In 638 AD the Muslims captured Jerusalem after a long siege. Captured warriors and their sons and male relatives were castrated and sold into slavery.

In 2009 a terrorist cell is inspired by their ancestors and re-introduces the use of castration and forced feminization rather than killings in order to spread terror. The modern attack is on a military museum on Veterans’ day. Caught in the trap are middle school children.

Any resemblance to anybody, any place, or any action is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction.

The Museum: Veteran’s day November 11, 2009 4:00 am

At 4:00 am the six man advance force slipped quietly through the fence line. Without motion detectors or even barbed wire it wasn’t much of a deterrent. Methodically moving in the darkest shadows they approached the small military museum. Fear of the sole roaming guard was nonexistent. He was fat, out of shape and had passed through ten minutes ago on his golf cart. He even had his ear buds in listening to music so loud that could be heard in still night air. The destination wasn’t the museum proper. Rather it was the M2 Bradley troop transport sitting near the back entrance. Upon arriving at the transport the padlock on the door was quickly cut and the six armed men entered and began their quiet wait for later in the day.

This was a soft target. Designed to strike terror into the infidel Americans. The military museum, with its collection of WW1 through Viet Nam era displays was frequented only on a few occasions corresponding to national holidays. Inside, in its dusty cases were typical displays of outdated weapons, uniforms, and photographs that showed the history of the infantry that were stationed in the nearby military base.

Today was Veterans Day. The public schools, for reasons unfathomable to the Jihadist approaching the museum, would be in session. It worked in their favor. A sizeable crowd would be coming through later after the gates opened. This would include a couple of busloads of middle school children from the nearby schools. Yes indeed, this would work in their favor.

Planning for this day had begun three years ago. Execution began over two years ago when Tariq had crossed the Mexican border and established himself as a retired mechanical engineer. A secure nearby house which backed onto a train line became his residence. The rental house was isolated and unwanted due to the train noise. Tariq had begun to visit the museum often. He became familiar with the staff spinning a tale of salvation from the Taliban in the early days of the US invasion of Afghanistan. He claimed his family had been killed for his serving as a translator for the Rangers who had first secured the airfield near his home.

Becoming a regular had its advantages. He built friendships with the tour guides which in turn led him to volunteer opportunities. His ability to tell stories about the life for soldiers in Afghanistan allowed him to become a tour leader. The underfunded museum’s life blood was interested volunteers. They ran the place as the budget only provided funding for a small team of security personnel and the part time curator, who was also a professor at the nearby college. Finally after almost a year he was asked to help build the Afghanistan display along with the curator.

In building the display the curator allowed Tariq to accompany him into the basement storage areas. In the basement was donated memorabilia of all types: personal letters, photos, uniforms, medals, knives and personal kit. But most amazing was the weapons. There were hundreds of weapons mainly from WW1 and WW2 including Allied and Axis small arms and even a few squad automatic weapons. Of course there was no ammunition but the curator assured Tariq that many were still operational even boasting that two thirty caliber machine guns and some of the Thompson sub machine guns were used in a recent movie project where they fired blanks.

It was in the basement that the ideas for the final mission were conceived. The original plan was to blow up the building during a busy day executing the visitors. But the antiquated arsenal in the basement changed the mission. The mission planners figured out that they could infiltrate and hold hostage the visitors. The standoff would create a much bigger media coverage showing the helplessness of the infidels and the glory of their cause. With luck they might even escape to fight another day. The escape plans though were unknown to Tariq. He was prepared to become a martyr. Only the advance team leader knew that their exfiltration was almost assured because of time available to prepare and operational secrecy.

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The Museum: 10:00 am

Tariq was joyous to arrive early his volunteer position. As he hung his coat in the break room he glanced outside the window. The missing lock on the Bradley was his indication that all had gone well the night before. No one would notice it missing until it was too late. He grabbed one of the two way radios and went on walking through the museum. He stopped and chatted with the retired volunteer veterans who would be handling admissions. Today they were an elderly couple, who would be sitting on stools and smiling at all the kids while handing out museum maps. Thankfully it wasn’t some of the younger volunteers who might have to be dealt with. As he walked through the museum he added a small pad lock to each emergency door. This would prevent anyone easily escaping once the attack began.

