Leila always brought up the rear, driving the slower runners, but inevitably, as they approached the camp, she would lengthen her stride and cruise past everyone to be first through the gates.
After that, half an hour was allowed for breakfast. This was buffet-style and good. Mounds of fresh baked bread, plates of cheeses and cold meats, eggs and even steaks. There was no bacon or ham.
After breakfast the trainees split up into groups. Obviously some were specialising in certain aspects of terror and spent more time on that aspect. Mirek was getting a general training. About half of his instruction was in groups and the other half individual. The lunch break was two hours to avoid the full heat of the sun. Lunch was a light affair. Usually a soup followed by cold meats and salad. After lunch some of the trainees slept. Others sat around in the mess chatting or reading from the selection of books available - mostly thrillers, westerns or science fiction. There were no political books on the shelves. There was also a television and video. This was only used in the evening. The selection of videos paralleled the books. On his first night in the camp Mirek had been fascinated by the contrast of two dozen diverse terrorists engrossed by Gone With the Wind.
After lunch, four more hours of instruction. Then a shower, a change of fatigues and dinner. This was a lavish spread. Soup, a selection of pastas, Arab dishes, joints of beef and mutton and goat and fruit. Only water or fruit juices were drunk.
After dinner many of the trainees went straight to bed. The schedule was punishing. Others watched the video or read or chatted. Inevitably, in spite of the dire warnings against asking personal questions, they learned something about each other. No one actually asked questions but information was gleaned. Any group of young people living, learning and exercising together communicates. Within a week Mirek knew where the others had come from. There were two small groups of Spaniards: one Left-wing Basque Separatist; the other Francoite Fascists. There were two Italians from the Red Brigade and three from the Blacks. The group of five Germans which included two girls were more cohesive; all from a modern off-shoot of the Baader Meinhof vine. Two Filipino women, one very pretty, and one man, presumably from the Muslim Rebels. There was a solitary Irishman, a mournful man who sat by himself humming strange tunes. The rest were Arabs, mainly from the Lebanon. Four were Shi’ites of the Islamic Jihad group. They were the only ones who regularly unrolled their prayer mats and prayed to Mecca. They kept apart and had strange, set expressions on their faces. Mirek guessed that they would be the ones to swallow the body bombs and blast themselves and others to paradise and elsewhere.
* * *
On the tenth morning he did a hundred and fifty press-ups. The other trainees had given up long before. As he lay panting he sneaked a look at the instructors. Only two were still going. Frank and Leila. Frank was struggling. Leila was pumping her slim body up and down easily. Her dark eyes were watching him.
That night after dinner he was sitting naked on the bed in his room squeezing the hand exercisers. The door opened. It had no lock or bolt. Leila stood there. She silently looked at his body, then closed the door. He started to put aside the exercisers. She said, ‘Finish.’
He continued squeezing. She slowly undressed. She did it without obvious provocation but the combination of the masculine army fatigues being slowly discarded to reveal the lithe, dark, shapely body was intensely erotic. She dropped the shirt. High, pointed breasts with large aureoles and small nipples, a deeply recessed navel and narrow waist. He pumped the exercisers and felt his erection rising. She unzipped the mottled trousers, dropped them and stepped out. Her panties were brief and black. She slid them down sleek muscled legs. The triangle of pubic hair was as
After that, half an hour was allowed for breakfast. This was buffet-style and good. Mounds of fresh baked bread, plates of cheeses and cold meats, eggs and even steaks. There was no bacon or ham.
After breakfast the trainees split up into groups. Obviously some were specialising in certain aspects of terror and spent more time on that aspect. Mirek was getting a general training. About half of his instruction was in groups and the other half individual. The lunch break was two hours to avoid the full heat of the sun. Lunch was a light affair. Usually a soup followed by cold meats and salad. After lunch some of the trainees slept. Others sat around in the mess chatting or reading from the selection of books available - mostly thrillers, westerns or science fiction. There were no political books on the shelves. There was also a television and video. This was only used in the evening. The selection of videos paralleled the books. On his first night in the camp Mirek had been fascinated by the contrast of two dozen diverse terrorists engrossed by Gone With the Wind.
After lunch, four more hours of instruction. Then a shower, a change of fatigues and dinner. This was a lavish spread. Soup, a selection of pastas, Arab dishes, joints of beef and mutton and goat and fruit. Only water or fruit juices were drunk.
After dinner many of the trainees went straight to bed. The schedule was punishing. Others watched the video or read or chatted. Inevitably, in spite of the dire warnings against asking personal questions, they learned something about each other. No one actually asked questions but information was gleaned. Any group of young people living, learning and exercising together communicates. Within a week Mirek knew where the others had come from. There were two small groups of Spaniards: one Left-wing Basque Separatist; the other Francoite Fascists. There were two Italians from the Red Brigade and three from the Blacks. The group of five Germans which included two girls were more cohesive; all from a modern off-shoot of the Baader Meinhof vine. Two Filipino women, one very pretty, and one man, presumably from the Muslim Rebels. There was a solitary Irishman, a mournful man who sat by himself humming strange tunes. The rest were Arabs, mainly from the Lebanon. Four were Shi’ites of the Islamic Jihad group. They were the only ones who regularly unrolled their prayer mats and prayed to Mecca. They kept apart and had strange, set expressions on their faces. Mirek guessed that they would be the ones to swallow the body bombs and blast themselves and others to paradise and elsewhere.
* * *
On the tenth morning he did a hundred and fifty press-ups. The other trainees had given up long before. As he lay panting he sneaked a look at the instructors. Only two were still going. Frank and Leila. Frank was struggling. Leila was pumping her slim body up and down easily. Her dark eyes were watching him.
That night after dinner he was sitting naked on the bed in his room squeezing the hand exercisers. The door opened. It had no lock or bolt. Leila stood there. She silently looked at his body, then closed the door. He started to put aside the exercisers. She said, ‘Finish.’
He continued squeezing. She slowly undressed. She did it without obvious provocation but the combination of the masculine army fatigues being slowly discarded to reveal the lithe, dark, shapely body was intensely erotic. She dropped the shirt. High, pointed breasts with large aureoles and small nipples, a deeply recessed navel and narrow waist. He pumped the exercisers and felt his erection rising. She unzipped the mottled trousers, dropped them and stepped out. Her panties were brief and black. She slid them down sleek muscled legs. The triangle of pubic hair was as
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