PROLOGUE

 

Tania's heart was pounding violently. It seemed impossible that she could have been a prisoner all this time and had not known it, but it made sense of so much that had been meaningless before. The silence, the solitude, and the single guard that fed her every day. She noticed the tiny barred window in the heavy door and recognised the dark room for what it was. She remembered the grim tales she'd heard of jails beneath buildings where prisoners were lodged who never saw the light of day. The guard had not come to attend to her that morning and the effects of the drugs she'd been administered with over the past few days, had nearly worn off. Was she going to be left now, just to rot away she wondered?

As she slowly came round, she struggled against the restraints at her wrists and ankles, but it was in vain and she realised that she had been tied up with rope to a rigid slatted wooden frame that served as a sort of bed in the dismal room she had been moved to.

She was aware of someone else being in the same dingy room as her eyes became accustomed to the gloom she saw another female lying on another slatted bed next to her; the young girl who had helped her. She too was tied at her ankles and wrists with thick ropes. They smiled at each other but were both helpless. By the entrance to the room stood thick set, ugly Iraqi soldiers wearing their combat outfits and their eyes were devouring the two naked girls. One of them approached the dark-haired girl and he quickly unbuttoned his flies. His now rampant cock slipped through the opening of his trousers and he aimed his engorged tool at the girl's shiny flesh. Tania could only watch with disgust at the man as he slipped his length inside the naked young girl in one easy push. She turned her face away embarrassed by her companion's dilemma. Suddenly she too felt a pair of hands pawing her body and knew it would soon be her turn. She felt herself moistening at the thought and became instantly furious with herself, but she was getting used to pain turning into pleasure and her body was seeking out more and more of the pain to fulfil her inner needs.

'Get your filthy hands off me.' She shouted at him.

The man simply laughed at her and slapped her face. 'Be still English bitch. I have something nice for you.' She felt him fingering her sex lips and they slid into the warm wetness of her inner hole.

'This one is soaking,' he sneered to his companion. 'Look she is ready for me, she wants me.'

They both laughed out aloud coarsely.

He removed his fingers and he too slipped his erection out of his combat trousers and then she felt him prod her with his hard tool against her moistness without any difficulty. She just lay against his prodding not wanting him to know that in some strange way she was actually enjoying it, while he pumped away at her. But what else could she do? She was bound tightly to the bed frame.

'She is one hot bitch,' he yelled to the other as he pumped away steadily quite unaware of her indifference towards him. She felt like the village whore.

The other pulled out of her friend and bent over and loosened her bonds and turned her over. 'I think I'll take this one up the arse,' he shouted back.

The other girl tried to protest, but she was helpless against the disgusting strong man as he forced his wet organ into her arsehole. She let out a muted screamed of terror. The soldier fulfilled himself and within moments left the room.

Tania's breasts were becoming painful as the other man constantly mauled them with his dirty calloused hands, even though, her nipples had hardened and were giving away the fact that she was aroused, and she wanted to orgasm, so she tried to mentally blot him out. He started to grunt loudly as he reached his climax and she felt him slip out of her. Then he was gone as quickly as the other man.

Tania lay staring at the ceiling her hazel eyes half closed as her mind churned over the train of events that had happened over the last few weeks and back to when it all started.

CHAPTER ONE

 

The rundown Police Station was far off the beaten track in a small town on the outskirts of Baghdad. The front reception area was a small, whitewashed room with paint flaking off the walls and a few pieces of scruffy wooden furniture squatting in front of a dusty old wooden desk with an ancient black telephone on it. Split bamboo blinds hanging askew, covered two small dingy windows and allowed a little of the late afternoon sunlight to filter through and make shadows across the opposite wall and dirty stone floor. A noisy old white painted metal ceiling fan moved in slow motion pushing lazily against the heavy, humid air without much result, several black flies hovered nearby. The door to the dusty bullet-ridden street outside stood open without its mosquito screen that was in shreds and lay in the street one side of the doorway, probably from a recent bomb explosion in the town and several more large black flies buzzed in through the open doorway. In a far corner a cockroach moved warily from a crack in the crumbling wall, and then retreated back to its dark security.

