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Terrified and Defenseless
By Dan Grant AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2013 Dan Grant
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4817-3470-7
CHAPTER 1
Winnie the Pooh
July 2010
Shah Jewina
Jhang district in the province of Punjab
Rohypnol was a dangerous drug. There had been countless cases reported where young girls, and even young men were given the drug and minutes later, they were powerless to prevent anything happening to them. It had gotten so out of control that the makers of it now made the drug turn blue if it was placed in any liquid. However, this would not do any good if the drink it was being put in was a dark one. Lucky for him his victims enjoyed a good glass of Crown Royal and Coke.
July was the hottest month in Pakistan with temperatures that hovered around 100 degrees. The evenings were a bit cooler but the thermometer would still dance around the 85 degree mark. He wasn't happy to be doing this in Pakistan during the hottest time of the year, but it couldn't wait. This barbaric sport couldn't go on another hour let alone another day.
He could have started in any number of countries; Bolivia, China, Denmark, it really didn't matter. Every place had situations that needed to be addressed but Pakistan was the first on his list for a number of reasons. The first and foremost was because he knew the region well. He had served in the Middle East up until 2003 and they had been stationed in parts of Pakistan. So it helped that he knew how to get around.
The second is that they would never look for him here. After he fucked the military in the ass, laughed about it and simply walked away right under their noses, they would be looking for him in perhaps every place but the Middle East. No one thinks you return to scene of the crime. They just assume you stay as far away as possible. So the best thing to do was to get this one out of the way first.
The third and most important reason is that he would probably never have a better chance than the one he had right now; to not only dish out his form or comeuppance, but his window of opportunity to save lives would never be greater than it was tonight. His intel always got to him after the ritual was over, after the bloodshed had stopped. But not tonight. Tonight, he would make sure that he stopped it before it had the chance to start.
Since this was his first time and his victims would be more than he could handle alone, he decided to hire some locals to help him out. This too seemed like a daunting task, until he simply asked for the help. It didn't take much convincing. Money it seemed was the great equalizer.
Just like it was in any country, city, town or village, people would do anything for a price. In an impoverished country like Pakistan, the price wasn't too high. Even if it was, it didn't matter. He would be sure to always pay more than he should. This would ensure some kind of blind loyalty to him. Even though he would never see his assistants again, he knew that money would help him achieve exactly what needed to be done.
Money was in perpetual supply. It didn't matter to him if they wanted $100.00 or $1000.00, he would give it to them. But this first time would be different. When he met his three associates, and he laid out his request, they said they would be honoured to do it. Whatever he would give would be enough. They believed in him and they believed in what he stood for. 10,000 rupees would be enough. He gave them 50,000.
They wanted to give him their daughters.
That was unnecessary.
All he needed was for them to do what he asked, and then go on their way. He wanted nothing more and nothing less from them. What he needed from them wasn't going to be easy to carry out or easy to see. But it had to be done. Tonight he was going to show the oppressors what it was like to be the oppressed.
He was neither proud of what he had done in the past or what he was about to do in the imminent or foreseeable future. Killing wasn't something he enjoyed, but he knew he was good at it. They had made him a killing machine. They had taught him how to do it quickly, efficiently and how to do it with the most pain inflicted possible. He could snap someone's neck or he could make it hurt until the sun came up the next day or the next month. He had the mindset to turn off emotion when he needed to.
But this was different. This was all about emotion. There was nothing perfunctory about what he was going to do. Tonight, he wanted to watch them bleed and he wanted to know that they were terrified. Tonight it was personal.
He got lucky with the hired hands. Shockingly, they said the believed in his cause. Who knew that by buying a few drinks at a bar in Karachi, he would meet men willing and excited to help him? Maybe not everyone was bad. Maybe there were some decent people in the world. They said they believed in is his cause. They said they were part of the minority here in Pakistan. There was a small movement of people who were just as disgusted with these barbaric practises as he was but they were powerless to do anything about it. That would change tonight.
The six prisoners, all so called Sultans of some small village, were all taken without much of a fight and they were brought to the same camp in which they had imprisoned their victims. It seemed it was custom for these six to party it up and drink to excess the night before the big day. A few drops of Rohypnol in their drink and they were as good as done within the hour. All he had to do was to get them from the bar to the camp. This is where his three assistants came in. With their help, he got them out of the bar as the drug took effect. They were loaded up into the back of a truck, and then taken to the camp, which was about 3 miles from the centre of the city.
