The Hostage Chapter One
They were warned not to go out there.
"The town is full of blood thirsty insurgents," the captain said. "They hide in civilian homes. They use mothers and babies as human shields. You never know when one of them will snipe at you from behind a woman, or from the other side of a closed door."
But Trevor Lawrence was not to be discouraged. He wanted an interview with an insurgent and he wanted it badly. He wanted the hatred to spew out of one of them in his own words. He especially wanted the bastard to claim that it was the will of Allah. It was his intention to show the world that they were not soldiers of Allah or freedom fighters, as they claimed, but blood thirsty murderers, hiding behind innocent women and children, and behind God.
He commandeered a Jeep during the night, and he and his Arabic speaking cameraman, Ahmed, set out toward the nearby town just before dawn. The small population of the town was just awakening when Trevor and Ahmed got there. The first life they saw was a young boy sitting aimlessly in a doorway. They stopped, and Ahmed brazenly asked the youngster where the soldiers were. The boy gave out a little sob and waved his head, indicating that they were behind the door he was sitting in front of.
Trevor parked the Jeep, and he and Ahmed approached the door. They knocked. There was no answer, so they opened it anyway. Ahmed entered first, and was instantly shot in the heart. He died without knowing what hit him. Trevor was luckier. He was surrounded and knocked unconscious by two insurgents.
When he awakened, he found himself propped up against a wall. His hands were tied behind him with a heavy rope. The rope was course and was biting into his wrists. His feet were also tied at the ankle with the same rope. Heavy duct tape was covering his mouth. His head felt light and the room seemed to be spinning around him. He was sick to his stomach, and he wanted to vomit, but that would be impossible with his mouth taped shut. He had to control his urge to spew up, or else he could drown in his own puke.
He looked around. He was in a bare room with one small window high up one of the walls. It truly looked like a prison cell. The heat in the room was unbearable. He was alone, and his head was throbbing. He knew instinctively that he had been moved to a different location, probably some insurgent hiding place. He passed out again, just as he became aware that he had to pee.
In his sleep, he felt someone shaking his shoulder. "Wake up, Trevor," he heard a voice commanding him, and he thought Thank God. It's all a dream. The shaking got more insistent, and he realized that he wasn't dreaming at all. He opened his eyes with great difficulty.
A tall, thin man hovered over him. He needed a bath, and he emitted a putrid body odor. He sported a mustache and a small beard, which incongruously was well trimmed, because he could very well do with a haircut. His breath was also a surprise. It was sweet smelling, as if he had just brushed his teeth or eaten a breath mint. He was naked from the waist up. Of course he was. The heat in the room was truly oppressive. Trevor would have liked to have stripped also.
In spite of the situation, Trevor had to admire the man's torso. He was solid and muscular in spite of his thin frame. Once past his body odor, Trevor also realized that the guy was very handsome indeed. His almost black eyes stared into Trevor's, until Trevor had to turn away.
"What are you doing here? What do you want?" the man asked in perfect English. Trevor was shocked. He had a million questions of his own, and would gladly have answered the man's questions, but his mouth was taped.
Suddenly his captor roared with laughter. "Forgive me," he said. "I forgot about the tape." That said, he ripped off the tape in one quick movement, leaving Trevor's lips burning with pain.
"Now answer my questions," he said, not unkindly.
"How do you know my name?" Trevor asked.
The man retrieved Trevor's wallet from his pocket and waved it at his captive. "Now answer my questions!"
Trevor lied. "I wanted to interview one of you, so that I could show the world that you men fight for a cause, and you aren't the cold blooded killers most non-Muslims believe you to be."
The man roared with laughter once again. "You expect me to believe that dribble, you Jewish Israeli slime."
"Actually, I'm an American from Fresno, California, and I'm a Christian; Presbyterian to be exact."
"What's the difference? You're all the same. We can't convert you non-believers, so we will have to kill you."
"You're off to a good start. Why did you kill my cameraman, Ahmed? He was a Muslim."
"We could not know that, and we wanted his camera equipment so we could photograph you, and send pictures outside to show what we do to spies."
"I'm not a spy."
"So you say."
"Can I know the name of my friendly captor, and how come he speaks perfect English?" Trevor asked.
The man sat down right next to Trevor and rested his rifle on the floor on his side away from Trevor.
"Here's the situation, Mac" the man said. Trevor couldn't wait to hear. This guy was as American as he was.
"My name is Martin Spenser. My mother, Janina, is a Saudi. She married an American who worked for one of the big oil companies. After my father's hitch, they moved back to Chicago, his home town. I was born and grew up there. My father did not practice his religion, but my mother secretly instructed me in the teachings of Islam. She taught me to detest the unbelievers and to bring Islam to the world."
"Did she tell you to spread Islam through murder?"
Martin's face clouded over. "It's not murder to do the will of Allah. It's a duty and a privilege."
