MidReal Story

Unveiling Danger

Scenario: tell a story of (uncensored) Kaitlan Collins in a building in a undisclosed area of Israel after her secret interview with Benjamin Netanyahu secrets agents escort the president to helicopter she watches as he leaves she goes to leave herself the through the front corridor of the building unknown the horror that awaited her outside as Isis had surrounded both the entrance and exit and had had already killed her driver waiting for her
Create my version of this story
tell a story of (uncensored) Kaitlan Collins in a building in a undisclosed area of Israel after her secret interview with Benjamin Netanyahu secrets agents escort the president to helicopter she watches as he leaves she goes to leave herself the through the front corridor of the building unknown the horror that awaited her outside as Isis had surrounded both the entrance and exit and had had already killed her driver waiting for her
I had just completed a secret interview with Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.
Now, I was standing on a balcony in an undisclosed area of Israel, watching as President Trump boarded a helicopter that would take him back to Jerusalem.
Israeli secret agents, known as the Mista’arvim, accompanied him to ensure his safety during the short flight.
The Mista’arvim were a unique unit within the Israeli security services.
They specialized in blending with the local Arab population and had been tasked with providing security for the President while he was in Israel.
The unit was ideal for such an operation, given that Israel is surrounded by hostile Arab nations.
The agents accompanying the President wore civilian clothes and kaffiyehs, a traditional Arab headscarf.
Their faces were covered in a layer of dirt to appear unshaven, in order to look more like Palestinians than Israelis.
They were also some of the most highly trained soldiers in the country and had been handpicked for the assignment.
Trump stood out among the agents.
He towered over them at six foot three inches, an inch taller than the average American man.
His hair was bright orange and his skin an unnatural shade of orange from his addiction to spray tans.
And he moved more briskly than the agents around him as he walked toward the helicopter, followed by his Chief of Staff, John Kelly.
I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could see Trump’s lips moving.
I watched as he climbed the steps leading up to the aircraft and disappeared inside.
My heart pounded in my chest.
I had just completed one of the most important interviews of my life.
If the details became public, it would have profound implications on American foreign policy.
But that wouldn’t happen until after I had published my story and was back in Washington.
I glanced over my shoulder at the room where I’d met with Netanyahu.
It looked like any standard hotel room, but there was nothing standard about this building or location.
Netanyahu had given me a lot to think about.
The information had been both fascinating and horrifying, and I couldn’t wait to start writing my story.
But first I had to get out of this building.
I looked back at the helicopter.
It was about to take off, and I needed to figure out how to get across the street without being spotted by the ISIS agents surrounding the building.
I scanned the street, looking for any sign of movement.
The street was empty, but I could see armed agents stationed at various points around the building.
I had no doubt they would open fire on me if I tried to leave.
I turned and went back inside, closing the balcony door behind me.
There had to be another way out.
I moved through the room, scanning it for any signs of hidden doors or passageways.
There was nothing in here, but then I realized something.
This room was set up like a hotel room, with a bed, a desk, and a bathroom.
Which meant there had to be other rooms like this in the building—and maybe some of them had secret passageways.
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I made my way through the house, checking each room for any sign of a hidden door or passageway, but there was nothing.
It seemed like the only way out was through the front entrance, and that was heavily guarded by ISIS agents.
I stood in the hallway, listening for any sounds of movement outside, but all I could hear was the noise from the helicopter as it warmed up its engines in preparation for takeoff.
I made my way back to the balcony, hoping to catch a glimpse of the street below, but all I could see was a cloud of dust rising into the air as the helicopter’s blades stirred up debris on the landing pad.
The noise was deafening, and I realized it would be the perfect cover for me to make my escape.
I took one last look at the street below before stepping back inside and closing the door behind me.
I turned to find an agent standing in front of me, his identity concealed by sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.
He gestured for me to follow him, and I hesitated for a moment, wondering if he knew what I had done in the other room.
But then he reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me along as he made his way down the hallway.
“I need to get my things,” I said, but he ignored me, continuing to pull me along behind him.
I followed him through the house, past rooms filled with security personnel and Israeli officials who were gathered around televisions watching the helicopter take off.
We didn’t take the same route as the President, who had gone through the back entrance when he left the house.
We moved through a series of interconnected buildings and trailers that made up the compound, using staircases and secret passageways that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
It was clear that every precaution had been taken to ensure our safety during this visit, but it was also clear that this place was a maze that I would never have been able to navigate on my own.
I wondered how many people had ever been inside this compound—and how many of them had made it out alive.
We finally reached the front corridor of the building, and the agent turned to face me, removing his hat and sunglasses so I could see his face.
He had a stern expression on his face, but there was something in his eyes that told me he wasn’t going to hurt me.
I prepared to leave, but then he reached out a hand to stop me, pointing to a door at the end of the corridor, where I could see the sunlight streaming through a small window set into the doorframe.
I hesitated for a moment, but then I turned and made my way down the hallway, opening the door and stepping outside into the bright light of day.
I stepped out onto the street, squinting against the sunlight as my eyes adjusted to the sudden change in brightness, but there was something else in the air that made my heart sink.
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There were no cars parked along the street anymore, no motorcade waiting to escort me back to Jerusalem or to the airport where Air Force One waited for us to board and return home to America.
In fact, there were no cars at all—just an empty street that stretched off into the distance, where it curved around a hill and disappeared from view.
I stood there for a moment, watching as several agents ran past me toward an SUV parked at the end of the street, talking urgently into their radios as they prepared to leave, their faces grim and serious as they disappeared inside the car and it roared to life, its tires squealing as it sped away down the street.