In addition to the advance team another ten man team would arrive in intervals between 12:30 and 12:45. Their arrival would launch the coordinated attack. By that time the small auditorium would be filled with students eating their sack lunches and make the taking of hostages easiest.

Tariq had just finished the last tour before lunch. He had taken his time. His companion tour guides, several of which could be threats, had moved to the annex building for a private lunch. That would keep those pesky former military men out of his hair today. Though old, they could be dangerous. It was now 12:40 and he saw two of the second team members approaching the entrance. Across the hall in the grand ball room he saw many children and some adult women. Oh yes, today would be joyous he thought as he headed to the basement to open the working weapons cabinets. The ammunition that he had smuggled in over the course of the year was sitting in cardboard boxes in a dusty closet away from the working area. The assault team would be able to deploy these weapons quickly to ward off any rescuers.

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The Military Museum: 12:30 pm

David, John, and Timmy were excited as the jumped off the yellow school bus being sure to carry their sack lunches. School usually was boring but for once they got to do something cool. Their class was at the military museum for the rest of the school day. They would get to run all over the place seeing the cool weapons, and generally exploring. Their teacher had explained that they would have to each write a report on something that they considered noble that the soldiers portrayed in the museum had done. No problem! The day was going to be great.

Ms. Patterson escorted her seventh grade class into the museum. At the entrance they noticed a group of Middle Eastern men looking at the museum map. Thinking nothing of it, she ushered the students into the grand hall for their lunch where other middle school children and their teachers were beginning their lunches in preparation for the day’s program.

The three boys sat together across from Taylor, Jenny, and Katie. The boys chatted about their football team’s chance to advance to the city tournament and the girls were engaged in classic girl talk. Katie thought John was so terribly cute she had persuaded her friends to sit across from them. Katie was hoping to get John to notice her and perhaps she could find a way to get him to show some interest in her. Being self-conscious she only ate a portion of her food. She didn’t want John to think she was anything other than a dainty lovely girl. You know, girlfriend material.

Katie wiped her mouth and pulled out her lip gloss. As she slowly applied it she asked John if he wanted her cookie. Looking at her, John was stunned. She looked so amazing as the long narrow applicator moved slowly over her lower lip. He took in her soft pink nails and blue eyes surrounded by long dark lashes. Wow she was stunning. “whhhat?” he stammered. She reached across and softly patted his hand. “It’s only me John, relax. Do you want my cookie? I’m not that hungry.” As she passed it to him. “I baked it last night, these are my favorites.”

Taylor and Jenny rolled their eyes at each other and did all they could do to not to giggle at their friend’s flirt. Poor John, he was being overwhelmed by feminine wiles and didn’t even know it was all planned.

“May I have your attention” came over the speaker system from a rough looking man at the front of the room. He looked like a security guard, and was dressed in khaki cargo pants with a blue blazer. “We have had an incident and we need your full cooperation.” The accent was something the kids were unfamiliar with, but it was understandable. However the kids largely ignored him. “YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE” he shouted into the microphone. Most quieted down but not all. “YOUR ATTENTION NOW. YOUR COOPERATION NOW.” he shouted as seven other men moved to the outside edge of the room. They carried weapons.

John turned and looked at the speaker. Katie couldn’t believe her bad luck. She had just managed to get him to look at her and now he was turning away. Damn she thought. How was she going to get his attention back? She wanted to be the first of her friends to get a real date for the winter dance next month.

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The Museum: 12:47 pm

The takedown of the museum had gone much easier than planned. No shots fired, full control in less than two minutes.

Two pickup trucks were now blocking the front and rear exits. The supplies in the beds of the trucks were being rapidly unloaded.

