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Terrorist

By: Britease



Suspend belief for a while, and excuse me if you find any errors in my recounting of actual world events. I tried my best within the time available, but admit to having bent a few facts a bit. 

+++++++++++++++++ 

Jenny was only supposed to have been gone five days!

My thirty-year old wife Jennifer, or Jenny to all and sundry, worked for a large travel company who jetted holidaymakers round the world to exotic and sometimes less so places. She'd started in their offices in London straight from University and had steadily worked her way up the management scale, her quick brain not held back by her pretty face and pert slim body, or for that matter, though she would never admit it, her penchant for short skirts that showed her long legs off. Ok, so maybe she was a bit of a tease and a flirt, but that was all part of her outgoing personality, and she never let it go too far, or get out of hand. Not exactly a feminist, and to be honest not exactly looking like the archetypical one, Jenny was however outspoken about women being able to make it in the business world. It did lead to the occasional heated discussion between us, but the making up afterwards inevitably made up for it. 

It was January 2011, and Jenny was over in Egypt negotiating and renewing contracts with some of the very many tourist hotels that were there, unaware at the time of the political unrest that was about to break out and engulf the country. She'd 'done' Cairo as she described it to me when she rang me on the second day, and was pleased to be on her way to Luxor, many miles south down the Nile, and home to some of the most incredible ancient sites in the world. If you've never been to see the temples and Valley of the Kings, then you've really missed out, even though Tutankhamen's tomb is no longer easy to visit.

"I'm really looking forward to going back there Ken," she'd told me just the night previously. "The local manager has promised to find time for us to go on a short cruise on the Nile."

"Sounds romantic Jenny," I teased her. "Don't let him get too friendly."

"Ahmed is twice my age and twice your waist size," my wife laughed back. "He's a nice enough guy but not my type."

"Pleased to hear it honey," I laughed back, unaware that Ahmed wasn't the man that I should have been worrying about. Unaware for that matter, of how dramatically that trip on the Nile was about to affect both our lives.

-------------------

The uprising in Tunisia had burst on the world just before the Christmas and had been basically well accepted in the Western world, the regime of President Zine Abidine Ben Ali being seen as displaying a lack openness and fairness. Democracy became the by-word of the times, though some might think that there has been little more of that in the region despite the list of popular uprisings.

What perhaps caught some people out was quite how quickly Egypt followed in Tunisia's footsteps, and Jenny found herself in the middle of it when it did break out. 

"Don't worry Ken," Jenny calmed me down when I at last managed to contact her on her mobile phone. "The problems are mainly in Cairo and it's quite calm down here. I'm drifting down the Nile with a glass of something nice and cool in my hand, and nothing could be more relaxing."

Little did we know that soon after our short conversation, her calmness would be shattered as terrorists, depending on who's side you were on of course, boarded the river cruiser shot two of the crew and took over. It's not clear exactly what happened in the confusion, or even quite sure what they were trying to achieve, but all I know is that later that evening I got a formal visit that was to change everything, and informed that my wife had been taken hostage with a dozen or so other Europeans.

The news, as you can imagine was shattering, and for several hours I simply couldn't take it in, my normally well ordered brain telling me that it was all a horrible dream and that it would soon pass if I ignored it.

But of course it didn't!

No news was better than bad news they say, but the next few days without any of it was nerve wracking, as I wondered whether I would ever see my beautiful wife again, and whether I'd ever hold that slim pliant body in my arms again. Grown men shouldn't cry they also say, but it was difficult. Damn difficult, and it wasn't made any easier when 'the man from the ministry' informed me that neither Mubarak who was still hanging onto power, or the jumble of loosely connected groups that were opposing him made statements condemning the kidnapping.

"Is that a good thing?" I asked him hopefully.

"Depends," Jones, the man from the ministry answered unhelpfully. "I couldn't say that it's a bad development though."

I hated him, but without reason of course, as he was only doing his job, and as the days turned into weeks his constant assurances that they were doing everything they could do were more than welcome, if not helpful. They found the boat abandoned a week later the crew having disappeared, no doubt as confused as to who's side they were on as most of the poor sods probably were. One body was found, a Russian tourist, though quite why he was executed was a mystery, but of the others there was no sign. Eleven poor souls on a relaxing trip down the river caught up in the political turmoil that they couldn't understand and probably had little interest in, wondering whether they'd ever see their loved ones again, much as I and the other suffering families were doing.

-----------

When the news came through I felt physically sick, and though the media are doubtlessly only doing their job, to hear that the terrorists had been found and surrounded, on the news on the television was not what I would have chosen. But no news of the hostages or that they were even alive, the fate of the Russian uppermost in my mind as I waited impatiently for further information. Again, Jones to the rescue, with almost hourly telephone calls with the tiniest bit of news, none of it bad, but little of it encouraging.

Then the news that had been worrying me, as confused information filtered through infuriatingly slowly that 'forces', whoever they were, had attacked the energy facility that the terrorist where holed up in. People were killed and then they weren't. The hostages were freed and then they hadn't been. There'd been a blood bath, and then magically no shots had been fired.

Who knew the truth? Nobody did, as the press went into a frenzy of speculation, while clearer heads knew that they'd just have to wait and see. 

Then the phone call from Jones came through; the one that I'd been praying for but dreading.

"What did you say?" I sobbed as I heard his calm voice, convinced that my ears were playing tricks with me.

"She's alive," he repeated. "The Egyptians let the terrorists go free and all the hostages were released unharmed."

Oh my God! At last I allowed myself to cry.

--------------

The worst five weeks of my entire life and I still couldn't make sense of why any of it had happened, and all Jones had ever been able to offer was a shrug of his shoulders. One innocent Russian and at least two locals dead, eleven people put through an awful ordeal and so many families and friends sick with worry, and it was all summed up with a shrug of his shoulders. He couldn't help it, couldn't offer any more, and it all came down to world politics.

Jenny's homecoming was a surprisingly low-key affair. She was one of only three Brits in the group so there was no huge welcoming party from the press at the airport when she flew in, and was immediately whisked away for a short debriefing. It didn't take long but seemed an eternity as I waited in a private room at Heathrow, leaping to my feet as the door at last opened and faithful old Jones escorted my wife in. We stood there silently staring at one another, lost for words, fearful that we'd lose one another again, but unsure of how to approach each other.

"Take me home Ken," she said simply, and we fell into one another's arms, Jenny bursting into tears and me fighting to hold mine back.

I took her home, or at least someone drove us back and left us there, and we spent the evening quietly, simply enjoying each other's company, reaching out to touch each other every time we came close, as if to verify that it was real and not some terrible joke that nature was playing on us. That night we slept cuddled up close, but there was no love making, as if sex might sully and cheapen our joy at re-finding one another.

Life was wonderful again.

------------------

During the time Jenny had been away, Jones and his team had spent some time warning me and no doubt the other families, that hostages on their return to normal life could act abnormally and be subject to sudden turns of mood, as their psychological balance returned to normal. Initially it had all been fairly basic stuff, I suspect more to keep our spirits up that our love ones would be coming back to us than to really prepare us. Only in the few days between them being found and bought back to UK, were we subjected to some more serious warnings on what to expect and how to handle it. That they might seem changed and quiet, or quite the opposite, as the experience affected different people in different ways. Certainly Jenny would be as happy as a lark one day and then down in the dumps the next.

"I'm not feeling ready to talk about it yet Ken," she told me each time I gently pressed her for more information. "I'll tell you when I'm ready, but not yet."

There was something that she was hiding from me and wasn't prepared to discuss and there was no surprise there of course. I couldn't put my finger on it and daren't ask her outright, even though as touchy feely as we had remained, we had not been able to return to a full sexual relationship. We cuddled in bed, and she allowed me to hold her breasts when we lay together, but any attempts to go beyond that left her upset and agitated. I put this down as being normal in the circumstances, not knowing what normal was, and resolved myself to be patient until Jenny was ready.

-------------

"Mike Jones rang today, Ken," Jenny told me when I came back from my work a week or so after her return. "He needs to talk to me."

"Fine," I replied, hoping that a discussion with him might help her. "I'll come down to London with you if you want."

"No need honey. He's coming here tomorrow at ten, and I really need you to be here with me."

"No problem Jenny," I agreed. "I'll be right here with you."

And so at ten on the dot, the doorbell rang and we let Jones, or Mike as we'd got to know him, into our house. We chatted idly about nothing at all, while we made a cup of tea and settled down.

"Jenny," Mike started after the chitchat was finished. "You know I've interviewed the others British hostages and we've heard from our French and Dutch counterparts?"

"Yes," Jenny replied, suddenly sombre. "You told me on the phone."

"And you know that they all think you're some kind of hero," he went on to my astonishment. "That possibly you saved all their lives."

"So you said Mike," she acknowledged him without looking round at me. "I helped, but it's a long leap to saying I saved anyone's life."

"Well that's not how they see it Jenny. You do know we have to talk about this, don't you?"

"Yes Mike," she mumbled quietly.

"Have you talked to Ken about what happened?"

"No," she whispered, her head down, staring at the floor.

"Mightn't it be better if we talked about it alone then?"

"What the hell's going on here," I interjected. "What are you on about? What happened?"

"Please Ken," Jenny rounded on me, her eyes watering up as she faced me. "I just haven't been able to tell you what actually happened. I couldn't. I'm going to tell Mike and I want you to listen and try to understand, and I beg you not to interrupt till I've finished. I think this is the only way that I can do this."

I glanced across at Mike, and he nodded his head back to me with a sad but serious expression on his face. He obviously already knew a whole lot more than I did, and I wondered what on earth I was about to discover. I had no option. "Ok Jenny," I agreed, in a voice which I hoped was calmer than I felt. "Carry on honey. Just pretend I'm not here."

"Thank you Ken," she whispered, giving me just a trace of a smile. "Thank you for being so understanding."

And so she began, addressing her words directly at Mike, her voice low but steady, not once looking back to where I still sat.

"We were on the boat, and the first thing any of us knew something was wrong, was when it slewed around and the engine note shot up. I guess the Captain had seen the smaller boat and was trying to get away."

"Thank you Jenny, but we know all about that from the others," Mike took over when Jenny fell silent. "We know that the two crew members who resisted got shot, but not why or when the Russian man was killed."

"I don't know why, only that it was Ibrahim that shot him."

"Who the hell's Ibrahim?" I spoke up despite my promise, but was waved into silence by Mike, and Jenny continued as if I hadn't spoken.