Tania Bashara a tall beautiful, hazel-eyed blonde, stood in front of the rickety old wooden desk with her hands behind her, handcuffed. The long sleeves of her khaki safari styled shirt were turned up slightly at her wrists and two buttons were missing at the front of it. Her full untethered breasts were straining against the fabric and some blood had dried on her lower lip from a cut where she was hurt when they had thrown her to the ground and clipped the steel handcuffs to her wrists in the dusty narrow street outside.

Two swarthy Iraqi Policemen flanked her, their heavy wooden truncheons at the ready. She had been arrested for indecent exposure which complied of her wearing a mini skirt and open blouse and showing too much flesh in a Moslem country and their night Sergeant who had just come on duty, was now booking her. He was a thin lanky man, whose uniform hung from his spare frame. He had a hooked nose and thick glasses and as he sat at the old desk he blatantly ogled her luscious breasts. He licked his fleshy lips licentiously with thoughts of what he would like to do to her.

It was a sweltering hot evening and they were all herded in the tatty front room of the dilapidated jail. Tania's armpits were circled with wetness from her sweat and staining her shirt. Her nipples stood out like ripe against the damp fabric cherries and little streams of sweat ran down the sides of her lovely face travelling into the cleft between her breasts. Her shoulder length blonde hair had come loose from its clip and was in disarray.

'You say you are British, I see Miss Bashara, but your name doesn't sound so and also I see from your passport you are freelance journalist. I think you are a spy.' He said speaking in heavily accented English. Then he hawked loudly in contempt and spat a glob of thick green phlegm on the floor to one side of the desk as he once again eyed her up and down salaciously. He could feel himself becoming hard just looking at her breasts outlined against the thin, fabric of her shirt and thinking about what delicious delights were beneath her skimpy skirt he could perhaps enjoy. He knew this one would be just right for his cousin a Colonel in the Iraqi Army and that he would receive a good sum of money for her.

The Sergeant knew he would have to be careful that his guards did not want to sample her first and if they did, that they did not mark her too much with their sadistic ways. No one seemed to bother about the depravity that was going on in the small town or other surrounding towns for that matter. His country was upside down these days, no one really ruling it and his jail was far off the beaten track. The men in his town all had cocks of steel, waiting to be used. The only other chance for sex was the local brothel. Their wives and other women in the town refused to acknowledge what was happening, not wanting to incur the wrath of the Colonel and, many not wanting to have to perform the sick sexual advances of their husbands. They were quite happy for their men to inflict their perversions on the stupid women that came from the different foreign Charities or Voluntary Organisations to save their country.

He shook his head slowly. 'We are having much trouble with journalists here, spreading their lies about us to the rest of the world. You will find that you cannot make trouble for us without suffering any consequences.'

'You bastard,' she shouted at him. 'I didn't make the trouble, it wasn't me that started it; it was your lot!'

He looked at her impassively, pushing his glasses up his thin nose. 'You may tell your side to the magistrate if and when he visits next week; if he is available. Otherwise!' He shrugged his shoulders in a negative gesture and then motioned to the two burly Policemen. 'Take the English whore, away.' He commanded sharply in Arabic.

The two men grabbed her roughly and yanked her to one side, then pulled her struggling through the barred doorway down a long corridor, to a cell at the end. The cell was even more heavily barred, and she saw three men in the dank space, two sitting against the rough stone wall and the other one lying on the damp floor. Two seemed to be of African origin and the third was a white man. She recognised him instantly. Her quarry.

As the taller of the two Policemen holding her started to unlock the cell door, she pulled herself momentarily free from the other man's grasp.

In perfect Arabic, she shouted. 'I was told I could contact a U.N. lawyer.'

He hurled an insult at her in Arabic, grabbing her arm again. 'Shut up, you foolish woman,' he shouted back this time in English.

She spat at him contemptuously. He raised a hand and struck her forcefully across her face. Her head snapped sharply to one side and she gasped loudly. He lifted his hand again as if to strike her and then thought better of it.

'I want my rights,' she proclaimed loudly as she struggled.

'You have no rights in this jail, bitch.' He shouted back.

Both men tried to restrain her as she struggled again and grabbed at her, their hard, muscular arms locking onto her arms and shoulders roughly. She pulled against them trying to break free again. They slammed her hard up against the bars making them rattle. She shrieked out as the bars caught her in between her shoulder blades and momentarily winded her.

The three men in the cell had started to take an interest in the tussle but were watching silently.

