Avescope HORROR

Ysabeaux felt Harris raise his gun, but he did not fire. The moment felt like her entire lifetime. It stretched on and on yet was completely silent.
Then she was on the ground and she was covered by his body. The wind was knocked out of her. She could taste blood in her mouth and she didn’t
know if it was hers or Harris’. The gunfire had stopped. The night was silent. Then footsteps. Closer and closer. Suddenly the weight was off her and
there was an ominous splash. She tried not to breathe.
"We killed her!" The voice was exultant.
"I think not, Siddig." And then there was a hand, a gentle hand, brushing the hair from her face. Open your eyes, little one." She didn't breath, the
sound of her own heartbeat exploding through her skull.
"She is dead. Let's go."
"Ah, Siddig, you are so impatient. That is why you are not the hand of Allah." Ysabeaux felt the hand trail down to her throat. "See, Siddig, her pulse
flutters in her throat like a little bird. Now, Miss Leander, breathe. Let air explode into your lungs. Sweet air."
She could not help herself. She couldn't deny herself any longer. Her breath came in a deep sob. She opened her eyes to see one figure standing
over her, and another one squatting beside her. The man beside her had removed his goggles and she could see his eyes, calm and so dark brown,
boring right into her soul.
"Kill her now, my lord!"
A voice called from the house. "The Senator is still breathing, Master."
"We will have killed one of the family. It's enough, Master!"
"No. We will take her. Think of it, Siddig. We will take her home with us. Allah wills we take her, and I will it. We will take this treasure of the mighty
Americans and destroy it on the steps of the grand mosque in Mecca. And then there shall be war! That will be far worse than the mere slaying of
the President. It will drive fear into their hearts, and the Jihad will begin." He gently pulled the skirt of Ysabeaux's dress down over her legs.
Ysabeaux trembled and then started to struggle. "I won't let you kill me like a dog in the street!" Kicking and biting, she tried to get away, but the
man hands grabbed her wrists like iron bars and held her to the ground.
"No, little one! You will not misbehave." He moved her wrists so that he could hold them both with one hand and drew his knife.
"Oh, God, no!" she breathed, as the turquoise light from the pool gleamed along its silver length.
"Watch!” he said, as he pressed the point of the knife against her chest. She felt a sting as it pierced the surface of her skin. A bead of red blood
covered the knife's tip. "I could kill you, and my people would rejoice. I do not need to offer you up as a sacrifice to my god if it is not convenient to
me. But I will try to do as Allah wills, for now. Goodnight, little one. " He raised the knife above her head, reversed it, and as she tried to scream, he
brought the pommel down against her skull and she knew no more.
Sheik Moamar el Rashid stood over the body of the girl and smiled at Siddig. He took her hand and made a small incision along the back, letting
her blood drip on the flagstones. "Pick her up and carry her to the car. Hurry! Fill her veins with some of the morphine and she will sleep like a
baby.” He ordered coldly.
"My lord, I do not think this is wise. The Americans! They will track us like bloodhounds! They will not allow this,” his right hand answered.
Moamar raised his eyebrow, "Not if they think we want a ransom." He turned towards the house. "Mohammed, grab the old man." He faced Siddig
again. " We will use him as a decoy and then we will kill him. Let's go."
Siddig looked at his watch. "We have ten minutes until the code needs to go through, but I am sure that someone will have reported the gunfire."
"Yes. We will leave now." He watched as Siddig roughly jabbed a needle into the girl’s buttocks and depressed the plunger. Then together they
picked up the girl and dragged her towards the trees.
“She’s not a delicate little flower, is she?” Siddig grunted.
“Allah likes a woman to have some meat on her.” As they crossed back towards the house, he turned on his throat mike. "Ali, How many did we
lose?"
A rough voice answered softly in his ear, "We lost five, my lord. There are ten of us left."
"Unfortunate, but now they sit with Allah." His men were carrying the Senator around the building, towards the staff garage. Mrs. North was
supposed to have left her keys in her van. He and half of his men would take the van, the other half would take the gardening truck they had come
to the house in. "Ali, put the prisoners in the van. They will stay with me."
"Yes, my lord." It was unfortunate that the President had not been in residence, and he was angry at himself for losing control in the bedroom. He
never lost control. To be so close and then...
But he had the girl. That made things better. It made him feel powerful, to possess the daughter of the mighty President of the United States. In
the months that he and his men had spent studying the family, pouring over documents, newspaper clippings, video, he had become fascinated
by her. She was so totally foreign to his world. Modern and spoiled. Moamar was used to women who were far more subtle in their willfulness. It
wasn’t that he hadn’t had Western women. He had tasted of their flesh but they bored him. They were just a receptacle for his manhood. This one,
however. The daughter of his greatest enemy?
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