Souchard

By: Will B
(© 2009-2010 by the author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

London, May 22: A private room in a hotel

It was the hour of evening prayers and five Moslem men knelt on the prayer rugs facing Mecca. When they had finished, they stood and the eldest man turned to the youngest.

“Are you ready, Ahmed Fazhi, my son?”

“Yes, Father, I am ready.”

“I am proud of you. I know Allah will bless you. Now when you approach the place appointed, I want you to drink this. It will strengthen your resolve.”

The father handed his son a small vial that contained a ‘liquid tranquilizer.’

“Go now, my son. The rest of us are returning to our native land.” The father embraced his son, and the lad, an eighteen year old, went out into the evening to fulfill his sacred mission.

Chapter 6 

The car carrying Ahmed Fazhi drove slowly through the night. The driver did not want to have an accident or draw attention to himself or to his passenger.

In the back seat, Ahmed was looking forward to serving the will of Allah by ridding the world of those who would disobey the Koran by their indulging in those practices that they had probably learned from the western world, with its decadent ways!

He looked at the pieces of the device he would soon assemble as he 'obeyed' the will of Allah.

In another car heading out of London toward the coast, Ahmed’s father was thinking of his son and how Allah would be pleased as his son accomplished his mission. Yes, it was wonderful to do the will of Allah, if only… if only… Oh, why did they have to choose his son, his only son!...NO! He could not show any distress. He had to be strong…but Ahmed was his son, his only son, a tall good-looking young man who in other circumstances might have given his father grandchildren.  Allah be merciful, and let the mission be carried out quickly so that his son would not feel…If this were such a glorious mission, why wouldn’t the leaders carry it out themselves?

At one point the father almost said, ‘Turn the car around. Let us go and stop my son before…’ But no! He couldn’t do it. It would be showing a lack of faith in the teachings of Allah.

Smith Manor House, May 23: 10:00 am.

Breakfast at the Manor House was over, and the dishes had been put in the dishwasher. Jane Denver, Daoud and Bahnadi, and the boys who had been rescued from the London Brothel:  Jimmy Smith and Terry Jones, Bobby Wilson, all of ten years old, Danny Brown and Harry Anderson, both eleven, and Ron Poole, twelve, were going up to London to do some shopping.

“Now, Molly, are you sue you’ll be all right here by yourself?” Jane asked.

“Sure,” said Molly. “I have some letters to write, and some sewing to do. I'll be fine—and if I get lonely, I can call someone on this special cell-phone that Nigel---I mean Chief Inspector Eden--- gave me.”

“You like him, don’t you?” Jane asked with a twinkle in her eye.

“Oh, he’s all right, I guess,” Molly said nonchalantly.

‘I can tell, young lady,’ Molly thought to herself. Aloud she then replied, “We should be back about four o’clock.”

“I’ll make something special for tea,” Molly promised.

The nine shoppers got in the large van and drove off.

A few minutes later a car stopped at the gates of the estate and a young man got out of the car and walked toward the main house. He walked as if he were quite sure of his errand and he rang the door bell.

Molly came to the door. “Yes?” she inquired.

“I am looking for two friends of mine. I have been told they are staying here. Their names are Daoud Ben Yassam and Bahnadi Ben Yassam,” Ahmed said.

“Er…I don’t know…,” Molly stammered, not sure whether she should give this strange youth any information or not.

“Why don’t you come in and tell me why you need to see them. I’m rather new here and I don’t know everyone who lives in this house. We, uh, have a lot of temporary guests,” Molly improvised.

“Please, it’s very important that I find them. I have a message for them from their father,” Ahmed said.

“Well, come in…. Would you like a cup of tea and perhaps some toast. It wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Molly noticed the brief look of contempt that quickly crossed Ahmed’s face, but then Ahmed smiled and said. “I thank you. That would be most kind.”

‘This infidel woman thinks she can entrap me with her western ways,’ the boy thought to himself.

She led Ahmed to the kitchen and put the kettle on. She set out two cups and saucers, and put some bread in the toaster. While she was doing this Ahmed was looking around the kitchen and then out the window. He saw the barn some distance away.

Molly saw him looking at the barn, and said, “Oh, yes, we have two horses out there, Salt and Pepper. Daoud and Bahnadi usually go out there at this time of…” Molly’s voice trailed off as she realized she had given the young man information she had not intended to give.

“Aha! They are there, then! I will go to deliver my message and then I will return,” Ahmed said. He got up and almost ran out the door.

Suddenly Molly realized that if Daoud and Bahnadi were actually in the barn, they could be in great danger. She remembered that Nigel had told her that if ever she needed to get in touch with him in a hurry she was to press the red button.

As she watched Ahmed striding toward the barn she pulled the phone out of her pocket and pushed the red . . . . .

KA-BOOM!

The force of the explosion threw Molly back against the wall, but when she looked out the window, she could no longer see the youth, only a pile of smoldering rags, halfway between the Manor House and the barn.

Fifteen minutes later, sirens announced the arrival of a police car. Out of the car stepped Nigel Eden, Chief Inspector of CID, and WPC Polly Sanders and PC Doug Watson.

The three police officers ran to the door, but Nigel ran faster than either of the other two.  He opened the door and called “Molly, Molly, are you all right? Where are you?”