"Rot in hell," Trevor said, and he turned his head from Martin's. Martin hit him on the head with the butt of his rifle, and Trevor was unconscious once again. When he awoke, he knew immediately that he had been moved once again. He was in a completely different room. Martin could see the confusion on his face.
"We move around a lot so you unclean pigs can't find us so easily. Right now we are in an abandoned cabin in a remote part of the mountains, and we are alone. There is no way you can escape. We have plenty of provisions and water. I am going to untie your hands and let you clean up a bit. Then we will rehearse a little speech that you will recite for the camera. You are going to tell the world that your captors are very kind to you, considering that you are a spy, and that you are being treated very well."
"You're kidding, aren't you?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
Trevor realized that he hadn't really looked carefully at Martin since he woke up again. Obviously the man had bathed. His body smelled clean and he had groomed himself somewhat. His long hair was neatly combed. He had shed his dirty clothing, and was wearing only a pair of American style boxers. Trevor could see Martin's black pubic hair through a small gap in the fly of his underwear.
"There are two things that are a must," Trevor informed Martin. "First of all, I need to pee badly, and I am not in the habit of wetting my pants. The second thing is that if I don't get rid of some of this heavy clothing, I'm going to die of a heat stroke, and your propaganda campaign will be over."
"I am a humane man," Martin smiled. "Your wish is my command." He untied Trevor's hands and feet, and immediately Trevor stripped to his boxers.
"I'm glad you're wearing boxers," Martin said. "I think that jockey's are very unattractive for a man, and very slutty." Trevor was very surprised at that last remark. It sounded very gay, and he should know, because he was gay.
"Where can I pee?"
"I'll take you outside, but first I need to retie your hands." Martin retied Trevor's hands behind his back, and led him outside. The first thing Trevor saw was his Jeep standing just outside the cabin. He saw it as a means of a possible escape. All he had to do was get hold of the keys. Since Martin was only wearing boxers, the keys were not on his person. He needed to find out where Martin had put them.
"I've been peeing behind those rocks," Martin said, and they walked behind the rocks. There was no road to be seen anywhere, and Trevor wondered how Martin had maneuvered the Jeep through the desert and the mountains. When they got behind the rocks, Trevor saw a beautiful mountain stream running just a few feet away. There were also many cypress trees along the banks of the stream. It gave his area of captivity, a kind of serenity.
"How do you expect me to get my cock out of my underwear?" Trevor asked.
Martin just smiled, and he walked behind Trevor. He put his arms around his hostage. To Trevor it felt like a caress. Martin unsnapped the clasp in Trevor's boxers. Then he took out Trevor's rod and aimed it at the rock. His touch was gentle and feathery and in spite of himself Trevor began to erect, but he didn't get totally hard as he began to pee. When he finished, Martin shook off the excess drops, and wiped the slit dry with his finger. Trevor got stiff again and leaned back into Martin, who continued to stroke Trevor's cock very gently.
Unable to restrain himself, Trevor was able to grab Martin's cock with his bound hands. Martin was as stiff as he was.
"Thank Allah that you are circumcised," Martin said. "I could never touch an unclean, uncircumcised cock."
"It doesn't matter to me if you are cut or uncut. Just don't stop doing what you are doing." But Martin did stop, leaving Trevor with a severe case of blue balls.
"Homosexuals will never see Allah's paradise," Martin said. "I helped you pee, and nothing more."
Trevor was not convinced. He had been with enough men to feel the passion in Martin's touch.
"How will you get the film out of here?" Trevor asked just to change the subject.
"About once a week we'll get a short visit from a courier. He'll replenish our provisions, take the camera with all your recorded messages, and replace it with a new camera."
"Are you telling me that I must continually tell lies which you will record? How long do you intend to keep it up?"
"They will not be lies," Martin spat. "They will be truths that I will script for you. We will keep it up as long as those fools continue to search for you. Do as you are told, and you will not be harmed."
"You will kill me in the end, so why should I LIE for you?" Trevor emphasized the word, lie, and he could see Martin's eyes narrow into slits.
"I said that I would not harm you if you cooperated."
"Hah! Great! So one of your sick buddies will do the deed."
"Believe what you will, but trust me I can make life very miserable for you or very pleasant. It all depends on your attitude and cooperation."
Trevor did not bother to answer. He knew it was useless. Instead he decided to plan a strategy to let the world know that he was forced to say what he did. He had no idea yet what that would be, but he knew from experience that experts would be studying his facial expressions as he spoke. He also knew that Martin was familiar with his culture so he had to use extreme care.
"I'm hungry," he told Martin. "Make my life pleasant." Martin smiled, and Trevor hated himself for thinking, what a beautiful smile.
Does that mean you'll cooperate?'
"Let's just say I'll think about it. In the meantime, I'd like to know where you bathed. I need a bath badly."
"In that stream a few meters behind these rocks. Come I'll take you there."
To be continued...