unknown fate

Chapter Eight, Episode Three

Scene Nine

The convoy stretched like a massive iron beast devouring the endless road. Behind the decoy trucks rolled twenty heavy transport vehicles, their sealed metal containers hiding secrets beyond measure. Each truck was steered by a silent driver, and beside him sat one of Imam’s men—faces rigid, eyes unblinking, like stone sentinels guarding a sacred truth.

Inside the trucks, among crates of steel and lethal cargo, more men sat waiting. Some clutched their rifles, running their fingers across the cold surface of the metal, as though drawing certainty and strength from its weight. In another truck, the men sat tense and coiled, bodies wound like bowstrings, eyes flickering at every jolt of the road as if each vibration were a warning. In a third, one man stood silently before a massive missile, staring at its gleaming frame like a pilgrim before his destiny, struck dumb by the gravity of the moment. And in yet another, a man embraced a missile in his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks—not tears of fear, but of surrender, as if he were clinging to his fate before it embraced him back in death.

Elsewhere, a restless fighter raised his automatic weapon, sighting down the barrel into the dark void, imagining bursts of gunfire spraying from it. His mind had already leapt ahead, living the battle before it had even begun.

Their emotions were as divided as night and day. Some saw the mission as nothing more than a grand deal that would buy them wealth, a secure future for themselves and their families for life. Others felt something deeper—an overwhelming sense of honor, believing they were part of something heroic, historic, sharing the same fierce spirit as the Palestinian resistance.

The thoughts clashed, the dreams diverged, but the purpose remained one. The journey allowed no turning back. The road stretched endlessly, and time itself seemed to slow, dragging each moment longer, heavier. From the break of dawn until three in the afternoon, the engines roared without pause, the convoy cutting across the desert like a silent army—until finally, the first Egyptian border checkpoint came into sight… where another chapter of this dark adventure was waiting to unfold.

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Scene Ten

A line of cars stretched before the first checkpoint, headlights slicing through the darkness like fractured threads of hope and dread. Emam sat behind the wheel, his gaze fixed, tracking every movement of the soldiers as they inspected each vehicle with painstaking precision, as though searching for secrets buried deep within every trunk.

Two cars stood ahead of him. The first was halted as a soldier opened the trunk, bent down to scrutinize its contents, then lifted his head with a cold, detached stare. He requested the driver’s license, examined it with deliberate slowness, and finally waved the car forward. The second vehicle endured the same ritual—stern looks, methodical searches, clipped commands—before being released.

Then came his turn. A soldier’s firm hand signaled Emam forward. His car crept closer, moving as though along the edge of an unseen cliff. He stopped directly before the checkpoint. Silence weighed heavily in the air. One soldier tugged open the trunk, rummaging carefully, while another approached the driver’s window, his features hard, his voice unexpectedly calm:

Soldier: Thank God for your safety… your license.

Emam forced a faint smile, sliding his wallet from his pocket. He handed the papers over, his tone steady but rehearsed:

Emam: Here you go.

The soldier scanned the license, a moment stretching into an eternity, then returned it with a curt nod.

Soldier: Safe travels.

Emam slipped the license back into his wallet, exhaling softly as he replied:

Emam: Thank you.

The iron barrier rose slowly, like a gate opening onto an unknown destiny. Emam pressed the accelerator, rolling past the checkpoint, lifting his hand in a brief gesture of gratitude to the soldiers. But his heart was still tethered to what lay behind.

In the rearview mirror, the glow of Rabee’s headlights appeared as his car reached the checkpoint. Emam’s expression tightened with unease. He slowed his own vehicle to a crawl, almost to a stop, eyes glued to the mirror. He tracked every movement, every soldier, every exchange—knowing that what happened to Rabee now might also determine his own fate.

The road ahead was open, yet Emam’s gaze remained fixed behind him, where destiny was already scripting the next chapter of a game beyond his control.

Scene Eleven

The tension thickened at the checkpoint, where the cars lined up like a long queue of fate awaiting judgment. One of the soldiers motioned to Rabea’s car, granting it entry. Rabea drove forward slowly, bringing the car to a halt beside the soldier.

The soldier leaned toward him, his voice sharp yet formal:

Soldier: Welcome back. Where are you headed, men?

Rabea forced a faint smile, masking his growing unease:

Rabea: We’re visiting some friends… Bedouins from Sinai.

The soldier gave a brief nod, extending his hand firmly:

Soldier: Papers.

At that moment, another soldier approached the passenger’s side, where Ramy was seated. He bent toward the window and barked:

Second Soldier: Open the trunk.

Rabea glanced at him quickly before replying, trying to buy time with a friendly grin:

Rabea: Easy there, fellas… papers or trunk? I know you’ve got your hands full today—God help you. Here, take the papers.

He handed the documents to the first soldier, then turned toward the other:

Rabea: And here’s the trunk, boss.

With a press of a button near the wheel, the trunk popped open. Rabea stepped out, and in a carefully synchronized move, Ramy, Saber, Helmy, and Kareem opened their doors as well, heading toward the rear of the car. Inside the trunk lay several personal bags—some packed with clothes, others with shoes and simple hunting gear. Nothing suspicious at first glance.

The soldier began searching the bags one by one, inspecting their contents with practiced hands. Meanwhile, Mostafa’s car pulled up behind them. Its doors swung open, and Mostafa, Mansour, Sami, Ihab, and Sherif stepped out, walking forward as though naturally merging into the scene.

Mansour approached one of the soldiers, diverting his attention:

Mansour: Excuse me, where’s the restroom?

The soldier straightened slightly, pointing toward a side area where another soldier sat on a chair by a small door:

Soldier: Over there, by the man at the door.

The first soldier continued rifling through Rabea’s bags, while Mostafa moved toward another soldier, feigning unease:

Mostafa: Excuse me, can I ask you something?

Soldier: Go ahead.

Mostafa: I just realized I forgot my papers… What should I do to get through?

The soldier fixed him with a sharp look, then replied sternly:

Soldier: You’ll need to see the officer inside. He’ll file a report.

Mostafa played along, acting surprised:

Mostafa: So… I should go now?

Soldier: Not alone. A soldier will escort you.

He raised his voice:

Soldier: Rafiq!

Another soldier, Rafiq, looked over. The first one gestured:

Soldier: Take this man—he needs a report made. He’s got no papers.

Turning back to Mostafa, his tone was commanding:

Soldier: Go with him, but park your car in the lot first. Don’t block the checkpoint.

Mostafa gave a forced laugh:

Mostafa: Of course… we wouldn’t dare hold you up.

He and his men—Sami, Ihab, and Sherif—returned to their car, while Mansour headed into the restroom after exchanging greetings with the soldier at the door, who responded flatly.

Meanwhile, the first soldier finished checking Rabea’s car and slammed the trunk shut. Rabea approached with deliberate calm, putting on another smile:

Rabea: Sorry, boss… I need to use the restroom too. Long road, you know how it is.

The soldier pointed toward the lot:

Soldier: Park your car first, then go ahead.

Rabea: Much obliged.

Rabea returned to the driver’s seat, with Ramy beside him and Saber, Helmy, and Kareem in the back. The car rolled into the parking area, stopping next to Mostafa’s vehicle. Both groups stepped out quietly, their movements deliberate, as if rehearsed.

Just then, the soldier waved the next car forward—Eid’s vehicle—signaling it toward the inspection point. The air grew heavier, charged with suspense, as if a spark could ignite the silence at any moment.

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