No Alarms and No Surprises

"Here, have you heard this? Listen to this shit." Dook had arrived waving a mobile phone at Mickey.


"There's a recording on it. Got it off the corporal attached to Intel. They've got scanners listening to all the radio and phone traffic for a hundred miles."

The quality wasn't brilliant on the recording; there was a fizzling background and bad reception. Two or three voices were conversing by radio, speaking one of the local languages. Mickey guessed Pustun as it was the one they seemed to hear the most, but he was no expert.

The voices were excited, hurried. Suddenly, the middle of the stream of foreign jabber, a phrase leapt out at him in a broad Brummie accent: "Salim, Salim, where are you."

There was a crackling pause, followed by the same voice again: "This jihad game's tough, man."

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)