Hours later, as they all woke within minutes of one another, the futility of the situation settled in very quickly. The last memory the six of them had was drinking and making fools of themselves at the bar. Now, they would awaken to a throbbing headache, sore wrists from the binds that tethered them and an impending feeling of absolute and unequivocal doom.
He of course had a plan.
They would be done three at a time. This is how he wanted it. The anticipation of death is sometimes worse than death itself. Tonight, he would be sure that those who went last would have plenty to fear. They would be forced to watch their friends experience more pain than they had ever known. And the worst part about it was they had to sit and wait for their turn. He would see to it that it was as gruesome, gory and bloody as possible. They deserved no less.
They would watch the blood flow and spew just like he had seen many times in war. They would hear the inhuman screams. They would smell the dank urine and the shit and the puss as it flowed down their legs, uncontrollably. The three who waited would have time to imagine; time to think and time to fear the worst. They would beg. They would cry. They would plead. But it would fall on deaf ears.
Money is the great equalizer. Money can make good people do bad things. Money would ensure that they would feel every slice, every pull and every ounce of pressure put upon them. He didn't need strength, or numbers. He didn't need an army. All he needed was the will to do what he said he would and the money to get people to help him. Resolve he was born with, the money was something he earned, by having resolve. This wasn't his first time torturing someone. But this time it was different. This time, it wasn't for information and it wasn't sanctioned by his government in the name of national security. This time, it was simply for punishment.... and payback.
This job had a special place in his heart as he had been preparing for this one for months but he had been dreaming about it for years. Finding a village in the middle of Pakistan took time and patience and it tested his mettle.
His training prepared him for this day. It was all in place. Today, he would strike a blow for those couldn't talk. Today his crusade began. There was no turning back, no time to regret or have second thoughts. Today is the day he worked for and today is the day he would start to change the world. These six men were the first. They would not be the last.
He knew that once he was caught or killed they would say he was insane. They would say he was sick. They would say he would go to hell. But none of these things were true. He had given this a lot of thought. He had spent years planning and preparing. He was anything but insane. In fact, his sanity is what would win him these battles. His sanity and his preparation would keep him ahead of those who would track him. His sanity would assuage his grief, in fact it had many times over. Sanity and intellect is what he knew would guide him. When avarice ruled the world, you needed to be sane to make a difference. Even if making a difference went against what the societal norm was, he didn't mind. In fact none of what he was about to embark on resembled anything but a sane person's will. His planning was meticulous, his resolve unequivocal and his desire to edify the world was unmitigated. His father had always taught him that no one would give you anything in this world; you had to earn it or take it. There was no in between. Charity was not something that his father believed in. Irony it seemed came with a sense of humour.
There would come a day when he would not be able to do this anymore. He would be tracked down eventually, this he knew. But escape, whether from the authorities or from death, was not his worry or his concern. This task was bigger than that. This task had to be done so that the world could know and see what was happening. Most people bury their heads in the sand and then pretend like they don't know. It's easier that way. People are so consumed with their own plight that they don't see what ails them and their neighbour.
There were reasons for this of course. When you have starving babies in Africa or gang violence in Chicago or the unemployment rate at an all time high, these are the things that should be in the news every night. These headlines should be splashed across every paper and every magazine in the world. But instead of the harsh truth, the people are treated like idiots and they are forced to care about which celebrity is sleeping with another celebrity. Magazine covers have headlines that read, "Celebrity X goes crazy and flashes her vagina at posh event." And people hate their lives so much that they buy the magazines and watch the gossip shows. They whisper about it at the water cooler and blog about it on line and tweet it to their friends. The world had gone mad. At least that is how he saw it. When you care more about million dollar celebrity weddings or you turn in to watch a billion dollar heiress pick the perfect dress for 10 weeks, then the world has officially gone crazy.
But he couldn't be a part of this. He wouldn't. Not anymore. He had just turned 30. He had witnessed first hand what could happen to those that oppose the powers that be. He had seen men, women and children shred to pieces after a CBU-52B destroyed their village. He had seen his friends rape and kill a villager, because they could. He had been ordered to open fire on a suspected militant base, without any absolution. He had been privy to some disturbing and nauseating events in his life, but all part of a plan. People, men for the most part, were evil by nature. They were born that way. Evil is inherent in all human beings. But some find the righteous path. Some find the benevolence that is in all of us.