I wondered what was going on, but then someone grabbed my arm, pulling me along as they ran toward an SUV parked at the end of the street, its engine idling as we reached it and scrambled inside before speeding away into the distance as well.
The street was empty now, but something told me that wouldn’t be the case for long—something told me that we were running out of time, and we needed to get out of there as soon as possible.
I watched the helicopter take off from the compound in the distance—Benjamin Netanyahu was on board, along with the President and his Chief of Staff, who would be taking the lead on the press conference that was scheduled to take place later that evening.
It was an impressive sight to see all those helicopters rising into the air at once, but there was something else in the air that made my heart sink.
I watched as the last of the helicopters disappeared over the horizon in the distance, leaving me standing there alone in the courtyard.
I knew I should be getting ready to go find my driver again—he was probably waiting for me by now, wondering where I had gone.
But I just stood there for a moment, looking around at the empty courtyard and wondering what had happened to all the people who had been here just a few moments ago.
I knew I had to leave.
But when I made my way out of the courtyard toward the parking lot where my driver was waiting for me, I found something else instead.
My driver was still there—or at least he was behind the wheel of his SUV—but he wasn’t waiting for me.
He was dead.
His lifeless body slumped against the steering wheel, a bullet hole in his head that told me he had been shot execution-style when he wasn’t looking.
I couldn’t help but shudder at the sight of him—I didn’t even know his name or who he was, but he had been my driver for this trip, and now he was dead.
And I was alone again—the only person left in this entire compound who wasn’t an agent or a member of the secret service who could get me out of this place.
The silence was deafening after all those helicopters had taken off, but it was nothing compared to the horror of finding my driver dead like this.
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I was about to get back in the car and drive away when I heard a buzzing sound coming from inside my bag.
I pulled out my phone and looked at it—it was a text message from my boss, Jim.
I opened it up and read it quickly.
It was a good thing you weren’t in that press conference.
Now you’re gonna get your ass back here—or so help me God.
The message was filled with expletives and typos like Jim usually made when he was sending me messages like this one—but it was also different in a way.
He had never sent me a message quite like this one before.
It was full of anger and frustration—and it was demanding me to come back to Washington D.
It was also hinting at something else—that there would be consequences if I didn’t come back right away.
I stared at the message in shock—I had never seen anything like it before.
And then I remembered: I had left my phone on silent when we arrived at this compound.
That’s why I hadn’t heard it before.
I picked up my phone and turned on the sound again just in time to hear it start ringing—the screen said “Jim.”
I answered it quickly before he could leave another angry message or text me again.
“Hey Jim,” I said when he picked up.
You’re not gonna believe what just happened,” he said angrily.
I could tell he was about to say something else but then he stopped himself—probably because he was worried about what he was going to say next—and took a deep breath before speaking again.
“I just got a call from some of our people on the ground in Israel,” he said with a sigh.
“They told me there was some kind of attack on the compound where they were being held and now they’re saying they’re not going to be able to make it back to Washington in time for the press conference later tonight.”
I didn’t know what to say at first—I was still trying to process what he had just told me: that there had been some kind of attack at the compound in Israel where we were being held and that our people were saying they weren’t going to be able to make it back in time for the press conference later tonight.
I knew I needed to be back in Washington by then, but I also knew that there had been other reporters at the compound too—reporters who were probably still there now, trying to figure out what had happened and how they were going to get back home.
I couldn’t imagine that anyone would have been able to get back so quickly after something like this had happened—especially with all those helicopters still in the air—but I also knew that Jim wouldn’t care about any of that.
He would only care about getting me back in time for that press conference tonight—and if I didn’t get back soon, then I knew there would be hell to pay.
I tried to call him again but he didn’t answer this time—it went straight to voicemail instead.
I didn’t know what else to do except start driving back toward Jerusalem again as fast as I could without drawing any attention to myself or making myself a target for any of those terrorists out there who might still be looking for us.
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As I was driving, though, another text came in from him that made my blood run cold:
Get your ass on a plane back home NOW!
When I saw that, I knew that something was seriously wrong—I knew that he wouldn’t be sending me a message like this unless it was absolutely necessary—and I knew that he wouldn’t have sent me a message like this at all if he hadn’t been sure that I could make it back in time for that press conference tonight.
I tried calling him again, but he still didn’t answer, and I knew that there was no way I was going to be able to ask him what was going on now, so I didn’t know what else to do except keep driving as fast as I could without drawing any attention to myself or making myself a target for those terrorists out there who might still be looking for me or anyone else who might have been with us at the compound when all of this went down.
As I was driving back toward Jerusalem, though, I realized that there was no way I was going to be able to get on a plane and leave Israel if all of its airports were shut down.
I didn’t know if that was true or not—I didn’t even know if there had been an attack at all or if this was all some kind of big mistake or misunderstanding—but I knew that if it was true, then there would be no way that I could get back home by plane before that press conference tonight—and if it wasn’t true, then there would be no reason for me not to go on following those helicopters out to the airport anyway.
I didn’t know what else to do except keep going—I didn’t know what else to do except keep driving back toward Jerusalem as fast as I could while trying not to panic—and hope that everything would work out okay in the end.
Not long after that, we finally reached the front of the building and I saw the front door open up ahead of us; the driver stopped the car right there and got out to open it up before coming back to the car again to wait for me while I went on inside, but then we both paused when we heard the sound of gunshots coming from outside the building.
I didn’t know what was going on out there—I didn’t even know who those gunshots were coming from or who they might have been aimed at—but it didn’t sound good, whatever it was, and I knew that there was only one way out of here anyway, so there was no point in turning back now, even if I did want to go back.
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