The students and teachers in the museum were either in the grand ball room or were now being ushered in under guard.

Tariq was helping to bring the ammunition and supplies up to the main floor as two Jihadists setup the 30 caliber machine guns facing the front and back entrances.

No one outside the museum knew that it was now a fortified jail holding 140 middle school children and 32 adult women. In total 79 boys and 61 girls. Allah must be showing them favor.

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The Military Museum Grand Ball Room: 12:50pm

David, John, and Timmy looked to the front. Katie turned slower wishing her luck had been better.

“NOW that I have your attention, you will notice the armed men surrounding you.”

Looks went around the room. Taylor, sensing something was really wrong quickly sent her dad a text using her phone. Stealth texting was something she was good at. “sometng wrng. Tangos w guns. 911”. Taylor’s dad is a ranger stationed at the nearby base. Though he wasn’t in the ranger battalions anymore he still served actively as a senior NCO in the mechanized infantry’s HQ battalion. Several of her classmates and friends were military brats living off base.

The leader continued

“As you can clearly see, we are in control.

We will not take disobedience well.

Do not test us.

Everyone is to empty your pockets and place all personal items into the center of the tables. Turn off all cell phones.

Once you have done that you will take one step away.

Failure to comply will not end well.”

No one moved fast so the leader took two quick steps to Ms Patterson and backhanded her across her face. She fell fast with blood rushing from her nose.

“I repeat. WE DO NOT TAKE DISOBEDIENCE WELL.

Turn off your phones and empty your pockets. Place all personal items onto the table. Step back. DO IT NOW.”

Everyone scrambled to comply. Taylor managed to send one more 911 text to her dad as she turned off her phone and placed it onto the table with her purse. All the hostages were complying. A few were whimpering or even crying as they realized that this was truly real.

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The Battalion HQ: 12:50 pm

Sgt. Hart, Taylor’s dad was annoyed at his phone buzzing in his pocket. Lt. Col Jackson hated cell phone interruptions during his meeting. And the Col was in a bad mood. The plans for the battalion training exercise in three weeks were way behind schedule and the situation needed to be correct immediately. For this reason they were all at work on a day that normally would be a holiday for them.

Watching the Col as he moved to the front of the room Sgt. Hart glanced at his phone seeing the text.

Taylor: “sometng wrng. Tangos w guns. 911”

Taylor: “911 gtg”

He tried texting back. No reply.

Ignoring the meeting Sgt. Hart walked over to Captain Ford asking him if he had heard from his son who was in the same class. Annoyed the Captain replied “Of course not; He knows to not disturb me unless it’s an emergency and you know not to interrupt officers holding a meeting.” Showing him the text he simply replied “Try now. And if it is a joke I will deal with it.”

By now everyone was paying attention to the pair while Captain Ford turned on his phone. After the stupid startup song a text came in from his son Brady. “shooters at musm”. Frantically he tried calling. No answer.

Grabbing the phone he dialed the duty officer.

“Duty office. Corporal McDonald speaking.”

“Corporal connect me with the city police immediately. Not the base police. Do it now.”

“Sir, procedure is to put all emergency calls through to the base provost marshal.”

“This is Captain Ford, DO AS I SAY. The City Police Now!”

By that time the Lt. Col Jackson had moved over to confront the commotion going on in his meeting. Being a combat veteran he recognized that something serious was going down and he needed to let it play out but he also needed to know what was going. Sgt. Hart moved over and showed him the text messages from Taylor as he explained that both of their kids were on a field trip to the museum today.

“City 911. What is the emergency?”

“Mam, this is Captain Robert Ford. Sargent James Hart and I have received text messages from our children that there are armed people at the military museum where they are on a field trip.”

“Sir, I am notifying the police. Please stay on the line.”

This was the first indication to the outside world that anything was wrong.

