After ten minutes, one of Fazil’s lieutenants rapped on the door.
“I thought I said I needed some time alone to think,” Fazil growled. “What part of that didn’t you understand?”
“This is urgent, sir,” the man said. “Extremely urgent.”
“Come in,” Fazil said, his tone betraying his mood.
The man entered the room and marched over to Fazil’s desk, setting down a small black device. “I would not have bothered you with this unless it was absolutely necessary.”
Fazil picked up the object and inspected it. “What is this?”
“We were hoping you could tell us,” the man said. “One of the guards found this in a shoe from the cell floor where we’re holding the two Americans.”
Fazil opened his top drawer and removed a microscope. He studied the object for nearly half a minute before he set it back down and began to rummage through his desk again.
“What are you looking for, sir?” the man said. “Perhaps I could help.”
“I am looking for a hammer,” Fazil answered. “That is a homing beacon, and we need to smash it right now—and pray that the signal has not been activated.”
“How can you tell if it’s been activated?”
“You can’t. The best thing for us to do is smash it and drop it in water.”
Fazil continued to look for the hammer until he finally placed his hands on it.
“Time to take care of this,” he said before smashing the black device to pieces. Fazil separated the pieces into several piles and kept them apart by throwing them into different garbage cans.
“I hope this thing hasn’t given away our position,” Fazil said. “Time will tell, but it doesn’t look like it’s been activated.”
“In the meantime, is there something you want me to do to the prisoners as punishment?” the man asked.
Fazil flashed a mischievous grin. “Beef up security while I go handle the prisoners myself.”
With a wave of his hand, he dismissed his lieutenant and dug into his desk drawer again. Fazil felt around until he put his hands on the bottle, his favorite Tennessee whiskey.
“If I’m going to beat some Americans, I should at least do it after drinking their whiskey, right Jafar?”
Fazil snatched a glass off his desk and threw back three straight shots before grabbing the whip from the back of his door and heading toward the holding cell. With Jafar perched on his shoulder, Fazil narrowed his eyes and refused to speak to anyone as he ambled toward his destination. One lieutenant tried to stop Fazil to ask a question, but he shoved the man against the wall and put a knife to his throat before releasing him.
“I am busy,” Fazil roared as he continued on.
When he reached the prison cell, he jerked the door open and stumbled inside. He nearly slipped on the water that had pooled on the floor but regained his balance before tumbling.
Fazil approached Blunt first, placing the rope underneath his chin and forcing it upward.
“Are you comfortable in here?” Fazil asked.
Blunt remained silent.
“I know you are old, but your hearing is fine—that much I am sure of,” Fazil said before giving a final shove to Blunt’s face.
Fazil then stormed across the room to Alex. He stopped just short of her and eyed her closely.
“I hear you tried to bring contraband into the prison,” Fazil said. “Gutsy move, but in the end it will only result in you getting punished far more severely.”
Fazil stepped back and cracked his whip a couple times. He then called for the guard outside and asked him to release the prisoners from the bindings, first Alex then Blunt.
Fazil forced Alex to face the wall before raring back and snapping the rope at just the right point. The frayed ends of the rope grabbed her shirt and ripped it open. Two, three, four, five more cracks and Alex’s back was bleeding, what was left of her blouse soaking up the blood. Once she was reattached to her chains, Fazil turned his attention to Blunt.
Fazil didn’t hold back with Blunt, whipping him fifteen times. The last ten strikes managed to grab small chunks of his flesh. On the twelfth lick, Blunt collapsed to the floor, but Fazil demanded that he rise to or Alex would receive more lashes. Blunt stood and was promptly reattached to the chains for the remainder of his beating.
After Fazil was finished, he pulled out a flask and took several more swigs. He sauntered around the room and spoke in baby gibberish with Jafar until the Al Hasib leader decided to address his prisoners. “I wanted to share some wonderful news with you two tonight,” he said. “Since you have been my hostages, you haven’t received any news from the outside world and likely don’t even know what day it is, so I thought I’d—”
“It’s Friday,” Alex blurted out.
“Someone thinks they know what day it is,” Fazil said. “But congratulations, you’re wrong. Two more licks.”
Fazil didn’t wait for her back to be turned. He simply recoiled and delivered three vicious shocks to Alex’s legs. Her right pants leg was torn open, and blood spewed out.
“You are wrong,” Fazil said, even though he knew she was right.
Psychological torture. This is the only way to do it.
“Now, as I was saying, I know you have not received any news from the outside world, so I thought I would deliver some to you directly. We could make this fun if I dressed as the singing telegram man, but I am not a pleasant person to listen to sing, and you have already had enough torture for today.”
“The suspense is killing me,” Alex said with a moan. “Out with it already.”
“All systems are go for the destruction of your country tomorrow or, more specifically, for your president. Your loyal friend Brady Hawk has agreed to help me accomplish this plan. And fortunately for you,