"He told me later that he'd had to shoot him. Something about revenge for some outrage a few years back, but nothing more than that."

"Thanks Jenny," Mike encouraged her. "That's new and might be useful to our Russian colleagues. We know that they beached the boat and let the Egyptian crew and non Europeans go, and that there was a lorry waiting to take you and the others away."

"Yes. There were five or six who took the boat over and another couple waiting with the lorry."

"At what point did they split you away from the others Jenny?" He asked. "The others didn't seem to be sure."

"Not till we reached the oil terminal or whatever it was. The others were forced out of the back of the lorry, but when I went to join them, they held me back. I thought for a moment that they were going to kill me, but they took me away to another part of the complex, to some sort of accommodation block, and left me locked up there on my own for hours."

"Then what?" He urged her on, after she sat there silently as she re-lived her ordeal. "This is the bit that we don't know about."

"It was early evening, just getting dark, when two of them came for me. I resisted, but it was hopeless, and they half dragged me to another room further along. When I got there, there was the leader of the boarding party, who I now know to be Ibrahim, sat there behind a desk."

"Take your time Jenny," Mike told her when she again fell silent. "I know this must be hard for you."

"He just sat there looking at me as if he could see right through my soul. I was really and truly frightened then. Terrified that they were going to kill me. When he spoke to me, I could hardly believe what he said, and simply stood there staring back at him."

"And what did he say Jenny?" Mike asked softly.

"He told me to take my clothes off," she sobbed, and Mike held his hand up to prevent my outburst that I was about to make, waiting more patiently than I ever could have, for her to continue.

"When I didn't react he told me to undress again, and I refused and swore at him. I swore at him in Arabic which startled him and he began laughing. I didn't know what to do Mike. There was nothing I could do."

"That's Ok Jenny," he soothed her. "We understand and there's nothing to blame yourself for."

"He told me to take my clothes off for a third time, and when I did nothing, he ... he ....." At which point Jenny sobbed silently for a few moments, while Mike and I sat there reflecting how awful it must have been for her.

"When I did nothing," she took up her tale again. "He told the two men that were still holding me to take my dress off. I struggled and tried to break away, but I stood no chance. By then I was mentally and physically exhausted and just gave up, and they ripped the buttons down the back of my dress and yanked it off me."

Mike gave me a look which clearly told me to keep quiet, which with a struggle I managed, despite the anger and frustration that was building up inside me. I'd been expecting something bad, but not this. No, not this, and it wasn't finished yet.

"I stood there wanting the floor to swallow me up," Jenny went on, almost robotically. "I knew what was coming next. Ibraham told me to take my bra off, but again I refused, and again the other two men grabbed me and stripped it off me. By then I'd had enough, and when he started to talk again, I just reacted and took down my own panties and stood there naked, imagining somehow that I'd defied him."

"Good for you Jenny," Mike encouraged her, maybe somewhat bizarrely.

"He just stared at me not saying anything for a while, why I squirmed in embarrassment, stood there, naked except for my blue wedge sandals that I'd been wearing. I can't describe how humiliating it was; Ibrahim studying my body and the two thugs behind me laughing. I didn't know what they had planned for me, but had a pretty good idea, and at that point simply wanted to get it over with. Then he spoke, Ibrahim that is, and told the other two to get out."

"They left you then?" Mike sought confirmation.

"Yes," answered Jenny, close to tears again. "They didn't seem happy but they went."

"And left you alone with Ibrahim?"

"Yes and he just sat there grinning at me, looking me up and down like a piece of merchandise."

"Take your time Jenny," he encouraged her. "This is all new to us and could be important. We don't know a lot about this Ibrahim character and your experience and insight could be vital. Please Jenny, carry on in your own time."

At this point, when Jenny remained silent, Mike suggested that I might want to get something for us all to drink, a little stronger than the tea that we'd finished by then. It was really pretty obvious that what he actually wanted was the opportunity to talk to Jenny alone, but I went along with it anyway. Standing up, I gave Jenny a comforting pat on the shoulder, and retired to the kitchen, half-heartedly sorting out three glasses and something, almost anything, to fill them up with. I fought the urge to rush back in, my mind in turmoil at what I'd heard so far, knowing that Jenny would need the time. Eventually I found myself counting to fifty, and then my patience ran out, and I walked back into the room acting casual, even though I didn't feel that way. I found Jenny sobbing quietly and Mike leaning forward towards her, whispering whatever men from the ministry whisper on occasions like that.

"Bacardi and coke Jenny sweetheart," I broke into their private world, offering up her favourite drink, which she promptly put down on the table without trying it. "Got you a beer Mike."

"I think Jenny wants me to tell you what happened, Ken," he told me resignedly. "She can't bring herself to tell you."

"Fine," I replied, shrugging my shoulders, wondering how much worse it was going to get.

"It's not pretty."

"I'm not expecting it to be."

"I'm sorry Ken, but I have to inform you that Ibrahim had sexual relations with your wife," he told me straight. His tone was serious and his words rather formal but it made little difference. Another man had fucked my wife! So, by then I'd been expecting it. It wasn't her fault. She couldn't have stopped it. He'd raped her. I fought to hold my emotions in check, knowing that a bad reaction from me at that moment could play havoc with my wife's feelings. She'd suffered enough without my damaged ego adding to her woes.

"It's alright honey. I understand," I assured Jenny, unsure whether to go over to her, or leave her to her grief. "It wasn't your fault. He made you, forced himself on you."

"He did," she sobbed.

"You had no choice," I went on, searching for the right words to console her, while trying desperately to my own feelings of disgust to one side.


Terrorist



"I didn't honey," she sobbed pitifully. "I had no choice."

"I understand," I agreed, though in reality I had no idea at all.

"Not the first time."

"Sorry," I responded, wondering if I'd misunderstood. "What did you say?"

"The first time Ken," she whimpered almost inaudibly. "I had no choice. He forced me. Raped me."

"What are you trying to tell me Jenny?" I nearly choked on my words.

"Easy Ken," Mike butted in, trying to calm things down. "Let her tell you in her own words."

"I couldn't help it Ken," my lovely wife cried out in anguish. "He took me, dominated me, controlled me. I couldn't help myself."

"Couldn't help what Jenny," I asked nervously, dreading what I surely knew was coming next.

"He fucked me good that first time honey," she mumbled. "I'm sorry but I lost it, and my most vivid memory is of fucking him back. Screaming at him to fuck me harder. It seemed to go on forever and I lost count of how many times I orgasmed as they seemed to merge into one another. I didn't want it to end. I didn't want him to stop. I wanted it to go on for ever and ever."

"Christ!" I exclaimed, when she seemed to run out of words. I'd expected something bad, but not that.

"There's more honey," she whispered uncertainly. "I really need to tell you. I have to get it out of my system. Please honey, you're not going to like it, but I do have to tell you."

"Ok," I grunted, swallowing deeply, not trusting myself to say more. Not wanting to listen to her confession, but knowing that I had to. Knowing that my wife had to unburden herself if she was to be able to move on, despite how much her words were going to destroy me. It was now becoming clear why Jenny had been so reluctant to have sex with me.

"After that first time Ken," she continued, strangely calmer and more determined than before. "I just become his slut, his sex slave. He kept me naked all the time and I seemed happy to do that for him, though I couldn't understand why. His men came in from time to time and stared at my naked body, and Ibrahim shouted at me if I tried to hide it. One of his lieutenants groped my breast on the second day, and when I slapped him round the face, Ibrahim dragged me over the other man's knee and let him spank my bare bottom till I cried out for mercy. After that he made it very clear that he would decide who got to look at me and who got to touch me. It was a sort of pecking order. I was expected to sit on the lap of his two most senior men, and let them play with my tits and finger me while they discussed tactics or whatever with Ibrahim. Sometimes he used me as a reward to one of the other guys if he'd done something that had pleased him."

"He let them fuck you?" I croaked, at the edge of my capacity.

"No Ken, he didn't," she replied, displaying what I thought was the hint of a smile on her face if I hadn't known better. "He kept that for himself."

"My God Jenny," I felt myself sobbing in frustration. "I never realised. It must have been awful for you."

"For God's sake Ken," she suddenly screamed out loud. "You don't understand do you? You're not listening to what I'm trying to tell you."

"What ..." I stammered. "What .... How .... "

"Better tell him Jenny, love," Mike encouraged her gently. "It's got to come out sooner or later. Better to get it over with."

"What's got to come out," I demanded my mind spinning in utter confusion, glaring at the two of them.

"Better tell him Jenny," Mike repeated when Jenny sat there tight-lipped.

"It wasn't awful Ken," Jenny, my wife spoke out eventually, quietly but purposefully. "It wasn't awful at all. I hated him for what he was doing to me. I despised myself for the wanton way I was behaving. But it wasn't awful, and I was doing it willingly. I begged him to fuck me more frequently, and stuck my tits out at his men to encourage them to fondle me. I cursed Ibrahim for not letting the others stick their cocks in me, and lay there with my legs open wide to encourage them to defy him. All that, and all he did was laugh at me. I was his toy to do with what he wanted, and in some weird way, I loved it."

With that, leaving me in total shock and lost for words, Jenny leapt to her feet, burst into tears and fled the room, leaving Mike and I silently staring at one another.

"Best to leave her on her own for a while," Mike told me, holding up his hand to mentally if not physically restrain me. "She's let it out and that's half the battle. Believe me Ken, I've seen this sort of thing before, and it's better if you leave her on her own for a few hours."

"And what the fuck am I supposed to do," I exploded, feelings of utter helplessness overcoming me.

"Got any beers in the fridge?"

We did. We had a few, but they didn't survive the evening. Ken let me rant and rave and scream out my anger, while he explained to me some facts about the harsher side of life, that most of us have no knowledge of.

-------------------- 

Reconciliation, because that's what it felt like, wasn't easy. It was Jenny that had suffered, but it seemed that I as the ultimate victim. Jenny but especially Mike explained to me how she had used her position to help and protect the other hostages, and there was a hint that she'd used her body to achieve this on more than one occasion, though I never pushed for fuller details. This was where the hero bit came in, the others considering that without Jenny they might well have not survived to see the end of their imprisonment, though they weren't fully aware of what she had to submit to, in order to accomplish it. 

She was a heroin, and I loved her dearly, but what had happened and the awful details I had heard was like some mental block erected between us. Her confession had given her the release from the mental conflict she was suffering, but had resulted in the opposite effect on me. It wasn't that she'd given herself sexually to that bastard Ibrahim, so much that she'd done it so willingly. Lusting after him, in a way that to my mind, more than she ever had for me.

