He’s scanning a copy of the day’s news when he spots the boy, wearing a jacket in July, kicking up puffs of sand as he shuffles toward the concrete barrier. Rifle down, Ari drops the paper. His finger hovers over the trigger. As the boy approaches, Ari spots the bulge.
“Stop! Lift up your shirt.”
The boy blinks.
“Lift up your shirt!” Ari screams in broken Arabic. Nothing.
He steps from his booth. A line has gathered, grumbling under the beating sun.
“One final warning.” His commander’s voice crackles, walkie-talkie beeping.
Sweat trickling under his helmet, Ari gulps, raises his rifle.
Great suspense. Wish you would write the rest of the story so I could see what happens!
Thanks so much for your comment Bobby, and thanks for your interest, I really appreciate it.