SANCTION: A Thriller Read Free

to tell it.
    “I see,” she said, her remorseful countenance melting into a tight smirk. She moved her attention from Rhinefeld to the line of students that was forming at the base of the shaft. One by one, they each began ascending the makeshift rope ladder for the long forty foot climb to the top.
    Rhinefeld studied her profile as she turned toward the exit and focused on the group in front of them. She seemed embarrassed, maybe even hurt, probably the most sincere response he had solicited from her since they had met three hours earlier. It didn’t mean they were going to dinner, but he did consider softening the blow somehow.
    The two of them stepped forward as the line moved. Granules of sand rubbed between the soles of their shoes and the stone floor of the library creating a soft grinding noise. Rhinefeld stuffed his hands into his pockets awkwardly. He opened his mouth to speak as she stared at him through her peripheral vision. His words, though carefully chosen, were never uttered.
    A piercing crack echoed down to them through the shaft and shattered the relative peace of the chamber. In quick succession, several thunderous claps exploded at the site of the old city of Halam, above the library. Out of reflex, Rhinefeld ducked. The air around them seemed to tear and howl under the volley of rattling bursts. Katherine Boyd stood still, shock numbing her mind, while the students screamed and ran for cover. Rhinefeld struggled to get his bearing as the entire library erupted in a flash of chaos. His heart was pounding and his breathing became labored; fear was beginning to cloud his senses. A few agonizing seconds later he realized he was listening to the deafening sound of a machine gun.

United Nations Institute for Disarmament Research
Geneva, Switzerland
    Silence fell over the room as Imam Sharif Nazari took his place behind a glass podium. Cameras flashed for several seconds as he laid his speech notes on the top of the stand and surveyed the crowd. News stations from around the globe were represented by the audience that waited for him to begin.
    It had been four months since Nazari had assumed control of the Hamas. He was the first Muslim cleric to run the Palestinian government and the first to reign in all of its members. His first act as Prime Minister had been to declare an official Palestinian ceasefire, after what had been months of vicious back and forth fighting between the two peoples. Everyone had been skeptical about his ability to sustain control but so far his power had held; not a shot had been fired in Gaza or the West Bank.
    In that time, Nazari had become a celebrity in the international community. He was being courted as the new hope of the Middle East.
    “Today we have reason to be joyous for our collective community,” he began. The large group of reporters hung on every syllable.
    “We have seen that my people are willing to seek peace as a means to a cohesive government.” The cleric’s English was crisp and clear.
    “What we do not see is the Israeli government. I have continued to keep my people at bay awaiting the counsel of their Prime Minister. I am here, the Hamas is here, in Geneva-the global city, waiting to hear from the Jewish people, waiting for peace.”
    The reporters sat patiently, few attempted to conceal the unabashed adoration they held for him.
    “Both of our peoples have been guilty of much against each other. There can be no peace if we do not start there. Both sides must sacrifice politically to seek peace.”
    Nazari knew that there were many in Palestine that would be infuriated by his words but for the time being, he had exerted an immense amount of pressure on the populace and he was confident that it would hold. He would deal with their discontented blood lust in due time.
    “As with all men, we have a limit to our patience,” he said, raising his eyebrows and furling them down toward his nose for dramatic flair.
    “I will continue to lead Hamas and the