The limited sexual relations that we'd been enjoying stopped that day. They didn't just stop, but ran into a brick wall. I kept reaching for her, wanting to take her lovingly into my arms, only to choke up inside at the slightest touch of her breasts against my chest. I couldn't do it, and it was destroying our marriage.

Something had to happen and of course something did.

--------------- 

It was Mike again of course.

I came home from an average day at work, nothing special, nothing remarkable, only to note a car sat outside on our drive that I recognised.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" I cursed under my breath. "What is it this time?"

"Hi Ken," Jenny greeted me, her eyes giving away how she was wondering what mood I'd come home in. "Mike is here."

"So I see," I replied curtly.

"We've got another problem."

"What's one more," I said back.

A few minutes later found me sat there facing Mike, a cup of tea in my hand, Jenny hovering around nervously.

"So what is it this time?" I snapped, totally unreasonably.

"Something's come up and we need your help," he informed me, looking up at Jenny for confirmation. "It's Jenny's help we need, but we need you to be Ok with it. She needs you to be OK with it."

I simply nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"Have you been following the news Ken?" he asked to my surprise.

I simply nodded again.

"Have you read about the terrorist outrage that took place in London at the week end,"

"The one that went wrong," I queried, my interest suddenly piqued. "The police foiled it and there was a shoot out."

"That's right," Mike he confirmed. "Several of them got shot, but three of them escaped and are holed up with three young kids they took as hostages."

"Sounds bad," I sighed. "Sounds familiar. How could this involve Jenny?"

"It's Ibrahim," Mike then told me, holding my eye. It was by then no great surprise, and I just sat there shaking my head in bewilderment.

"Go in guns blazing and shoot the bastard," was my suggestions.

"And the kids?"

"Maybe not," I conceded. "As I said before, what has this got to do with Jenny?"

"We need to get those three kids out," Mike went on solemnly. 

"You expect Jenny to go and get them," I joked, though none of us found it funny.

"Tell him Mike," Jenny butted in. "Get it over with."

"Yes tell me Mike," I growled. "How much worse can it get."

"He's agreed to a swap."

"Shit!" I cried out, seeing where this was going.

"He'll release the kids unharmed, if Jenny replaces them."

"And where does that leave Jenny?" I asked trying to keep calm.

"Don't know Ken," he admitted. "But the odds look good."

"How good?"

"I've got to do it Ken," Jenny butted in again. "I can't let those three kids be harmed. I'd never forgive myself."

"And you don't think he'll kill you?" I questioned her. This is the UK and not Egypt remember. The British government will never negotiate to let him escape like the last time."

"I know honey," she answered. "But I don't think he intends to harm me."

"Just to fuck you," I accused her angrily.

"Now hang on there," Mike cried out.

"No he's right Mike," Jenny broke in. "Let's not pretend. That's what he wants me for. He knows the British Government will never give in to his demands, and wants me to keep him amused while he waits it out."

"And is it what you want Jenny," I asked.

"No Ken," she replied, looking me straight in the eye. "I swear it's not what I want, but if it's the only way to save those three poor kids, then that's exactly what I will do."

"You've made your mind up?"

"Yes!"

"Fine," I surrendered, not seeing any way out. "What can I do to help?"

Things couldn't get much worse anyway, could they?

---------------- 

They kept the press clear when the exchange was made, and I simply didn't want to be there. Apparently it went without a hitch, and three very frightened children were united with three very relieved sets of parents. I sort of felt good about that. The speculation in the media went crazy, right off the scale. They were aware that an exchange of hostages had taken place, but were fobbed off that it was high up diplomat. I suspect some of them knew more, but if they did they kept quiet about it, and I had high hopes that in the aftermath Jenny and I might be able to re-establish our relationship without the glare of publicity. If we could re-establish it at all that is, and that was far from sure.

The next two days were terrible.

Not worse than when my wife had been a hostage in Egypt, but different. Somehow I never had a doubt that she would come out of it alive, but this time I knew what she would be doing, and even worse, that to some minor degree she would be doing it willingly. 

----------------- 

The end came swiftly and unexpectedly, and apparently with it any hopes that Jenny's name could be kept out of it. I found that I was never far from a television during that period, most of the time tuned into one of the all day news channels.

"We interrupt this program for a news flash," announced the presenter, breaking off from some obscure explanation about the declining numbers of honeybees. "There's been a report of shooting at the Shaftsbury siege." She then listened to some words in her earpiece and informed the world, or that part of it that was listening, that they were going over to their reporter on the spot.

"We're not sure what's happening," the reporter told us excitedly, my insides turning to ice. "We've all heard some shots just a few moments ago."

At the point, the there was a shout, and the camera swung round to the building where the terrorists were holding Jenny, and to my astonishment she was suddenly there on the screen. She was running from the door in obvious panic, and maybe running for her life. It took me a few moments to register that she was totally naked, but then even worse that a man had burst out from the same door behind her, took two or three steps and raised his gun, some sort of machine gun to aim at her.

The burst of gunfire seemed to go on forever and my heart stopped, and I shut my eyes in fear. When I opened them again, the news coverage had been blanked out, and I screamed at it demanding to know what had happened. 

Blackout! A total real news blackout, that lasted most of that afternoon, while the police moved the press away and they speculated about what had happened, coming up with crazier and crazier ideas.

Who was the beautiful young woman? Did she get shot? Was she still alive? Why was she naked?

Then there were the photos. Lots of them, the world's press having camped just up the road, and hundreds of cameras focused on the door from which she'd emerged in all her glory, all of them on high alert after the shots that had been fired. Not just photos, but living film as well, some of them judiciously fuzzing the pictures of Jenny's nudity, and others, less scrupulous, taking advantage of one of the biggest news scandals of the year. 

I cursed the newspaper that speculated that she was some prostitute caught up in the affair, and ranted at another who claimed she was a cleaner who had been working there. Strangely, none of them seemed to make the connection with the hostage swap, and for that I was grateful.

Later that evening I got a phone call from Mike Jones, who apologised for not being able to call earlier.

"I can't tell you much Ken, only that Jenny is still alive," he told me.

"She's uninjured?" I demanded. "She didn't get shot?"

"Just wounded," I heard the dreaded, but somehow welcome news.

"How badly? When can I see her?"

"I don't know Ken," he told me with a calmness that I couldn't match. "This has gone way above my level. The minister himself is involved and I'm awaiting news. As soon as I hear anything I'll let you know. I'm sure she'll be alright."

"Sure?" I demanded, but he wasn't, and wasn't going to lie to me.

We talked for a few more moments and he rang off, promising to ring me the following morning whether he had any new information or not.

If that wasn't bad enough, then it got worse, and I wasn't even allowed to suffer in silence. Some reporter had made the connection with Ibrahim, the Shaftsbury siege and the Egyptian hostages, and had started to try to contact the Brits that had been released from the refinery. Not sure what his angle was, but all I knew was that this nosey bastard was putting his nose in where it wasn't wanted and I told him so. Five more calls later and I only just resisted throwing my mobile against the wall in anger, settling for turning it off and tossing it into a drawer. Another three calls and I pulled the plug on the house phone as well, berating myself for being so stupid as telling a reporter to 'fuck off', and piquing his interest. It was only when the buggers started knocking on my door twenty minutes later that I decided I'd had enough. Slipping out of the back door, I was able to make my way down the lane behind our house, across the neighbours garden and off down the road without them knowing. 

At least my moments of action had kept my mind off of Jenny's situation for a while, but as I trudged the streets it all came flooding back. I needed a drink, a strong drink and I needed one quickly. Seeing a pub's lights further down the road, I made a bea-line for it, and was pleased to get in from the cold, soon finding myself huddled up in the corner with a double scotch in my hand, trying to ignore the banter going on around me, and the nonsense being spouted on the discussion program on the TV above the bar. 

I was managing to settle myself down, telling myself that Jenny would be OK, when for the second time that evening I heard those dreaded words again.

'We interrupt this program for a news flash.'

Time stopped, my breathing stopped, the world stopped, and then my world came to end.

"We've just had it confirmed that the woman shot in the Shaftsbury siege earlier today, has died in hospital of her wounds. The police have confirmed that the woman in question was ..."

Somehow I couldn't hear the rest of what was being said, as a red blur descended on me. Rough hands grabbed me and I was thrown to the floor, hitting my head against the bar, and knocking me half senseless.

'The bastards have got me as well,' were the last thoughts that went through my mind.

----------------------- 

I struggled to open my eyes, trying to make sense of where I was, and why I was there. At last managing to focus them, I was able to make out what looked to be a man in uniform sitting in the corner reading something. It took me a few moments to gather my thoughts, and then it all came flooding back to me, and I cried out in anguish. Alarm bells rang, people rushed in and suddenly my head was flopping back and I was drifting off again into la la land. The bastards had got me again.

The next time I was aware of coming to again, I tried to trick them, lying there with my eyes closed, trying to sort out who these people were.

"Mr Bolton, Ken, can you hear me?"

The bastards were trying to trick me, but the voice sounded somehow familiar. "Mike," I croaked. "Is that you? Where the hell am I?"

"It's me Mike Jones," he told me. "You're in hospital. Had a bad crack on the head, but you're going to be OK."

"Good," I said trying to smile, realising that there was no 'them'. Then letting out a wail as the news of my wife's death came back to me.

"Jenny," I sobbed. "She's dead Mike. The bastards got her. They shot her."

"Slight exaggeration Mike," he grinned at me.

"Don't fuck with me Mike," I growled at him. "Jenny, she's dead."

"She's not," I heard him say.

"Stop lying to me," I shouted, as far as I was able, at him.

"Better believe him honey," came a softer voice from somewhere on my left.

"Is that you Jenny?" I cried out in confusion.

"Yes my love it's me," I heard my wife's voice, and looking up, saw her sitting there. Sitting there in a wheel chair, her left shoulder swathed in bandages, and that was the image in my mind as I drifted back into unconsciousness again.

-------------------------

A week or so later, I wasn't too aware of time passing, found me sitting on our settee at home, Jenny alongside me, the pair of us hanging onto one another's hand, not wanting to let go.

"So you're telling me that it was all a cover up, Mike," I said to the ministry man sat across from us. "The Government wanted to keep Jenny's name out of the press."