Some, but not most.
Not everyone is a murderer, but if the chips were down, they would eat each other. Humans are nothing more than sheep being lead to slaughter. Like Abraham on Mount Moriah, he did what he was told. People are easily led. He used to be no different.
Hitler did it, George Bush did it and others that were just as evil did too. The bigger the lie the more people believe it. In his eyes, he was not evil, but he knew he would be perceived that way. He could see the headlines.
"Evil, spawned from the Devil, immoral, iniquitous, an abomination."
He knew it would all be said and written about him. But hopefully that was years and perhaps decades down the road. He needed to show the world what was happening in their own backyard. He needed to show people immorality has no passion or prejudice. It is not hindered by race, colour, creed, social status, or sex. It didn't matter if you were affluent or destitute. This virus, this disease reared its ugly head everywhere. And no one cared. People just went through their day with their eyes closed. They were like zombies.
But not him. He woke up years ago. And if no one would do anything about this legally, then he would do something about it illegally. There would be no fear of consequence or comeuppance. Whatever happened to him, as long as the message was received, the crusade was worth the effort. Tonight six would suffer because of the odious afflictions they had caused. These men would be the first of many small pieces in a very big puzzle. Tonight Pakistan, next month China. Then Canada, the United States, Australia, Japan and anywhere that he could find work.
His passport was up to date. His money was accessible and his work was calling. Tonight, his work began.
The sultans were awake. The men, his aids, were waiting for the signal. They looked to him for guidance. He was the puppet master tonight. He was the judge, jury and executioner. At this very moment, he pointed his finger at them, and signalled the bloodbath to commence. Tonight, the tables were turned. Tonight, the very creatures they tortured and mutilated, would now get their revenge. Tonight, their screams would not be answered. Tonight they would be terrified and defenseless just like their victims were all these years.
The village was nothing more than a fighting ring. It consisted of 3 large tents, placed in a triangle around the fighting ring. The tents are where the Sultans and his guests were entertained in between fights. There they would find shelter from the hot blazing sun and throw back buckets of alcoholic beverages and eat fine meals. The game they came to watch were not so lucky. The broken and bruised bodies were tied to posts that had been cemented into the ground just outside of the rings. Here they would lay in the hot sun, roasting and dying while the Sultans replenished their selfish friends and colleagues. It was these posts that he had tied the Sultans to. Here they would not be able to escape but they would have a front row view to see the torture of their friends.
His aides were wearing masks and each had a small duffle bag which contained three different pairs of pliers, a sander, chains and locks. As they were seated in the middle of the ring, late into the Pakistani night, he walked over to the three vehicles parked around the ring. He turned over all three engines and soon the camp was flooded with light from the vehicles.
His first three victims were sat in the same area that the victims were sat in. In this ring people would watch as one living thing was attacked and ravaged by other living things.
He knew that barbaric practices like this dated back to the dawn of time, but he never understood how someone could cheer the killing of a defenceless victim. He could never understand how people could pay to watch something die in the most horrific way possible. But they did, and it happened all over the world. There were dog fights, cock fights, bull fights, wild game fights and anything else these kinds of men could get their hands on. Fighting to the death was done so that they could gamble on the outcome. While those disgusted him to the point of tears and vomit, this kind of fight was the worst he had encountered. In all his research, this is the one that hit him in the pit of his stomach and kept him awake at night, unable to go back to sleep. When he saw the images on You Tube, it was enough to make him want to kill everyone around him. A majestic, beautiful animal, tied to a post, while her claws were dulled and her teeth removed, trying desperately to defend itself against two viciously trained dogs, all in vein as it would have no chance at survival. But that is not the worst of it. The images would not leave his head. They had been seared, like a branded cow, tattooed in his mind, rearing its ugly head at the most inopportune times.
This was the final piece of the puzzle. This was the breaking point. This is what made him plan for a year. This is where he took all of his training and put it to good use. When he basically embezzled the military's money, at first he thought it would just be used to lead a life of insouciance and paranoia. When you embezzle as much money as he did, someone will come looking for it, even if they were using it to fund an illegal war, it didn't matter. He was never that high up in the military, but high enough to know that if this kind of information about covert funding ever got into the hands of the press or any scrupulous politician, all hell would break loose. So yes there would be heat on him, no doubt.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Terrified and Defenseless by Dan Grant. Copyright © 2013 Dan Grant. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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