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Museum Parking Lot: 12:56pm

Noticing the pickup truck parked blocking the front doors of the museum the security guard left his shack. When did that get there? He had been watching TV and not his security monitors. If he had, he might had seen it earlier. It wasn’t there at 12:30 when he purposely had looked around.

Jumping into the golf cart he scooted towards the museum entrance. He was going to make whoever was blocking the door move and give him a tongue lashing he wouldn’t soon forget! Had he not been so focused on the pickup truck he might had heard the approaching siren. Had he not been so focused on the pickup he might had seen the men on the roof of the museum.

He stepped off the cart, and began to straighten out his belt.

A single shot rang out from the roof. The shooter was using a captured German WW2 sniper rifle from the museum. It was amazing. The 70 year old rifle still delivered an accurate shot that entered the security guards face at in the middle of the nose and exiting the back of his head after shattering several vertebrae at the base of his skull. The scope wasn’t centered quite right but it was close enough. The shot gave the sniper a chance to make an adjustment for better accuracy.

A moment later the first city police car arrived. Officer Judy Samuelsson and her partner Stan Baily pulled in with lights and siren blaring. They slammed to a stop in the unoccupied handicap parking only 50 meters from the front entrance. As they stopped bullets ripped into the windshield grazing officer Judy’s arm and hitting officer Stan in his bullet proof vest. Judy had the presence of mind to put the car in reverse and floored the throttle stopping as the hit another parked car 30 meters back. She slammed open her door and jumped out. Grabbing her radio she screamed “2 Adam 20, SHOTS FIRED – Get Backup. Officer DOWN.”

Others were on the way, but what good would that do? Looking at her partner she saw him begin to move. He was in pain but seemed to be alive. “STAN STAY DOWN.”

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The Military Museum Grand Ball Room: 12:56pm

By the time the shooting started the hostages were being herded to different sides of the room. Males were lined up on one side of the room and females on the other side.

David, John, and Timmy were in the middle of the line. They watched as a man handed the each of the boys an extra long white tank top basket ball jersey. They were instructed to strip entirely, including under ware and to put on the jersey which, thankfully extended to mid-thigh. After putting on the jersey they were ushered out by three of the guards.

After changing the terrorist secured hands behind backs with flex cuffs. Feet were joined together by a small set of shackles made of thin wire and flex cuffs. The shackles allowed for very small steps. Mouths were taped shut.

The personal items on the tables were gathered and dumped into a rolling garbage can and removed from the ball room.

In groups of four the boys were escorted out of the ball room and into the men’s room. This process repeated itself with the next four, and the next. Each group seemed to take about 5 minutes. Each group returned looking a little wobbly and green. Little did the next boys know that that little trip would be their most significant life changing event.

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The Military Museum men’s room: 1:22 pm

David and John followed two boys that he didn’t know into the men’s room. Timmy would be in the next group. In the restroom a small table and chair had been setup. Each boy, in turn, was ushered to a stall, pushed onto a toilet seat with a pulled up jersey. They were told to be quick about it. They wouldn’t be able to come back for a while. David really didn’t need to go but went as best he could.

David was doing his best not to cry. Everything had been surreal up to this point. But the restraints made it hit home. He was here and he was being controlled by someone else. This was real and real scary.

The two guards grabbed David and walked him out of the bathroom. Pausing outside after the door shut they pushed him up against the wall. Nothing he could do but be manhandled. The guard forcing him against the wall raised his jersey exposing his backside. The second guard took two hypodermic needles out of a large box sitting on the floor. Roughly shoving first one, then the other needle into his butt cheeks. Not pausing David was spun around again and held against the wall facing forward. His jersey once again was lifted and the terrorist put a very small rubber band around each of his balls using a tool that looked like silver pliers. It hurt, but not excruciatingly so. Upon completing this one of the guards went and retrieved John for he would be next.

David had no idea that he had just been filled with near lethal doses of testosterone blockers, time released female hormones and a heroin based pain killer. Nor did he know that the rubber bands were the first step in a castration method called elastration that didn’t require surgery or extensive anesthesia. It would only be a matter of time before the tiny elastic bands constricted the blood vessels and tissue causing the testes to die and eventually fall off.