"That's right Ken," Mike confirmed. "Didn't want the world to find out that we'd given into a terrorist's demands, or that we'd sent an untrained woman into a dangerous situation. That's why we hinted that the hostage swap had been a diplomat, and could hardly change our story."

"But I heard that Jenny had died of her wounds?" I queried.

"And if you hadn't thrown your glass through the TV screen at that point, then you would have probably heard that her name was being withheld, as she was a foreign diplomat," he grinned at me. "It's still being withheld, but the rumour going round is that she was actually an Egyptian secret service agent. I tried to ring you to warn you about the press statement about to go out, but couldn't get through to you."

"That's what happened, was it?" I mumbled, it all beginning to make sense, remembering my mobile phone still sitting there in the drawer. "I guess it was the guys in the pub who tackled me."

"The landlord actually," he laughed. "Wasn't best pleased with you smashing his new television, so he wasn't exactly gentle with you. Don't worry by the way, we've sorted it out with him."

"I suppose it was you who started the rumour about the dead woman being an Egyptian," Jenny joined in.

"Not me personally," Mike smiled, making it clear that it was his department, without having to admit it. "Besides, we couldn't risk Jenny having to go to court. That could have been a political disaster, so the easiest thing was to kill the mysterious woman off."




Terrorist



"Court? You mean as in a law court? She didn't do anything. What's politics got to do with it?"

"Not officially, no of course she didn't," he sighed, glancing over to Jenny as if to seek her permission to go on, turning back to me when she nodded her approval. "Before we exchanged her for the children, Jenny asked us if we would show her how to fire a gun. We weren't keen, but she was insistent, so against our better judgment we gave her a few hours on the shooting range. Showed her the elements of using a hand gun."

"You're not telling me ....." I started, unable to put words to what I thought they were about to tell me.

"I shot them honey," Jenny confirmed the unthinkable. "A naked woman somehow doesn't seem threatening. They let their guard down. I got Ibrahim's gun and shot him. He stood there and looked at me as I aimed the gun at him and he smiled. I don't think he thought I'd do it, or that I could do it. "I thought you loved me," he said to me, as he took a step towards me, holding his hand out for the gun. "I love my husband," I said back, and pulled the trigger, but forgot all the training they'd given me. I aimed for his chest, but didn't allow for the recoil and shot him straight between the eyes."

"That helped with our story about the Egyptian secret agent," Mike broke in. "It's surprisingly difficult for an inexperienced person to be that accurate."

I nodded my understanding, though it was all beyond me, and waited for Jenny to carry on.

"The other one, the Sudanese guy came rushing in and I shot at him and missed from three or four feet. He ran and I chased him, but he got away, but the third one, the fat one was suddenly there in front of me with a gun pointing at me. They tell me it must have misfired or jammed or something, I pulled my trigger till there was no bullets left, but I don't know how many hit him."

"Two," Mike interjected, looking at her with admiration. "It was enough."

"I didn't know where the guy I'd missed was, so I ran. Didn't even occur to me that I was naked. I just ran for the door to escape."

"A dramatic escape Jenny," I grinned at her. "But you nearly didn't make it."

"No, but I did thanks to Mike here," she answered, smiling at him and giving his hand an affectionate pat."

"You shot that terrorist Mike?" I demanded, again shocked at what was being revealed to me.

"Me and about five others Ken," he grinned. "But I think maybe I got him first. It was a ricochet that actually hit your wife in the shoulder."

Good Lord!

----------------- 

Pretty soon there were a series of uprisings or skirmishes, and then the conflict in Syria caught the attention of the world press and our little incident faded into the background, the trail leading to the identity of the mysterious Egyptian woman going cold as the ministry men fed the press misinformation. Jenny and I were able to go back to the life as we'd known it, more or less at least, as she changed departments, and her trips abroad became much less frequent.

I managed to get over how Jenny had acted that first time with Ibrahim, and she answered honestly any questions I asked, without holding anything back. We confronted it rather than trying to pretend it never happened, and in some very odd way it's become a regular part of our sexual fantasies. Weird? Maybe but it worked for us.

Mike's become an occasional but regular visitor, him and I finding that we were both Arsenal supporters and Jenny still convinced that it was him who had saved her life. He's become a special friend and person in our life, though when he recently 'disappeared' somewhere for a month, we knew not to ask too many questions.

So far, life goes on.

++++++++++++ 

Hope you enjoyed it. OK, I know it's unlikely, but so was the pound of flesh in the Merchant of Venice, and old Will got away with it. Not comparing myself with him of course, but then, he did it for a living, whereas I seem to spend a lot of time mowing greens and fairways.

Suspend belief for a while, and excuse me if you find any errors in my recounting of actual world events. I tried my best within the time available, but admit to having bent a few facts a bit.

+++++++++++++++++ 

Jenny was only supposed to have been gone five days!

My thirty-year old wife Jennifer, or Jenny to all and sundry, worked for a large travel company who jetted holidaymakers round the world to exotic and sometimes less so places. She'd started in their offices in London straight from University and had steadily worked her way up the management scale, her quick brain not held back by her pretty face and pert slim body, or for that matter, though she would never admit it, her penchant for short skirts that showed her long legs off. Ok, so maybe she was a bit of a tease and a flirt, but that was all part of her outgoing personality, and she never let it go too far, or get out of hand. Not exactly a feminist, and to be honest not exactly looking like the archetypical one, Jenny was however outspoken about women being able to make it in the business world. It did lead to the occasional heated discussion between us, but the making up afterwards inevitably made up for it. 

It was January 2011, and Jenny was over in Egypt negotiating and renewing contracts with some of the very many tourist hotels that were there, unaware at the time of the political unrest that was about to break out and engulf the country. She'd 'done' Cairo as she described it to me when she rang me on the second day, and was pleased to be on her way to Luxor, many miles south down the Nile, and home to some of the most incredible ancient sites in the world. If you've never been to see the temples and Valley of the Kings, then you've really missed out, even though Tutankhamen's tomb is no longer easy to visit.

"I'm really looking forward to going back there Ken," she'd told me just the night previously. "The local manager has promised to find time for us to go on a short cruise on the Nile."

"Sounds romantic Jenny," I teased her. "Don't let him get too friendly."

"Ahmed is twice my age and twice your waist size," my wife laughed back. "He's a nice enough guy but not my type."

"Pleased to hear it honey," I laughed back, unaware that Ahmed wasn't the man that I should have been worrying about. Unaware for that matter, of how dramatically that trip on the Nile was about to affect both our lives.

-------------------

The uprising in Tunisia had burst on the world just before the Christmas and had been basically well accepted in the Western world, the regime of President Zine Abidine Ben Ali being seen as displaying a lack openness and fairness. Democracy became the by-word of the times, though some might think that there has been little more of that in the region despite the list of popular uprisings.

What perhaps caught some people out was quite how quickly Egypt followed in Tunisia's footsteps, and Jenny found herself in the middle of it when it did break out. 

"Don't worry Ken," Jenny calmed me down when I at last managed to contact her on her mobile phone. "The problems are mainly in Cairo and it's quite calm down here. I'm drifting down the Nile with a glass of something nice and cool in my hand, and nothing could be more relaxing."

Little did we know that soon after our short conversation, her calmness would be shattered as terrorists, depending on who's side you were on of course, boarded the river cruiser shot two of the crew and took over. It's not clear exactly what happened in the confusion, or even quite sure what they were trying to achieve, but all I know is that later that evening I got a formal visit that was to change everything, and informed that my wife had been taken hostage with a dozen or so other Europeans.

The news, as you can imagine was shattering, and for several hours I simply couldn't take it in, my normally well ordered brain telling me that it was all a horrible dream and that it would soon pass if I ignored it.

But of course it didn't!

No news was better than bad news they say, but the next few days without any of it was nerve wracking, as I wondered whether I would ever see my beautiful wife again, and whether I'd ever hold that slim pliant body in my arms again. Grown men shouldn't cry they also say, but it was difficult. Damn difficult, and it wasn't made any easier when 'the man from the ministry' informed me that neither Mubarak who was still hanging onto power, or the jumble of loosely connected groups that were opposing him made statements condemning the kidnapping.

"Is that a good thing?" I asked him hopefully.

"Depends," Jones, the man from the ministry answered unhelpfully. "I couldn't say that it's a bad development though."

I hated him, but without reason of course, as he was only doing his job, and as the days turned into weeks his constant assurances that they were doing everything they could do were more than welcome, if not helpful. They found the boat abandoned a week later the crew having disappeared, no doubt as confused as to who's side they were on as most of the poor sods probably were. One body was found, a Russian tourist, though quite why he was executed was a mystery, but of the others there was no sign. Eleven poor souls on a relaxing trip down the river caught up in the political turmoil that they couldn't understand and probably had little interest in, wondering whether they'd ever see their loved ones again, much as I and the other suffering families were doing.

-----------

When the news came through I felt physically sick, and though the media are doubtlessly only doing their job, to hear that the terrorists had been found and surrounded, on the news on the television was not what I would have chosen. But no news of the hostages or that they were even alive, the fate of the Russian uppermost in my mind as I waited impatiently for further information. Again, Jones to the rescue, with almost hourly telephone calls with the tiniest bit of news, none of it bad, but little of it encouraging.

Then the news that had been worrying me, as confused information filtered through infuriatingly slowly that 'forces', whoever they were, had attacked the energy facility that the terrorist where holed up in. People were killed and then they weren't. The hostages were freed and then they hadn't been. There'd been a blood bath, and then magically no shots had been fired.

Who knew the truth? Nobody did, as the press went into a frenzy of speculation, while clearer heads knew that they'd just have to wait and see. 

Then the phone call from Jones came through; the one that I'd been praying for but dreading.

"What did you say?" I sobbed as I heard his calm voice, convinced that my ears were playing tricks with me.

"She's alive," he repeated. "The Egyptians let the terrorists go free and all the hostages were released unharmed."

Oh my God! At last I allowed myself to cry.

--------------

The worst five weeks of my entire life and I still couldn't make sense of why any of it had happened, and all Jones had ever been able to offer was a shrug of his shoulders. One innocent Russian and at least two locals dead, eleven people put through an awful ordeal and so many families and friends sick with worry, and it was all summed up with a shrug of his shoulders. He couldn't help it, couldn't offer any more, and it all came down to world politics.