Tania managed to break free of Abdullah, the taller guard's grip, the short one, Ahmed, became angry at this, striking out with his truncheon. The blow glanced off the left side of her body, and most of its force landed on her neck and shoulders. She screamed out under the impact of the club but managed to slam her right elbow up and back against the man's throat. He made a soft gurgling sound and stumbled backwards to the floor.

As the taller Policeman, raised his truncheon to strike, she kicked him in the groin; he fell back against the bars doubled up in agony trying to strike out wildly with the weapon in his hand. She caught hold of it, taking him completely off balance and he fell against the corridor wall.

As Abdullah had started to recover, he struck out at her again, he didn't miss this time, he drove the wooden stick at her, and it caught her alongside her neck and face, pain exploded in her skull and for an instant she became semi-unconscious and fell and hit the floor with a jarring thud. He stood over her and raised his truncheon again waiting for her to retaliate.

Momentarily regaining her senses, she managed to grab at his legs with the little strength left in her, his legs went out from under him and he toppled onto the hard floor. But his partner had recovered now and picked up his weapon. She saw the wooden stick descending from the corner of one eye and ducked. But it caught her on the back of her head and neck, wavering blackness hit her, and she slumped to the floor, eyes closed, barely conscious this time. When she opened her eyes, the desk Sergeant who had heard the commotion, was standing over her with a gun pointed at her head.

'Khallas, that will be enough,' he yelled in Arabic to the two policemen. 'Something tells me that it will be some time before your case will come before any magistrate in this country.' He snapped at Tania in a mixture of English and Arabic as he turned to her. 'You will suffer for this blonde English bitch,' and spat contemptuously into her face as she lay on the hard floor.

'Go to hell you bastard,' she retorted in his own language as she wiped his saliva from her face and then spat back at him.

He lashed out at her with the handle of the pistol he was holding, but she ducked and he missed her. Then he motioned to the other two guards; they grabbed her and threw her into the cell. Abdullah turned and locked the door and she was alone with the other three prisoners. She knew now there would be no reprieve from the Iraqi guards. But she was only doing her job. She'd have to find her own way out of the dilemma later and the evil Sergeant.

Tania slowly looked around at the other prisoners' faces, pain throbbing in her head. Her eyes gradually focused on the white man and she sat down next to one of the grinning Africans squatting on the floor. She returned the wide grin with a painful grimace and relaxed slightly. Phase one of the assignment had been successfully fulfilled. She had come to kill the white man, the traitor to his country, and here she was - locked in the same cell with him.

The smiling good-looking young African was dressed in western clothes, ragged thin khaki cargo pants and grubby red shirt, but he wore a fetish bracelet of knotted leather and beads on his right wrist and there were delicately patterned tribal marks on his cheeks and on his upper arms where the cut off shirtsleeves ended. He had only one good eye, which was an extraordinary pale blue, almost as pale as an albino might have been. The other was just an empty socket with a closed lid. She felt that he should have been wearing a patch over it.

'Are you okay?' He murmured. 'By the way my name is Peter Matekoni.' He said in a heavy English accent as he offered her his hand in a welcoming gesture.

'Yes, I'll be okay, thanks Peter,' she said softly to him.

'You're a fucking stupid woman, to start something with them like that.' The good-looking white man said contemptuously to her. Then, as if it were the only comment worth making, he turned away indifferently.

She did not answer, but took another look at him in the half light. He was slightly older than the last time she had seen him. Tall and slim with a handsome, yet hard, straight, unlined face, that now had the stubble of several days on it. He wore soiled Levi jeans, a torn Lacoste polo neck t-shirt and scruffy Doc Martins. His dark blue eyes were cold and penetrating. His name was, Dennis Wells, he was an American; and he was a professional killer and a traitor to his own country. This was the man she was going to get rid of.

Tania dragged herself across into a sitting position near him against the back wall of the dingy the cell. The one-eyed African sauntered over to the bars and sat down next to the other African with the shaven head. Possibly Nigerian she thought by his dress code. He sat stiff-backed and cross-legged against the bars, regarding the woman expressionlessly.

She turned her head from all of them and closed her eyes. She needed rest - it was going to be a long night. She could only hope that one of them wouldn't jump her and try to rape her. The fight with the Policemen had not helped, but she had to convince Wells that she was a legitimate prisoner. The cell stank of urine and she tried to ignore it as she thought back to how she had arrived in the compromising position she was in.