By the time all four were bound, drugged, and rubber banded, David wasn’t feeling well. His stomach was woozy. He felt like throwing up. The guards marshalled them through the main entrance hall back to the Grand Ball room. In doing so, David saw flashing red lights through the blocked off entrance. At least the good guys were here. It shouldn’t take too long he thought. In the ball room the guard pushed him onto a seat and mumbled, be a good girl and stay put. These hostages wouldn’t be going anywhere soon. This standoff was planned to last for at least eight days. Longer if possible. The terrorists weren’t planning on leaving until all the balls had fallen.

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Outside The Military Museum: 1:45 pm

A strong police perimeter was established around the Museum. Parts of it were on a neighboring park and others on the side streets and roofs of nearby buildings. The state SWAT team had arrived and was attempting to exert control. The local police chief was arguing over procedure. The FBI was on its way and expected within half an hour.

News crews had figured out that something was going on and had sent out their reporters.

Aadil Bakr, the Jihadist leader, watched through the remote monitors that they had setup on the roof of the building. It gave him an understanding of the enemy. He knew, or at least hoped, that they would be able to accomplish their mission and continue fighting another day. After all, this was a strike unlike any other done recently.

Recently. That was the key word. Beginning in 638 when Jerusalem fell to Muslim warriors had begun to castrate male captives send them into slavery. Castrating an enemy and transforming him, or his sons into your slave had a special intrigue for Aadil. Yes, this attack, while difficult, could be done. Even if they only held out for a few days before retreating he knew that the lasting effects of the elastration on the males would render them devoid of their manhood. Using the hormones to feminize them would humiliate them, and their families even more. He knew that this less bloody attack was to be the best form of terror he could inflict.

Glancing back at the Grand Ball Room he saw Tariq handing each of the girls a cheap burka. He smiled. These wayward American girls would get at least some taste of how they should live.

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The Military Museum Grand Ball Room: 1:45 pm

Taylor could see that something was up with the boys. They all just laid their heads down on the tables. It didn’t look like they were feeling well. Maybe drugged? She couldn’t tell. Taking some small comfort she figured that if the terrorist wanted them dead then they would be dead already. No they had another plan. While that plan was working they would likely still live.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she saw Tariq handing her a peach colored package. It looked like clothes. The guards shifted their attention more to the girls now. The leading terrorist spoke.

“Ladies. Girls. Listen.

You will not speak unless you are told to do so.

Your next task is to dress in something not shameful. You are all dressed like whores and I will not tolerate it.

You hold in your hands a burka. It is tradition that women not show themselves to men. You will comply. In small groups you will be escorted to the bathroom to change. You will change complexly leaving nothing of your existing clothes or jewelry except for your panties. Please take this opportunity to use the facilities as it will be your last time for a while. Bathroom visits will be rare and on our schedule not yours. After changing, each of you will be presented with your first bracelets. They are there to ensure you do not interfere. Upon returning to this room you must not speak or make noises.

Failure to submit will result in punishment, which we will likely enjoy and you will not.”

The girls were then randomly selected and taken to the bathroom. Each came out in their full burka. The guards frisked them to ensure that no other clothes were under the garment and then placed into flex cuffs. The long burkas were specially made to restrict the stride. Within 25 minutes all the girls were in their burkas. The guards skipped the mouth tape with the women knowing that eventually one would talk and it would allow them to demonstrate what happens when a women dares to speak in the presence of a man without permission.

Taylor, Jenny, and Katie no longer had the comfort of knowing where each other were. All the girls looked the same and they had been mixed up and placed in different places when returning.

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The Military Museum Curator’s Office: 6:00pm

“Breaking News – Good evening this is Rachael Hoffmann reporting for CNN. As you are aware we are following the situation at the Military Museum closely. We know that hostages have been taken. Mainly middle school children and their teachers from the nearby community. The police have released very little information. We know that one security guard is dead. City officers Judy Samuelsson and Stanley Baily were treated for minor wounds and released.