Jenny's homecoming was a surprisingly low-key affair. She was one of only three Brits in the group so there was no huge welcoming party from the press at the airport when she flew in, and was immediately whisked away for a short debriefing. It didn't take long but seemed an eternity as I waited in a private room at Heathrow, leaping to my feet as the door at last opened and faithful old Jones escorted my wife in. We stood there silently staring at one another, lost for words, fearful that we'd lose one another again, but unsure of how to approach each other.

"Take me home Ken," she said simply, and we fell into one another's arms, Jenny bursting into tears and me fighting to hold mine back.

I took her home, or at least someone drove us back and left us there, and we spent the evening quietly, simply enjoying each other's company, reaching out to touch each other every time we came close, as if to verify that it was real and not some terrible joke that nature was playing on us. That night we slept cuddled up close, but there was no love making, as if sex might sully and cheapen our joy at re-finding one another.

Life was wonderful again.

------------------

During the time Jenny had been away, Jones and his team had spent some time warning me and no doubt the other families, that hostages on their return to normal life could act abnormally and be subject to sudden turns of mood, as their psychological balance returned to normal. Initially it had all been fairly basic stuff, I suspect more to keep our spirits up that our love ones would be coming back to us than to really prepare us. Only in the few days between them being found and bought back to UK, were we subjected to some more serious warnings on what to expect and how to handle it. That they might seem changed and quiet, or quite the opposite, as the experience affected different people in different ways. Certainly Jenny would be as happy as a lark one day and then down in the dumps the next.

"I'm not feeling ready to talk about it yet Ken," she told me each time I gently pressed her for more information. "I'll tell you when I'm ready, but not yet."

There was something that she was hiding from me and wasn't prepared to discuss and there was no surprise there of course. I couldn't put my finger on it and daren't ask her outright, even though as touchy feely as we had remained, we had not been able to return to a full sexual relationship. We cuddled in bed, and she allowed me to hold her breasts when we lay together, but any attempts to go beyond that left her upset and agitated. I put this down as being normal in the circumstances, not knowing what normal was, and resolved myself to be patient until Jenny was ready.

-------------

"Mike Jones rang today, Ken," Jenny told me when I came back from my work a week or so after her return. "He needs to talk to me."

"Fine," I replied, hoping that a discussion with him might help her. "I'll come down to London with you if you want."

"No need honey. He's coming here tomorrow at ten, and I really need you to be here with me."

"No problem Jenny," I agreed. "I'll be right here with you."

And so at ten on the dot, the doorbell rang and we let Jones, or Mike as we'd got to know him, into our house. We chatted idly about nothing at all, while we made a cup of tea and settled down.

"Jenny," Mike started after the chitchat was finished. "You know I've interviewed the others British hostages and we've heard from our French and Dutch counterparts?"

"Yes," Jenny replied, suddenly sombre. "You told me on the phone."

"And you know that they all think you're some kind of hero," he went on to my astonishment. "That possibly you saved all their lives."

"So you said Mike," she acknowledged him without looking round at me. "I helped, but it's a long leap to saying I saved anyone's life."

"Well that's not how they see it Jenny. You do know we have to talk about this, don't you?"

"Yes Mike," she mumbled quietly.

"Have you talked to Ken about what happened?"

"No," she whispered, her head down, staring at the floor.

"Mightn't it be better if we talked about it alone then?"

"What the hell's going on here," I interjected. "What are you on about? What happened?"

"Please Ken," Jenny rounded on me, her eyes watering up as she faced me. "I just haven't been able to tell you what actually happened. I couldn't. I'm going to tell Mike and I want you to listen and try to understand, and I beg you not to interrupt till I've finished. I think this is the only way that I can do this."

I glanced across at Mike, and he nodded his head back to me with a sad but serious expression on his face. He obviously already knew a whole lot more than I did, and I wondered what on earth I was about to discover. I had no option. "Ok Jenny," I agreed, in a voice which I hoped was calmer than I felt. "Carry on honey. Just pretend I'm not here."

"Thank you Ken," she whispered, giving me just a trace of a smile. "Thank you for being so understanding."

And so she began, addressing her words directly at Mike, her voice low but steady, not once looking back to where I still sat.

"We were on the boat, and the first thing any of us knew something was wrong, was when it slewed around and the engine note shot up. I guess the Captain had seen the smaller boat and was trying to get away."

"Thank you Jenny, but we know all about that from the others," Mike took over when Jenny fell silent. "We know that the two crew members who resisted got shot, but not why or when the Russian man was killed."

"I don't know why, only that it was Ibrahim that shot him."

"Who the hell's Ibrahim?" I spoke up despite my promise, but was waved into silence by Mike, and Jenny continued as if I hadn't spoken.

"He told me later that he'd had to shoot him. Something about revenge for some outrage a few years back, but nothing more than that."

"Thanks Jenny," Mike encouraged her. "That's new and might be useful to our Russian colleagues. We know that they beached the boat and let the Egyptian crew and non Europeans go, and that there was a lorry waiting to take you and the others away."

"Yes. There were five or six who took the boat over and another couple waiting with the lorry."

"At what point did they split you away from the others Jenny?" He asked. "The others didn't seem to be sure."

"Not till we reached the oil terminal or whatever it was. The others were forced out of the back of the lorry, but when I went to join them, they held me back. I thought for a moment that they were going to kill me, but they took me away to another part of the complex, to some sort of accommodation block, and left me locked up there on my own for hours."

"Then what?" He urged her on, after she sat there silently as she re-lived her ordeal. "This is the bit that we don't know about."

"It was early evening, just getting dark, when two of them came for me. I resisted, but it was hopeless, and they half dragged me to another room further along. When I got there, there was the leader of the boarding party, who I now know to be Ibrahim, sat there behind a desk."

"Take your time Jenny," Mike told her when she again fell silent. "I know this must be hard for you."

"He just sat there looking at me as if he could see right through my soul. I was really and truly frightened then. Terrified that they were going to kill me. When he spoke to me, I could hardly believe what he said, and simply stood there staring back at him."

"And what did he say Jenny?" Mike asked softly.

"He told me to take my clothes off," she sobbed, and Mike held his hand up to prevent my outburst that I was about to make, waiting more patiently than I ever could have, for her to continue.

"When I didn't react he told me to undress again, and I refused and swore at him. I swore at him in Arabic which startled him and he began laughing. I didn't know what to do Mike. There was nothing I could do."

"That's Ok Jenny," he soothed her. "We understand and there's nothing to blame yourself for."

"He told me to take my clothes off for a third time, and when I did nothing, he ... he ....." At which point Jenny sobbed silently for a few moments, while Mike and I sat there reflecting how awful it must have been for her.

"When I did nothing," she took up her tale again. "He told the two men that were still holding me to take my dress off. I struggled and tried to break away, but I stood no chance. By then I was mentally and physically exhausted and just gave up, and they ripped the buttons down the back of my dress and yanked it off me."




Terrorist



Mike gave me a look which clearly told me to keep quiet, which with a struggle I managed, despite the anger and frustration that was building up inside me. I'd been expecting something bad, but not this. No, not this, and it wasn't finished yet.

"I stood there wanting the floor to swallow me up," Jenny went on, almost robotically. "I knew what was coming next. Ibraham told me to take my bra off, but again I refused, and again the other two men grabbed me and stripped it off me. By then I'd had enough, and when he started to talk again, I just reacted and took down my own panties and stood there naked, imagining somehow that I'd defied him."

"Good for you Jenny," Mike encouraged her, maybe somewhat bizarrely.

"He just stared at me not saying anything for a while, why I squirmed in embarrassment, stood there, naked except for my blue wedge sandals that I'd been wearing. I can't describe how humiliating it was; Ibrahim studying my body and the two thugs behind me laughing. I didn't know what they had planned for me, but had a pretty good idea, and at that point simply wanted to get it over with. Then he spoke, Ibrahim that is, and told the other two to get out."

"They left you then?" Mike sought confirmation.

"Yes," answered Jenny, close to tears again. "They didn't seem happy but they went."

"And left you alone with Ibrahim?"

"Yes and he just sat there grinning at me, looking me up and down like a piece of merchandise."

"Take your time Jenny," he encouraged her. "This is all new to us and could be important. We don't know a lot about this Ibrahim character and your experience and insight could be vital. Please Jenny, carry on in your own time."

At this point, when Jenny remained silent, Mike suggested that I might want to get something for us all to drink, a little stronger than the tea that we'd finished by then. It was really pretty obvious that what he actually wanted was the opportunity to talk to Jenny alone, but I went along with it anyway. Standing up, I gave Jenny a comforting pat on the shoulder, and retired to the kitchen, half-heartedly sorting out three glasses and something, almost anything, to fill them up with. I fought the urge to rush back in, my mind in turmoil at what I'd heard so far, knowing that Jenny would need the time. Eventually I found myself counting to fifty, and then my patience ran out, and I walked back into the room acting casual, even though I didn't feel that way. I found Jenny sobbing quietly and Mike leaning forward towards her, whispering whatever men from the ministry whisper on occasions like that.

"Bacardi and coke Jenny sweetheart," I broke into their private world, offering up her favourite drink, which she promptly put down on the table without trying it. "Got you a beer Mike."

"I think Jenny wants me to tell you what happened, Ken," he told me resignedly. "She can't bring herself to tell you."

"Fine," I replied, shrugging my shoulders, wondering how much worse it was going to get.

"It's not pretty."

"I'm not expecting it to be."

"I'm sorry Ken, but I have to inform you that Ibrahim had sexual relations with your wife," he told me straight. His tone was serious and his words rather formal but it made little difference. Another man had fucked my wife! So, by then I'd been expecting it. It wasn't her fault. She couldn't have stopped it. He'd raped her. I fought to hold my emotions in check, knowing that a bad reaction from me at that moment could play havoc with my wife's feelings. She'd suffered enough without my damaged ego adding to her woes.

"It's alright honey. I understand," I assured Jenny, unsure whether to go over to her, or leave her to her grief. "It wasn't your fault. He made you, forced himself on you."

"He did," she sobbed.

"You had no choice," I went on, searching for the right words to console her, while trying desperately to my own feelings of disgust to one side.

"I didn't honey," she sobbed pitifully. "I had no choice."

"I understand," I agreed, though in reality I had no idea at all.

"Not the first time."

"Sorry," I responded, wondering if I'd misunderstood. "What did you say?"

"The first time Ken," she whimpered almost inaudibly. "I had no choice. He forced me. Raped me."

"What are you trying to tell me Jenny?" I nearly choked on my words.

"Easy Ken," Mike butted in, trying to calm things down. "Let her tell you in her own words."

