbed an old sweatshirt and, using my teeth, ripped off a piece. By the time I was finished, Jerod had rolled the body over and wrapped his hands together, and was working on his ankles. When he finished, he said, “Go ahead, stuff it in there but leave it a little loose so he can breathe.”
As I bent over, I looked at the man for the first time. I hadn’t noticed him before. How many were there? Our prisoner was a huge man with dark Arab features, broad shoulders, and hardly any neck. I had to use both hands to open his mouth and insert the ripped cloth and noticed that his nose was crooked. Then Jerod grabbed the head and began winding the tape around and across the large mouth like he was taping up a mummy. After a few trips around with the diminishing roll, he said, “That oughtta hold him.” He patted down the pockets of the hog-tied figure and came up with a silver revolver. He slipped the gun in the back of his waistband and went on, “Now help me git him into our private space.”
It took both of us to lift the heavy body, all dead weight now, and wedge him into the closet and close the doors. As Jerod walked away, I said, “Give me the tape, will you?” I wrapped it around the metal handles of the door, making an effective chain lock.
“Good idea. I guess you’re not just another pretty face.”
“Who is he?”
“Hell if I know. Just another of the terrorists, I guess,” he said and stood an AK-47 up against the bank of lockers.
“Do you have any idea how many there are?”
“Not a clue.”
“We can’t just sit here. We’ve got to get the kids out.” I pointed toward the ceiling.
“Dee Dee, I wanna help them as much as you. But until we have some idea what we’re up against, we can’t just go barrelin’ up there.”
I was still shaking and he stood there, hands on hips, the essence of calm. How did he do that?
“Well, at least we’ve got some weapons now,” I said, motioning to the AK-47.
“Yeah, but if we go up those stairs at the end of the hall, we’re li’ble to walk into a firestorm.”
“Well, I don’t want to just sit here. Any ideas?” I asked.
“We can’t call out. They’ve disabled the phone system. I already tried. Oh, yeah. Com’on and I’ll show ya what else I found,” he exclaimed and opened the smaller closet in the office. “Take a gander at that.”
On a small shelf in the closet was a new twenty-four inch computer screen. I immediately recognized the newest Imac computer.
I turned back to Jerod. “What’s this doing here?” I said, even as I pulled the keyboard down, striking it to see it come to life. “We were told with all the cutbacks, there was no money for new computers.”
“Easy, girl! You’re the one who told me the athletic department always seems to have money from the boosters or somebody. After all, we have to keep the coaches happy because we know what’s important in school. Too bad the terrorists took the whole phone and data system off line or we might be able to use this to get a message out.”
“You’re right,” I said, turning back to the screen. I began punching keys, trying to get the computer to access the network, even though I’d heard what the terrorist leader had said. I had no luck and stopped and turned to face Jerod. “How did the terrorists know so much about our school?”
“What do ya mean?”
“Well, they knew just what time to strike, when we’d all be around the cafeteria. And they seemed to know their way around the school,” I said.
“Well, if I remember correctly, someone gave Jesus a guided tour of the school,” Jerod said.
“Thanks for reminding me, but I didn’t show Jesus this place. And how did they know how to shut down the phone and data network?”
“I dunno,” he muttered, “I’d guess they got some expert on their team. Either that or they had somebody on the inside.”
We both said, “Jose!” and Jerod added, “Shit!”
That’s when I looked behind the monitor and saw the extra cable. My heart beat faster, but I didn’t say anything else. I set it back on the small shelf and got on my knees, running my hand over the newly discovered cord. I followed it all the way to the wall and found the connection.
I got up and my fingers returned to the keyboard. “Bless those devious, athletic types!” I said, my right hand manipulating the small mouse.
“What is it?”
“Not only did the boosters get Coach Baumer a new computer, they got him his own outside line,” I said, holding the telephone cable running from the back of the little box.
“Ya mean outside the system?”
“I think so,” I said clicking on the telephone icon at the top of the screen. “That way there’s no record if he ventures into, uh, should we say, inappropriate venues.” We heard the unmistakable beep of a phone line making the connection. “Yes!” I called and hugged Jerod.
“Can we hook up a phone to that line?” he asked suddenly. “Then we could call somebody and git the cavalry out here.”
“No go,” I explained, looking at the phone on the desk. “These are all special phones that only work with our network system. But we can still call for help.” I began to type, calling up Google.
When he saw the screen come up he caught on. “Okay, who d’ya think we should contact? How ‘bout the police department?” Jerod suggested.
“Yeah, but we can get ou
t to other sites.” I studied the display, pondering. “With the explosion and everything, I suspect this has gotten a whole lot bigger than the Hammerville Police Department. Let’s go to the top.”
Jerod leaned in and squinted as I typed. “Department of Homeland Security?”
“Well, the Director of Homeland Security, uh, Harold Samson, visited the prison a few weeks ago, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember it was a big deal and most of the officers never even saw the guy.”
“I guess you just had to know the right people. I was at the press conference.” After a few more long seconds, it finished loading and the Homeland Security site was up.
“How do you know where to send your message?” Jerod was asking as I scrolled through menus.
I found the one marked “Contact Us” and clicked it. “I’m hoping there’s a way to get a message to the director or someone close enough.” This page didn’t take so long to come up. “And I hope someone’s monitoring it,” I said as I scrolled through my options. “There it is!” I clicked on the link for “Office of the Director,” and an email form appeared.
Of course, I knew Director Samson wouldn’t be monitoring e-mails, but I hoped someone was who could get through to him. With Jerod hovering over my right shoulder, I began typing furiously, the clicking of the keys echoing in the small office.
Just then we both heard it; the clang of the door at the top of the stairs as it slammed shut. Someone else was coming.
Chapter 45
Leave No Child Behind Page 27