As far as we know, no communications have been established with those inside. For more, we go to our experts. Dr. Avery is a former hostage negotiator with the FBI and is a CNN contributing commentator. Dr. Avery who could be doing this and what are their objectives?

Thank you Rachel. At this point we do not know. Without any established communications we can just speculate. It is unlikely that this is international terrorism. Not their style. They like to blow things up. They don’t stand and fight. My speculation is that this could be more domestic. Perhaps a domestic militia group that flexing its muscle. But we just don’t know yet.”

Aadil smiled as he watched the news report. So far everything was going well. Just play the game slow and everything would work out well. He signaled for his men to bring in the elderly couple who had been held in the office waiting area away from everyone else. They hadn’t seen the other hostages or how they were being treated.

As they came in Aadil greeted them respectfully. He instructed his men to get the lady proper attire. The burka would send a message that the news outlets would be speculating about for days. While his lieutenant pulled the burka onto the old woman he handed an envelope to the elderly former soldier.

"Sir, as you are aware we are holding all the children hostage. We do not wish them improper harm and will treat them respectfully in the highest traditions of our heritage. Would you be so kind as to deliver our demands to your law enforcement personnel? I would be ever so grateful. After you deliver our message we will no longer need your services and you will be free to go.”

And with that they were escorted to the front door and allowed to exit.

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FBI Command Center outside the Military Museum: 6:20pm

Special Agent in Charge Anders sat with his team and the SWAT commander discussing their options. There was no easy way to attack the building. There are few windows. Infrared surveillance showed a concentration of people in the ball room and main entry hall, with some terrorist on the roof and near all other exits. But without communications no one had a plan yet.

“Someone’s coming out!” The shout went out creating a buzz that was picked up even by the media. Cameras zoomed in as an elderly man and a woman wearing a white burka walked slowly down the sidewalk from the Museum’s main entrance. They didn’t move fast and held onto each other. The elderly former soldier had been too proud to admit that they didn’t have their canes which were still at the reception desk where they had been volunteering. Aadil knew they wouldn’t be moving fast. He was using it as another calculated step to keep everything moving slowly.

Agent Anders waited as they walked. Bring them to me as soon as they get to our picket line. Someone get them a wheel chair or two, they look like they need it. And with that he returned to the command center.

Ten minutes later a knock on the door announced the arrival and the arrival of the envelope. Before opening the envelope Agent Anders asked about them and their health. It seemed trivial but it put the distressed couple at ease. Agent Anders let them relax and asked what was going on, what they had seen and heard, how many men, and if they had any indications of the terrorist intent. Getting little useful information he explained that they would be taken to a local hotel where others would debrief them and ensure their safety. And with that they were escorted out.

Next was the envelope which had been opened and read by Billi James-Smith.

“Boss this is really interesting. They claim to be part of the Arabian Jihadist Brotherhood. They are demanding the release of 25 named captives from Guantanamo. We have seven days to comply. They say that they will turn the phone back on tomorrow at noon to hear our reply. Any attempt to rescue the hostages will result in them blowing the building up. Any attempt to communicate before noon will have dire consequence.”

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The Military Museum Grand Ball Room: 9:45 pm

Each hostage had been escorted to the bathroom and given a glass of water before being allowed to lie down to sleep. One girl began whispering and was briefly beaten and then gagged with tape over her mouth like the boys. A large black mark was drawn on her sleeve to indicate her sin.

The water was of course drugged. Nothing sinister for the girls, just a mild sedative to encourage sleeping. But the boys received additional hormones in their water. There just wasn’t much time to work with and their bodies needed to be well beyond the point of return before the mission was over.

David nodded to John hoping to encourage him. Timmy wasn’t nearby. But they could see Brady, another kid in their class, resting about 5 feet away.

