TWENTY-FOUR
THE ELEVATOR DOORS were just around the arch of The Globe’s center section. A man’s voice reached us in Arabic. A second later two men came into view. One had on the same type of all-black uniform as the policeman. Both wore huge aviator sunglasses, lenses like mirrors. The guy walking in front—maybe the leader—had an SMG, an MP5 by the looks of it, slung over a shoulder, holding it loosely in front of him. The other had his hand on a holstered sidearm on his belt.
Again, the Arabic shooting at us as they came this way. Then Al Waleed’s voice came out from where he stood, also in Arabic. He pointed at us like he was ratting us out in a classroom full of kids, his finger actually wagging as he screamed. He sounded frightened as well. I stayed with Debbie and Ayres, both of who