"I couldn't help it Ken," my lovely wife cried out in anguish. "He took me, dominated me, controlled me. I couldn't help myself."

"Couldn't help what Jenny," I asked nervously, dreading what I surely knew was coming next.

"He fucked me good that first time honey," she mumbled. "I'm sorry but I lost it, and my most vivid memory is of fucking him back. Screaming at him to fuck me harder. It seemed to go on forever and I lost count of how many times I orgasmed as they seemed to merge into one another. I didn't want it to end. I didn't want him to stop. I wanted it to go on for ever and ever."

"Christ!" I exclaimed, when she seemed to run out of words. I'd expected something bad, but not that.

"There's more honey," she whispered uncertainly. "I really need to tell you. I have to get it out of my system. Please honey, you're not going to like it, but I do have to tell you."

"Ok," I grunted, swallowing deeply, not trusting myself to say more. Not wanting to listen to her confession, but knowing that I had to. Knowing that my wife had to unburden herself if she was to be able to move on, despite how much her words were going to destroy me. It was now becoming clear why Jenny had been so reluctant to have sex with me.

"After that first time Ken," she continued, strangely calmer and more determined than before. "I just become his slut, his sex slave. He kept me naked all the time and I seemed happy to do that for him, though I couldn't understand why. His men came in from time to time and stared at my naked body, and Ibrahim shouted at me if I tried to hide it. One of his lieutenants groped my breast on the second day, and when I slapped him round the face, Ibrahim dragged me over the other man's knee and let him spank my bare bottom till I cried out for mercy. After that he made it very clear that he would decide who got to look at me and who got to touch me. It was a sort of pecking order. I was expected to sit on the lap of his two most senior men, and let them play with my tits and finger me while they discussed tactics or whatever with Ibrahim. Sometimes he used me as a reward to one of the other guys if he'd done something that had pleased him."

"He let them fuck you?" I croaked, at the edge of my capacity.

"No Ken, he didn't," she replied, displaying what I thought was the hint of a smile on her face if I hadn't known better. "He kept that for himself."

"My God Jenny," I felt myself sobbing in frustration. "I never realised. It must have been awful for you."

"For God's sake Ken," she suddenly screamed out loud. "You don't understand do you? You're not listening to what I'm trying to tell you."

"What ..." I stammered. "What .... How .... "

"Better tell him Jenny, love," Mike encouraged her gently. "It's got to come out sooner or later. Better to get it over with."

"What's got to come out," I demanded my mind spinning in utter confusion, glaring at the two of them.

"Better tell him Jenny," Mike repeated when Jenny sat there tight-lipped.

"It wasn't awful Ken," Jenny, my wife spoke out eventually, quietly but purposefully. "It wasn't awful at all. I hated him for what he was doing to me. I despised myself for the wanton way I was behaving. But it wasn't awful, and I was doing it willingly. I begged him to fuck me more frequently, and stuck my tits out at his men to encourage them to fondle me. I cursed Ibrahim for not letting the others stick their cocks in me, and lay there with my legs open wide to encourage them to defy him. All that, and all he did was laugh at me. I was his toy to do with what he wanted, and in some weird way, I loved it."

With that, leaving me in total shock and lost for words, Jenny leapt to her feet, burst into tears and fled the room, leaving Mike and I silently staring at one another.

"Best to leave her on her own for a while," Mike told me, holding up his hand to mentally if not physically restrain me. "She's let it out and that's half the battle. Believe me Ken, I've seen this sort of thing before, and it's better if you leave her on her own for a few hours."

"And what the fuck am I supposed to do," I exploded, feelings of utter helplessness overcoming me.

"Got any beers in the fridge?"

We did. We had a few, but they didn't survive the evening. Ken let me rant and rave and scream out my anger, while he explained to me some facts about the harsher side of life, that most of us have no knowledge of.

-------------------- 

Reconciliation, because that's what it felt like, wasn't easy. It was Jenny that had suffered, but it seemed that I as the ultimate victim. Jenny but especially Mike explained to me how she had used her position to help and protect the other hostages, and there was a hint that she'd used her body to achieve this on more than one occasion, though I never pushed for fuller details. This was where the hero bit came in, the others considering that without Jenny they might well have not survived to see the end of their imprisonment, though they weren't fully aware of what she had to submit to, in order to accomplish it. 

She was a heroin, and I loved her dearly, but what had happened and the awful details I had heard was like some mental block erected between us. Her confession had given her the release from the mental conflict she was suffering, but had resulted in the opposite effect on me. It wasn't that she'd given herself sexually to that bastard Ibrahim, so much that she'd done it so willingly. Lusting after him, in a way that to my mind, more than she ever had for me.

The limited sexual relations that we'd been enjoying stopped that day. They didn't just stop, but ran into a brick wall. I kept reaching for her, wanting to take her lovingly into my arms, only to choke up inside at the slightest touch of her breasts against my chest. I couldn't do it, and it was destroying our marriage.

Something had to happen and of course something did.

--------------- 

It was Mike again of course.

I came home from an average day at work, nothing special, nothing remarkable, only to note a car sat outside on our drive that I recognised.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" I cursed under my breath. "What is it this time?"

"Hi Ken," Jenny greeted me, her eyes giving away how she was wondering what mood I'd come home in. "Mike is here."

"So I see," I replied curtly.

"We've got another problem."

"What's one more," I said back.

A few minutes later found me sat there facing Mike, a cup of tea in my hand, Jenny hovering around nervously.

"So what is it this time?" I snapped, totally unreasonably.

"Something's come up and we need your help," he informed me, looking up at Jenny for confirmation. "It's Jenny's help we need, but we need you to be Ok with it. She needs you to be OK with it."

I simply nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"Have you been following the news Ken?" he asked to my surprise.

I simply nodded again.

"Have you read about the terrorist outrage that took place in London at the week end,"

"The one that went wrong," I queried, my interest suddenly piqued. "The police foiled it and there was a shoot out."

"That's right," Mike he confirmed. "Several of them got shot, but three of them escaped and are holed up with three young kids they took as hostages."

"Sounds bad," I sighed. "Sounds familiar. How could this involve Jenny?"

"It's Ibrahim," Mike then told me, holding my eye. It was by then no great surprise, and I just sat there shaking my head in bewilderment.

"Go in guns blazing and shoot the bastard," was my suggestions.

"And the kids?"

"Maybe not," I conceded. "As I said before, what has this got to do with Jenny?"

"We need to get those three kids out," Mike went on solemnly. 

"You expect Jenny to go and get them," I joked, though none of us found it funny.

"Tell him Mike," Jenny butted in. "Get it over with."

"Yes tell me Mike," I growled. "How much worse can it get."

"He's agreed to a swap."

"Shit!" I cried out, seeing where this was going.

"He'll release the kids unharmed, if Jenny replaces them."

"And where does that leave Jenny?" I asked trying to keep calm.

"Don't know Ken," he admitted. "But the odds look good."

"How good?"

"I've got to do it Ken," Jenny butted in again. "I can't let those three kids be harmed. I'd never forgive myself."

"And you don't think he'll kill you?" I questioned her. This is the UK and not Egypt remember. The British government will never negotiate to let him escape like the last time."

"I know honey," she answered. "But I don't think he intends to harm me."

"Just to fuck you," I accused her angrily.

"Now hang on there," Mike cried out.

"No he's right Mike," Jenny broke in. "Let's not pretend. That's what he wants me for. He knows the British Government will never give in to his demands, and wants me to keep him amused while he waits it out."

"And is it what you want Jenny," I asked.

"No Ken," she replied, looking me straight in the eye. "I swear it's not what I want, but if it's the only way to save those three poor kids, then that's exactly what I will do."

"You've made your mind up?"

"Yes!"

"Fine," I surrendered, not seeing any way out. "What can I do to help?"

Things couldn't get much worse anyway, could they?

---------------- 

They kept the press clear when the exchange was made, and I simply didn't want to be there. Apparently it went without a hitch, and three very frightened children were united with three very relieved sets of parents. I sort of felt good about that. The speculation in the media went crazy, right off the scale. They were aware that an exchange of hostages had taken place, but were fobbed off that it was high up diplomat. I suspect some of them knew more, but if they did they kept quiet about it, and I had high hopes that in the aftermath Jenny and I might be able to re-establish our relationship without the glare of publicity. If we could re-establish it at all that is, and that was far from sure.

The next two days were terrible.

Not worse than when my wife had been a hostage in Egypt, but different. Somehow I never had a doubt that she would come out of it alive, but this time I knew what she would be doing, and even worse, that to some minor degree she would be doing it willingly. 

----------------- 

The end came swiftly and unexpectedly, and apparently with it any hopes that Jenny's name could be kept out of it. I found that I was never far from a television during that period, most of the time tuned into one of the all day news channels.

"We interrupt this program for a news flash," announced the presenter, breaking off from some obscure explanation about the declining numbers of honeybees. "There's been a report of shooting at the Shaftsbury siege." She then listened to some words in her earpiece and informed the world, or that part of it that was listening, that they were going over to their reporter on the spot.

"We're not sure what's happening," the reporter told us excitedly, my insides turning to ice. "We've all heard some shots just a few moments ago."

At the point, the there was a shout, and the camera swung round to the building where the terrorists were holding Jenny, and to my astonishment she was suddenly there on the screen. She was running from the door in obvious panic, and maybe running for her life. It took me a few moments to register that she was totally naked, but then even worse that a man had burst out from the same door behind her, took two or three steps and raised his gun, some sort of machine gun to aim at her.

The burst of gunfire seemed to go on forever and my heart stopped, and I shut my eyes in fear. When I opened them again, the news coverage had been blanked out, and I screamed at it demanding to know what had happened. 

Blackout! A total real news blackout, that lasted most of that afternoon, while the police moved the press away and they speculated about what had happened, coming up with crazier and crazier ideas.

Who was the beautiful young woman? Did she get shot? Was she still alive? Why was she naked?

Then there were the photos. Lots of them, the world's press having camped just up the road, and hundreds of cameras focused on the door from which she'd emerged in all her glory, all of them on high alert after the shots that had been fired. Not just photos, but living film as well, some of them judiciously fuzzing the pictures of Jenny's nudity, and others, less scrupulous, taking advantage of one of the biggest news scandals of the year. 

I cursed the newspaper that speculated that she was some prostitute caught up in the affair, and ranted at another who claimed she was a cleaner who had been working there. Strangely, none of them seemed to make the connection with the hostage swap, and for that I was grateful.

