SANCTION: A Thriller by S.M. Harkness Read Free Book Online Page B

to drink, no heroics here. This heat will kill us all long before our new friends have a chance to.”
    Several of the students were hesitant to take the canteen knowing where it had come from. They no doubt feared the guard should he return and catch them depleting his personal supply. Rhinefeld insisted though and the canteen kept making its way around the room. It had almost made a complete round when they heard the sound of boots hitting the floor. Rhinefeld looked down and saw that the canteen had gotten as far as Tracy Peters.
    Her face was plagued with fright. As the steps grew louder, she froze. Rhinefeld stepped over legs and arms to try to get to Tracy just as the sound of the key hit the lock.
    Seeing the professor wasn’t going to make it, Matt Ward snatched the canteen from Tracy.
    The door swung open and Azim stepped in. He looked at Rhinefeld who was now sitting opposite of where he had been and then shifted his concentration to the students. His eyes roved the group suspiciously until they landed on Matt Ward and the canteen. The man’s reaction was immediate and brutal. He lifted his AK-47 assault rifle by the barrel and snapped it into the firing position. With a series of giant steps towards Matt, he lunged and brought the butt of the rifle up into the air. He brought the rifle butt down and onto Matt’s jawline. There was a terrible crunch as the back of Matt’s head impacted the wall behind him.
    Hysterical screams burst from the group of hostages.
    “Ok, ok…everything’s ok. Azim,” Rhinefeld shouted to the guard. The professor was back up and walking slowly toward the man. His palms were open and facing Azim.
    “Everyone, quiet down.” Rhinefeld shouted over the loud din of the cries. He looked to Matt on the floor. He was unconscious, his jaw beginning to swell.
    Outside the door a clattering of boot heels echoed across the stone floor as the other men responded to the commotion.
    The terrorist raised his rifle again and in a flash smacked the professor in the face with the bottom of the rifle. Rhinefeld hit the floor. Azim was kicking him in the stomach. After a few wrenching blows, the professor’s vision funneled into a hazy white blur and he blacked out.

Republic of Dubai airspace
    Imam Nazari had decided to change the weekend’s itinerary. He had told the reporters that he sought a more intimate location for the ‘Special Press Summit’. He cited, “viable death threats” as the reason. They were in the air less than six hours after arriving in Syria. In truth, the move from the estate house in Syria had been part of the plan all along.
    The Imam sat next to the man whom he referred to as his “Minister of coordination and administrator of special events and activities”. It was a running joke between the two men. A mockery of the long titles that so called, Sovereign Nations, gave to the government roles of those in the upper echelons.
    Nazari and Hassan Bishara leaned in toward one another. They were among friends and people they knew they could trust still, they spoke in whispers.
    “And what about the Shaikh?” Nazari asked the younger man.
    Bishara frowned and turned his head from side to side.
    “Uncooperative,” he stated plainly. He seemed uncomfortable with this particular question. Nazari picked up on it instantly. Nazari had known the Syrian all of his life and he knew how to read his expressions without error.
    The aging cleric placed a wrinkled brown hand on Hassan’s shoulder.
    “I am sure that you did what you had to.”
    Bishara nodded in agreement. “You will have no trouble taking over Hezbollah now.”
    Nazari smiled. “Perhaps. But there is still much to be done. I doubt Hezbollah will readily lend itself to a hostile takeover. Their mid-level leadership may require additional encouragement.”
    Hassan contemplated this silently. “They’ll be there.” He said.
    The two talked for over an hour about the future. It seemed Bishara was certain they