“In the kitchen, Nigel.”

Nigel went into the kitchen and found Molly sitting in a chair, sobbing.

“I pushed the ….and he…. and there wasn’t …..,” Molly cried, almost hysterically.

Nigel forgot all police protocol and simply pulled Molly into a hug and stroked her hair saying, “There, there, Molly it’s all right. Don’t cry, Molly, it’s ok.”

Sanders and Watson came in, and took in the situation immediately. Nigel looked at them and said “Tea! Strong and sweet!”

Sanders put the kettle on, and as Molly calmed down, Watson pulled out a notebook, and said, “All right, then, what’s all this, what’s all this,” just like a bobby in a British farce.

Nigel Eden glared at him, but Molly started to laugh. “It’s all right Doug, I’m all right now, but I think tea would be a good idea, and …. I think you might let me go Chief Inspector Eden.”

“I don’t want to let you go, Molly.”

“No, I just meant for you to ease up a bit, you’re crushing me.

Sanders and Watson looked at each other and smiled, and Polly Sanders said, “Uh…Gov, we’ll just go out and make sure the barn isn’t in any danger of catching fire.”

The two police constables left Nigel and Molly alone and went out.

We need not listen in on the conversation that followed as it was entirely personal, and in fact, not all of the communication was verbal!

When Sanders and Watson returned they all sat down and discussed what must have happened.  “What caused the explosion?” Molly asked.

“When you pushed that red button, it must have sent out vibrations that were so strong, they activated the device that the young man was carrying,” Nigel explained. “And thank God you did not push it when he was in the house or you….”

<‘s-s-h-h-h-h-h-t’>

The kettle began to whistle and Polly Sanders got up to pour the hot water into the teapot, and she let it steep for a few minutes.

“How did you get here so quickly?” was Molly’s next question.

“We had a report that a terrorist was on his way to the Manor, so when we got your signal we weren’t far away.”

* * * * *

Later that evening, Jane, Daoud, and Bahnadi, and the boys returned from London, laden down with packages of all the purchases they had made. The new clothes and computer games were examined and exclaimed over, and after dinner, the boys went up to their rooms, and Molly asked Jane, Daoud, and Bahnadi to listen to the events of the day.

“We can’t stay here and put your lives in danger. We have to leave,” Daoud said.

“Nonsense,” said Jane. “Whoever set this up will hear of the explosion and think the ‘mission’ was a success. They won’t try again.”

“Nigel—I mean Chief Inspector Eden--- said he would issue a statement to the media that an explosion had taken place and that three bodies were found,” Molly said. “So the planners will think everything worked out.”

Jane looked at Molly, smiled, and said, “Nigel, is it?..... Molly, I’m happy for you!” She squeezed Molly’s hand, and Molly blushed.

* * * * *

The four passengers in the car that was heading for the coast heard the news on the radio.  “Allah’s will be done!” one of them said. “Don’t you agree, Faisel? Ahmed is in paradise, enjoying all those virgins!”

 “Yes, Allah be praised,” Ahmed’s father said, but secretly he was grieving. ‘I would much rather have my son here, growing up, and marrying a Moslem woman who would give him sons,’ he thought to himself.

The Souchard, May 24.

Trace and Jerry were sitting in their living room, talking to their sons.

“Now, Ricky and George, your dad and I have been thinking about where you will be staying,” Trace started.

“Your dad and I want you to know that whether you live here at the Souchard or in the Residence with your friends and classmates, there are certain rules we insist that you follow,” Jerry continued.

“We insist that you keep your rooms clean and neat. Bruce, Chad, Tom, and Stan will see to that,” Trace said.

Second, you must keep your grades up,” Jerry said. “Ricky, Tom is your brother, but I know he won’t let you have any special privileges or get away with anything. Understand?”

“Yes, Dad,” Ricky said.

“Okay, boys, off to bed. It’s past your bedtime,” Trace said.

“Awww, Dad,” both boys whined.

“You want me to come and tuck you in?” Jerry asked.

“N-o-o-o-o. We’re going. Goodnight, Dads.” Both boys scampered out of the room and down the hall to their own rooms.

Trace looked at his husband and said, “Alone at last.”

“Yes, alone,” his husband replied.  “Well, whaddaya want to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Whaddaya want to do?”

“I know,” said Jerry. “I’ll lick yours if you lick mine.”

Trace moved to Jerry and kissed him, and said, “Bite me, lover!”

The staff lounge at the Souchard.

The guys who had originally been hired to entertain the guests in the ‘Play Room’ of the Souchard but were now employed in other ways, helping the guests, were talking.

Peck Harris, 24, Dirk Jones, 23, Jake Lewis, 22, were seated on a couch. Kev North, 25 and Anton Price, 21, were sprawled on the floor. Hank Owens, 23, and Ben Lowry were sitting in easy chairs. Adrian Castle, 26, was sitting on a chair at a table, glancing at a magazine.

Peck said, “Man, I am so glad to have this job. When I think of some of things I had to do to survive, before I was picked up by the Sheriff, and then brought here, I just….”

“Yeah, Peck, I know what you mean,” replied Anton.

“What did you do, if you don’t mind me asking,” asked Hank.

“Well, if you really want to know, I’ll tell you,” Peck said.

To be continued...

Posted: 05/28/10