Later that evening I got a phone call from Mike Jones, who apologised for not being able to call earlier.

"I can't tell you much Ken, only that Jenny is still alive," he told me.

"She's uninjured?" I demanded. "She didn't get shot?"

"Just wounded," I heard the dreaded, but somehow welcome news.

"How badly? When can I see her?"

"I don't know Ken," he told me with a calmness that I couldn't match. "This has gone way above my level. The minister himself is involved and I'm awaiting news. As soon as I hear anything I'll let you know. I'm sure she'll be alright."

"Sure?" I demanded, but he wasn't, and wasn't going to lie to me.

We talked for a few more moments and he rang off, promising to ring me the following morning whether he had any new information or not.

If that wasn't bad enough, then it got worse, and I wasn't even allowed to suffer in silence. Some reporter had made the connection with Ibrahim, the Shaftsbury siege and the Egyptian hostages, and had started to try to contact the Brits that had been released from the refinery. Not sure what his angle was, but all I knew was that this nosey bastard was putting his nose in where it wasn't wanted and I told him so. Five more calls later and I only just resisted throwing my mobile against the wall in anger, settling for turning it off and tossing it into a drawer. Another three calls and I pulled the plug on the house phone as well, berating myself for being so stupid as telling a reporter to 'fuck off', and piquing his interest. It was only when the buggers started knocking on my door twenty minutes later that I decided I'd had enough. Slipping out of the back door, I was able to make my way down the lane behind our house, across the neighbours garden and off down the road without them knowing. 

At least my moments of action had kept my mind off of Jenny's situation for a while, but as I trudged the streets it all came flooding back. I needed a drink, a strong drink and I needed one quickly. Seeing a pub's lights further down the road, I made a bea-line for it, and was pleased to get in from the cold, soon finding myself huddled up in the corner with a double scotch in my hand, trying to ignore the banter going on around me, and the nonsense being spouted on the discussion program on the TV above the bar. 

I was managing to settle myself down, telling myself that Jenny would be OK, when for the second time that evening I heard those dreaded words again.

'We interrupt this program for a news flash.'

Time stopped, my breathing stopped, the world stopped, and then my world came to end.




Terrorist



"We've just had it confirmed that the woman shot in the Shaftsbury siege earlier today, has died in hospital of her wounds. The police have confirmed that the woman in question was ..."

Somehow I couldn't hear the rest of what was being said, as a red blur descended on me. Rough hands grabbed me and I was thrown to the floor, hitting my head against the bar, and knocking me half senseless.

'The bastards have got me as well,' were the last thoughts that went through my mind.

----------------------- 

I struggled to open my eyes, trying to make sense of where I was, and why I was there. At last managing to focus them, I was able to make out what looked to be a man in uniform sitting in the corner reading something. It took me a few moments to gather my thoughts, and then it all came flooding back to me, and I cried out in anguish. Alarm bells rang, people rushed in and suddenly my head was flopping back and I was drifting off again into la la land. The bastards had got me again.

The next time I was aware of coming to again, I tried to trick them, lying there with my eyes closed, trying to sort out who these people were.

"Mr Bolton, Ken, can you hear me?"

The bastards were trying to trick me, but the voice sounded somehow familiar. "Mike," I croaked. "Is that you? Where the hell am I?"

"It's me Mike Jones," he told me. "You're in hospital. Had a bad crack on the head, but you're going to be OK."

"Good," I said trying to smile, realising that there was no 'them'. Then letting out a wail as the news of my wife's death came back to me.

"Jenny," I sobbed. "She's dead Mike. The bastards got her. They shot her."

"Slight exaggeration Mike," he grinned at me.

"Don't fuck with me Mike," I growled at him. "Jenny, she's dead."

"She's not," I heard him say.

"Stop lying to me," I shouted, as far as I was able, at him.

"Better believe him honey," came a softer voice from somewhere on my left.

"Is that you Jenny?" I cried out in confusion.

"Yes my love it's me," I heard my wife's voice, and looking up, saw her sitting there. Sitting there in a wheel chair, her left shoulder swathed in bandages, and that was the image in my mind as I drifted back into unconsciousness again.

-------------------------

A week or so later, I wasn't too aware of time passing, found me sitting on our settee at home, Jenny alongside me, the pair of us hanging onto one another's hand, not wanting to let go.

"So you're telling me that it was all a cover up, Mike," I said to the ministry man sat across from us. "The Government wanted to keep Jenny's name out of the press."

"That's right Ken," Mike confirmed. "Didn't want the world to find out that we'd given into a terrorist's demands, or that we'd sent an untrained woman into a dangerous situation. That's why we hinted that the hostage swap had been a diplomat, and could hardly change our story."

"But I heard that Jenny had died of her wounds?" I queried.

"And if you hadn't thrown your glass through the TV screen at that point, then you would have probably heard that her name was being withheld, as she was a foreign diplomat," he grinned at me. "It's still being withheld, but the rumour going round is that she was actually an Egyptian secret service agent. I tried to ring you to warn you about the press statement about to go out, but couldn't get through to you."

"That's what happened, was it?" I mumbled, it all beginning to make sense, remembering my mobile phone still sitting there in the drawer. "I guess it was the guys in the pub who tackled me."

"The landlord actually," he laughed. "Wasn't best pleased with you smashing his new television, so he wasn't exactly gentle with you. Don't worry by the way, we've sorted it out with him."

"I suppose it was you who started the rumour about the dead woman being an Egyptian," Jenny joined in.

"Not me personally," Mike smiled, making it clear that it was his department, without having to admit it. "Besides, we couldn't risk Jenny having to go to court. That could have been a political disaster, so the easiest thing was to kill the mysterious woman off."

"Court? You mean as in a law court? She didn't do anything. What's politics got to do with it?"

"Not officially, no of course she didn't," he sighed, glancing over to Jenny as if to seek her permission to go on, turning back to me when she nodded her approval. "Before we exchanged her for the children, Jenny asked us if we would show her how to fire a gun. We weren't keen, but she was insistent, so against our better judgment we gave her a few hours on the shooting range. Showed her the elements of using a hand gun."

"You're not telling me ....." I started, unable to put words to what I thought they were about to tell me.

"I shot them honey," Jenny confirmed the unthinkable. "A naked woman somehow doesn't seem threatening. They let their guard down. I got Ibrahim's gun and shot him. He stood there and looked at me as I aimed the gun at him and he smiled. I don't think he thought I'd do it, or that I could do it. "I thought you loved me," he said to me, as he took a step towards me, holding his hand out for the gun. "I love my husband," I said back, and pulled the trigger, but forgot all the training they'd given me. I aimed for his chest, but didn't allow for the recoil and shot him straight between the eyes."

"That helped with our story about the Egyptian secret agent," Mike broke in. "It's surprisingly difficult for an inexperienced person to be that accurate."

I nodded my understanding, though it was all beyond me, and waited for Jenny to carry on.

"The other one, the Sudanese guy came rushing in and I shot at him and missed from three or four feet. He ran and I chased him, but he got away, but the third one, the fat one was suddenly there in front of me with a gun pointing at me. They tell me it must have misfired or jammed or something, I pulled my trigger till there was no bullets left, but I don't know how many hit him."

"Two," Mike interjected, looking at her with admiration. "It was enough."

"I didn't know where the guy I'd missed was, so I ran. Didn't even occur to me that I was naked. I just ran for the door to escape."

"A dramatic escape Jenny," I grinned at her. "But you nearly didn't make it."

"No, but I did thanks to Mike here," she answered, smiling at him and giving his hand an affectionate pat."

"You shot that terrorist Mike?" I demanded, again shocked at what was being revealed to me.

"Me and about five others Ken," he grinned. "But I think maybe I got him first. It was a ricochet that actually hit your wife in the shoulder."

Good Lord!

----------------- 

Pretty soon there were a series of uprisings or skirmishes, and then the conflict in Syria caught the attention of the world press and our little incident faded into the background, the trail leading to the identity of the mysterious Egyptian woman going cold as the ministry men fed the press misinformation. Jenny and I were able to go back to the life as we'd known it, more or less at least, as she changed departments, and her trips abroad became much less frequent.

I managed to get over how Jenny had acted that first time with Ibrahim, and she answered honestly any questions I asked, without holding anything back. We confronted it rather than trying to pretend it never happened, and in some very odd way it's become a regular part of our sexual fantasies. Weird? Maybe but it worked for us.

Mike's become an occasional but regular visitor, him and I finding that we were both Arsenal supporters and Jenny still convinced that it was him who had saved her life. He's become a special friend and person in our life, though when he recently 'disappeared' somewhere for a month, we knew not to ask too many questions.

So far, life goes on.

++++++++++++ 

Hope you enjoyed it. OK, I know it's unlikely, but so was the pound of flesh in the Merchant of Venice, and old Will got away with it. Not comparing myself with him of course, but then, he did it for a living, whereas I seem to spend a lot of time mowing greens and fairways.



Terrorists are Stupid.



Yes, the title is exaggerated, but you're reading, aren't you?

I must say, though, for the most part, terrorists are not the brightest lights in the night sky. 

Think about it. I can plan a better terrorist attack than any of these bozos. 

For example....You want terror? Screw blowing up the World Trade Center—over fifty thousand people worked there, and they could have upwards of 100,000 visitors per day (the magic notebook sees all and retains all). Infect all of them with the bio-weapon of your choice. A little smallpox, for example, maybe plague in the HVAC system. Have it running all day, and you infect both employees and tourists. They, in turn, infect people while going to lunch, on the subway, the ferry, their families, and when tourists go home, they bring it back with them. Being a smart terrorist, you tell the states friendly to you that they should really restrict travel to and from New York, and possibly all of America, period.

By the time the penny drops at the CDC, most of New York City now needs to be quarantined. The economy starts drying up, slowly. Tourism is dead. Fifty thousand jobs in the two buildings are lost, assuming that the employees are not all simply dead.

And I'm not even thinking hard.

Ironically, despite the Wyle E. Coyote explosive in Times Square, the attack itself was the right idea from their point of view. If terrorists want to inspire terror, then small, but frequent, attacks are the way to go. People are scared, frightened, uncertain about what may come around the next corner.

However, a word to al-Qaeda, et al, upon looking at the Time Square incident: when you're acquiring explosives, avoid the ones marked ACME..

As I was saying—thus far, when terrorists can't come up with ideas that I can in my spare time, they should probably reconsider their career goals.