Where were the rescue teams? Surely this had to end soon. It was a nightmare and his balls hurt. Not that he could touch them with his hands secured behind his back.

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The Military Museum Curator’s Office: 2:00 pm Day two.

It had been a good night. No shots fired. His men had rested in shifts. He had had a full night’s sleep, something he hadn’t anticipated.

The noon call had gone according to plan with the FBI indicating that they wouldn’t do anything unless a good faith step was taken by the Jihadist brothers. Discussions went cold. Aadil smiled. He knew this would be the case. Tomorrow he would release some of the girls, maybe four in return for food. He of course had food for his men, but it wouldn’t do to have his hostages harmed. Besides, the forced starvation would help the fat Americans, especially the boys who were on their way to castration. These castrated boys would soon need to be thinking of their figures.

The hungry hostages had been given their “water” and escorted to the bathroom. Everything was going nice and slow.

The siege was still the top story on all the news stations. Speculation was running rampant among the news stations. The Burka on the old lady was causing the talking heads to focus on radical terrorists from the Middle East.

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The Military Museum Curator’s Office: Noon Day Three.

The negotiations were tense as expected. Aadil demanding the release of prisoners from Guantanamo. Agent Anders’ negotiator insisting on a “good faith” step before anything could be done.

Aadil countered. He would release one hostage if food could be brought in for the hostages. It took over two hours, but eventually it was agreed that four hostages would be released for food. The exchange would happen at 5:00 pm.

The oldest teacher, who really wasn’t that mobile more of a burden and the three smallest girls would be released. Besides, releasing some girls would buy more time. “Just keep it slow.” Aadil said to himself. “We must have enough time.”

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The Military Museum Grand Ball Room: 6:30 pm Day Three.

The girls were released from their flex cuffs and instructed to feed the boys. Two chicken nuggets and two slices of apple each. No more. The boys were to remain restrained.

Taylor made her way over to David and began feeding him. She was shocked to see tears running down his face. He had never been one to cry. She whispered softly, “It’s going to be ok.” It wasn’t much but all she felt she could get away with.

David was confused. He was crying for no apparent reason. Not really. Nothing had changed. He was still a hostage. Still wearing a jersey that made him look like he was wearing a dress. The food was nice, but not that nice. Really only a snack. He normally ate a lot more and this was everything he had eaten for three days.

The dull throbbing in his balls was growing normal. It hurt. It had been hurting since they put those damn rubber bands on him. He didn’t understand why. His stomach was still queasy. Even though this was the only food he had eaten since lunch three days ago he felt like throwing up. But he forced himself to keep it down.

Timmy, sitting 25 feet away wasn’t so lucky. He puked all the food up within minutes of eating it. And he wasn’t the only one.

Tariq escorted the boys that puked out of the room. A little while later they returned. They looked pale but OK. The odd thing was they each had a small red line drawn vertically down the middle of their white jerseys.

After eating, the boys were left un-gagged. They were told to be quiet, and if they remained quiet, they would get the privilege of remaining un-gagged.

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The Military Museum Roof: 12:30 am Day Four.

The Tangos on the roof sensed something was happening. They hunkered down but readied their weapons. Looking out through their night vision glasses they spotted two teams moving in closer than the perimeter. They moved slowly, but they were there.

In reality it was 8 two man teams that were moving in. The FBI had brought in specialist from the SWAT teams from all over the nation. Two of the teams were actually laying at the foot of the walls outside the Grand Ball Rooms. This allowed them to slowly begin attaching listening devices to the walls.

The two teams that had been detected were surprised when a couple of red laser dots began dancing in front of them. Looking up at the roof top they saw a terrorist with a simple pen laser pointer indicating that they had been found out. Because no weapon was immediately threatening the “caught” teams, they simply stood up and walked back to the laughter of the terrorist.

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Thanks for reading my tale. Future stories with these characters may follow.

Any constructive thoughts are appreciated. Please be gentle though, this is my first story. :)

Hugs all.