Bernie Saunders and ISIS

Forgotten Children

Most people know more about what happened to Bernie Saunders and ISIS last week than they do about Child Sex Slavery and Organ Trafficking.

Read This Before You Buy Your Next Book!

In my last post I told readers that I would “serialize” some of the highest rated segments of my latest release, “The Forgotten by Spencer Hawke” over the next few newsletters.

For those of you not familiar with child and organ trafficking, this link is an excellent article. Although it is difficult to be heard above the political season ramblings of Donald Trump and Carly Fiorina I hope the voices of the world’s youngest victims can be heard.

In a cave, almost identical to the one in which Ari was imprisoned, the dungeon air reeked image4of the sea not the sweet smell of a morning breeze arriving with the tide, but the polluted stench of man’s intrusion on the oceans: saltwater, diesel and death, all mingled in an oppressive, humid trap.

A boy and a girl lay stretched out on the floor, head and arms facing the wall. Their hair was matted down on greasy foreheads, and they were scruffy, dirty and haggard-looking. Their shadowy eyes expressed a haunting sadness, a deep despondency, as if they had been exposed to cruelty or depravity no child should ever see.
Against the far wall were 25 other children of many different nationalities, all grubby and frightened, huddling together for warmth and support. Their eyes had the vacant look sometimes seen on the faces of concentration camp inmates. Silently, they watched their two unelected leaders decide what they should do.

Gareth, a young Welsh boy small for his age with curly dark hair, lay next to a cute, but opinionated caramel-skinned girl named Renee. They were clearly in charge and huddled close, whispering to each other.

Gareth appeared to be trying to convince Renee of something. “I tell you, my Da and I used to play this game; he said in an emergency I should tap dot-dot-dot, dash-dash-dash, dot-dot-dot.”

Renee remained unconvinced, she looked down her nose at Gareth snootily. “My Mama used to tell me to be very careful of English boys, too, so there.”

“I am not English, I’m Welsh, don’t you French girls know anything?” Gareth responded indignantly.

“And I’m not French! I’m … I’m … Well, I’m from all over, and we lived in France, but—”

Gareth cut off her rambling explanation of her diverse family history. “And what difference does any of that make at a time like imagethis?”

He received a withering stare for his trouble. “You boys are crazy. What family plays a game where you practice like that for an emergency? Anyways I think boys are stupid.”

While forming a suitable reply to Renee’s challenging remark, Gareth’s attention was diverted by a sound. “Did you hear a noise next door?”

He turned to look at Renee with an impudent, I told you so grin. “Not so stupid now, huhhh?”

They both put their ears to the wall, listening. Gareth resumed his systematic knocking, dot-dot-dot…

Ari’s Cell

Ari had his ear to the wall, listening for the mysterious faint sounds. Above the tapping of Morse Code, he could swear he heard a little boy’s voice, soft but still identifiable. “Not so stupid now, huhhhh?”

Ari recoiled in surprise, shocked to realize the voice was the sound of a child in what must be an adjoining cell. Faintly, he heard the voice of a little girl, speaking English with a slight accent. It may have been French or … It was hard to define. Like my accent as a child, Ari thought. It changed with all our travels until it wasn’t any nationality or culture, but just our family.

“Boys, quelle peine (what a bother)! ”

Ari choked back a laugh, still unable to believe what he heard, but captivated by the possibility that his sassy little niece was just inches away on the other side of the wall, he wanted to yell her name. As he started to shout out, “Renee!” he heard the sound of the key turning in the lock at the top of the stairs.

He kicked the wall between them as he sat back quickly, warning his young neighbors to be quiet. Then he moved away from the wall, just in time to hear the sound of his cell door opening. The increased light from above, as faint as it was, was still strong enough to partially blind his eyes. He closed them, but listened to the footsteps enter his cell.

Ari had to make a quick decision – attack or submit meekly to another bout of gut kicks from Louie’s henchmen. Nearly twenty-four hours without food or water left him weak as a kitten. As the cell door swung closed behind Henri and Jacques, a large bright flashlight zeroed in on Ari, who could sense the light as bright redness against his closed eyelids.

Ari leaned back against the wall mere feet from where he had heard the tapping from the cell next to him. His muscles felt like rubber and his clothes weighed twice as much with the clinging moisture of the sea water that would not dry. As he heard Henri lumber toward him, he kept his eyes closed, sensing the distance of his mark. When he could feel Henri standing just above him, Ari kicked up suddenly with both feet, landing a solid blow to the rotund Frenchman’s mid-section.

The unsuspecting lout had been leaning toward Ari slightly, thinking he had fainted again out of weakness. With the wind knocked out of him, he doubled over so that his face was mere inches from Ari’s. Ari opened his eyes as Jacques dropped his flashlight, digging in his belt for a weapon. He looked up at Henri now, saw how close he was and hit him with the only weapon he had that he knew he could still wield – his own skull.


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