And they are not necessarily uneducated. Osama bin Laden, last I checked, had a degree in engineering—and if I'm mistaken, his family is fill with engineers so he should have some idea. Mohammed Atta, one of the 9-11 pilots, had an upper middle class education in Egypt.

Though it does make me wonder why, thus far, a lot of the terrorists coming our way seemed to have come out of the Wyle E. Coyote school of home explosives. The Underwear Bomber whose bomb caught fire without going off. The Times Square bomber, with a Rube Goldberg timer. The best answer I can come up with is that we're getting all the cannon fodder, who seem as bright as cannonballs. Not to mention that they have few experienced fighters—when you encourage martyrdom in your ranks, you have few people around who can share hard won combat experience.

If I were going to do a terrorist attack.... 

Before someone freaks out about giving them ideas, the media looked at the Time Square bomb and pointed out EXACTLY what was wrong with it. I'm not coming up with anything new.

As I was saying...

Let's look at Grand Central Station: use a biological weapon in the building. From there, it starts infecting the east coast with the plague of your choice. Or, suicide bombers in the terminal during rush hour would also be effective. 

Look at Grant Central for a moment. No security checks in the main portion of the building. No metal detectors, x-rays, nothing. Even I could make an anti-personnel bomb and bring it inside. Bio weapons and suicide bombers would both leave the station itself virtually intact, and the building would eventually be reopened. But in the meantime, traffic would be shot to hell, and once it's reopened... well, would YOU want to go there? The damage would be done. The terminal would be seen by millions of people as a plague-infected site by the ignorant, or it would be seen as a monument of death. It would be a lingering, lasting monument to an attack that would cost hundreds [suicide bomber] if not thousands, or millions of lives [bio weapon].

Traffic would be crippled, either by a lack of people coming in, or by the level of security now required to fully scan everyone coming on or off a train, into or out of the station. It would be a NIGHTMARE, worse than blowing up the 59th street bridge.... then a smart terrorist would blow that up. They've already tried for the Brooklyn Bridge.

But why haven't they? I can make mustard gas, or a bomb, from my kitchen cabinet. My mother is a medical technologist, and she can make a bio weapon in the kitchen. Is it so impossible for al-Qaeda to find five guys to get an associates degree for medical technology, or chemistry? Anyone can come in through the Mexican-US border, so why hasn't a bio weapon attack happened?

It's easy to say "Because they're stupid." In those cases of allowing cannon fodder to fire cannons, yes. However, it's mostly because they're fairly undisciplined. Sure, al-Qaeda has training camps, but have you seen some of the video footage from them? They come into rooms in a perfect shooting posture... for a firing range. Do a quick glance at You tube with any footage of Jack Bauer (of 24 fame) moving through a room with a gun—gun is close in, both arms are tucked, feet in what look like a combat stance for MMA. This is called a Weaver Stance. Now look at the after terrorist training video, and note how they square their feet, and hold their guns out at arm's length, practically locking their elbows. Get some good recoil, they could break their arms.

It's not even an "ethnic" problem. Most terrorists are similar. The IRA for example. They've blow up the wrong targets, caught more people in the crossfire than some Palestinian terrorists, and the Palestinians are AIMING for the civilians. 

Then there was the Japanese Red Army unit brought in to Israel to aid the Palestinians-- they got cut down in the airport because they didn't know the Israelis had security! Yes, and somewhere along the line, SOMEONE thought it was a good idea for Japanese communist terrorists to invade the Middle East. Maybe they thought everyone would think they were tourists...

And one day, I suspect, we will see an attempted nuclear strike on America. They may even make it happen. Why do I say that would be stupid?

Because they'd be dead.

Mecca, Medina, gone. Saudi Arabia, gone. Oil fields? Saudi's population is mostly on the shoreline, away from the oil. Syria? Israel can have them, if they want them. Iran will either disarm, or be destroyed. And God help anyone who gave them a nuke in the first place. The party will be over. War on terror would be finished. And would the world protest? 

"The world" would probably be the one doing the nuking. Because they know a nuke is crossing the line.

The UN would complain, as would all the usual suspects, but would they really do anything to try to harm us? Nope, why would they? Environmental disasters? Not really, the Middle east is a large sandlot, and the populations that aren't nuked can be transplanted [although the winds won't be able to carry the radiation that far east, and remember that OUR nukes come with very little fallout].

Aren't I being callous about this? A nuclear strike would be on either NY or DC, and the Secretary of agriculture would be the head of the country. Well, if DC, we have elections, and the bureaucracy is really hard to destroy, not to mention the amount of bunkers floating around the politicians. The Pakistani bomb requires a warhead the size of a volleyball, and MAY destroy midtown Manhattan [US warheads are the size of a bottle of Pepsi and can vaporize the 5 boroughs], and I live in Queens, so I should be relatively safe, because I intend to run like hell after the initial explosion, or at least head East, away from the fallout. Or I'll be dead, and I won't have to worry much about it, now would I?

However, would it really come to that? It might. But given the performance thus far, I am reminded of an old joke about how one could tell Soviet nuclear submariners apart from the other members of the fleet. Because they glow in the dark.

If terrorists were smart about attacking the United States, they'd do it. They'd be sending people across the Mexican border daily for the sole purpose of heading directly to a target. Any target. 

My father, a professor in Philosophy, came up with the idea of blowing up the New Orleans dams as a terrorist attack in 2000. Now it's a little late for that. Apparently, a family of academics dickering around with this as a mental exercise can come up with a better plan than bin Laden himself.

Ah, but "What about 9-11?"

The only reason they could get away with 9/11 is that the hostage playbook said be calm, you'll be ransomed for later, just play nice with the hostage takers. Not to mention that planes involved in 9-11 came out of Boston. As comedian Carlos Mencia has noted, before 9-11, someone flying Southwest airlines said he would rush the cockpit. When the plane landed, this guy had already been stomped to death. 

Not to Osama: please, fly Southwest.

After 9/11, the playbook was rewritten. Even the passengers of Flight 93 knew better. Sneaker-Bomber Boy was nearly torn apart by the passengers around him, so we know the rules have changed. I want to see some terrorists pull box cutters on board a plane coming out of La Guardia and see how long they last.

The terrorist threat to this country remains, but there are days I think it's just a threat. Looking at the genius exhibited thus far by those to have tried to attack the mainland, I'm just glad that either they're stupid, or we're lucky. 

Unfortunately, sometimes idiots can get lucky.



Terrorists are Stupid Reprise



On November 5th, Army psychiatrist Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan, also known as the Fort Hood shooter, went through Ft. Hood with a handgun, equipped with a laser sight, and went on a shooting spree. 

Not too long ago, I mentioned that Terrorists Are Stupid. 

The more I learn about Maj. Hasan, the more evidence I have. 

For those of you who are not familiar with the technology, a laser sight is supposed to show you where the bullet is going to land. A commercial laser pointer will guide you to bullet points on your PowerPoint presentation. A laser gunsight will guide your bullet to the point on the target you want to shoot.

Part of his rampage included going through a processing center on the base. If it's laid out like other offices, I can only imagine it as shooting fish in a barrel. His path also took him through a soldier-readiness center (go there, get a checkup and sign your will before heading to a war zone). The Military Police had no bullets in their weapons, making one conclude that their rifles are only for clubbing people over the head (note to army: I hope someone has rescinded whatever stupid order armed your MPs with empty guns).

One of Hasan's first attempted victims was a Sergeant Alonzo M. Lunsford. Sgt. Lunsford was in the readiness center when Hasan stood, shouted "Allahu akbar," and opened fire.

Sgt. Lunsford was shot five times, at least once in the face, requiring reconstructive surgery and has resulted in the loss of eyesight in his left eye. At least one of Hasan's bullets obviously hit him in the head.

Sgt. Lunsford is alive, at least in part, because Hasan is obviously an idiot.

Major Hasan "Chop," terrorist idiot, killed thirteen people, and shot thirty-two others. 

It is most likely my mindset for creative havoc that leads me to think: Only thirteen? Hasan "Chop" had the shooting equivalent of training wheels on his handgun, shot up a bunch of soldiers in the midst of paperwork, and he had no armed resistance, AT ALL, until the local police arrived. He could only kill a baker's dozen?

Pretend that you are a terrorist ... if it makes you feel better, pretend I am a terrorist ... you now have the ability to hit what you aim at. Your mission is to kill as many people as possible. You have surprise on your side. One victim you shoot in the head, emptying five bullets into him; would he have survived the first bullet?

From the point of view of a terrorist attack, Major Nidal Malik Hasan, had "the right idea." If a terrorist is doing it right, they should spread, well, terror. If al-Qaeda wanted to wage a campaign, they would have recruited a dozen other Major Hasans, and have a day of shootings.

I am not worried about inspiring al-Qaeda, by the way. If this idea can be thought up a guy in the back end of Queens, NY, who has never even seen a gun up close, I suspect that someone in the AQ hierarchy just MIGHT have thought of it by now.

However, let's take a closer look.  Because, even if al Qaeda decided to wage such a campaign, it would be proof that terrorists were ineffectual bunglers, who only manage to kill people if they get lucky. 

Maj. Hasan shot forty-five people, and killed thirteen. He couldn't even assassinate one-third of the people he shot at. 

He fired over one HUNDRED rounds of ammunition and only HIT forty-five people?

Let's do some basic math.

13 (Killed) + 32 (Wounded) = 45 (Shot).

13 (Killed) / 45 (Shot) = 28.8% (Of victims died.)

Hasan had all of the advantages on his side, and had a rather pathetic "success rate." If success for a terrorist is mass casualties and widespread panic, Hasan is a complete and utter failure.

A twenty-three-year-old college student with a history of mental illness did a "better job" at Virginia Tech, and he was an utter nutbar: 58 shot; 33 dead; 25 injured. That caused fear and trembling all over the place, and was a cause of conversation for weeks, at least on college campuses.

When I applied to be an Air Force historian, I was told that I would have weapons training, even though I would be a civilian employee. One can assume that someone doesn't get to being a Major in the U.S. Military without something like basic weapon's training, no matter the position. 

And yet this wannabe terrorist couldn't even outperform a schizophrenic college student at Virginia Tech.

Hasan's rampage was an attack waged by an idiot, full of sound and gunfire. He had all the advantages one could have, and still managed a paltry outcome.

However, for all that, thirteen people still died.

Which leads to the same conclusion I had at the end of my last "Terrorists Are Stupid" article. Even idiots can get lucky.