Jawhar used the remains of her blouse on her left wrist, tying it to the bedpost. Her bra unfastened in the front and he used it to fix the right wrist. She was writhing now, struggling against the bonds. Jawhar looked about. A shirt was lying on the dresser. He went and got it. Returning to the bed, he knelt on top of her, his groin pressing up against her large breasts. She looked at him as he rolled the cloth. The last vision she had of him was his smile as he placed the cloth over her eyes. He lifted her head and tied it. Then he got off her and stepped back from the bed. She was still playfully struggling against the bonds.
Jawhar reached down and removed the knife he always carried strapped behind his back. The blade was long and curved and very sharp. He went back to the bed. Using one hand, he unbuttoned her skirt down the side and laid it open. Her cheap black panties beckoned.
Jawhar placed the point of the knife under the waistband. Feeling the knife, Katrina froze. "What are you doing?"
Jawhar didn't say a word. The sharpened blade slid through the material. Jawhar pushed his free hand down on her mound. She was wet. He pressed hard and she writhed under his ministrations. Jawhar played with her for a few minutes until she was arching off the bed — then he stopped.
He went back to the dresser. Another piece of cloth. He went back to the bed. Wadding her panties up, he held them in one hand. He looked down on her for a long minute. He reached down and played with her for a few seconds. She opened her mouth to gasp with the pleasure and he rammed the panties in. She jerked up and he quickly wound the cloth around and sealed them in place. He ignored her muffled protests.
Jawhar removed his clothes slowly. She was kicking now. The pleasure was gone. This was serious. He knew she knew that. But it was too late. He grabbed her ankles and spread her legs. She was strong, but he was stronger. He pinned the legs down and pressed his body on hers. His cock slid in effortlessly — she was still wet from the beginning.
Jawhar pushed his head up next to hers and whispered as he fucked. "The one in Kuwait was the first. She was a prisoner. A local woman who had cooperated with the Iraqis. Or so her neighbors said. Who knows if that was the truth? She was given to me to interrogate. That's when I learned about being in control."
Jawhar took a moment to catch his breath. Katrina was arching up to keep him going, the cocaine and his low voice bringing her back to thinking this was indeed a game.
"It was so easy. If I had known how easy it was, so many things would have been different for my brother and I. Remember I said she was the first? Well, there were others." Jawhar could feel the pressure in his balls build. "All over the world." Katrina's moans reached a crescendo. Barely enough to make it to the door of the room, never mind summon help.
"They all really wanted to die. They all deserved to die. Just like you." Katrina was crying now, her muffled sobs dying in her throat and her tears staining the blindfold.
Jawhar almost paused then because a vision of another woman crossed his mind. Then he felt himself coming. He shuddered and thrust deeper. He felt himself pour out into her.
After a minute Jawhar lay still. He pulled out and stepped back. Katrina wasn't moving. Maybe she was hoping he'd leave now or just let her go. Jawhar blinked, shaking off the effect of the sex, cocaine and beer. They were all the same.
Jawhar scooped up the knife from where he had laid it on the nightstand. He dressed quickly and put the knife in its sheath. Katrina remained frozen throughout.
He considered the room. He knelt down next to Katrina's head. "Did your psychology help you? Did you understand me?"
Jawhar removed the blindfold and she blinked, trying to adjust to the light. He levered his right forearm across her neck, slowly applying pressure. Her eyes bulged and her legs drummed against the mattress. Jawhar put all his weight behind that arm. Her eyes were terrified, an animal caught by a predator. Jawhar released the pressure and he could hear the wheeze of air as she desperately tried to get oxygen around her gag.
Getting off the bed, Jawhar took the beer can and crushed it, throwing it in the trash. He got another out of the refrigerator and sat in the chair by the window.
His SATPhone rang. He wanted to ignore it, but he knew better. He pulled it out of the coat pocket and punched the on button.
"Yes?" He knew it could only be one person, his brother Akil.
"Have you met the colonel yet?"
"Yes. He is getting what we want."
"How soon?"
"Two or three days. He wants more money."
"How much?"
"Two million, American."
"I'll tell the old man."
"He'll pay," Jawhar said. Two million was nothing to their father.
"Be careful. We've received whispers from the West that the colonel is not to be trusted."
"I don't trust him." Jawhar's eyes were on the bed. He could see the rise and fall of Katrina's naked chest.
"Our Western contact says the colonel has already made plans to go to Colombia."
"Before or after he completes his end of the bargain?"
"Let us hope afterwards. Perhaps it is good he wants more money," Akil said.
"I believe he will come back for the additional money. He said he will return in two days."
"I will come to your location in two days to bring the money and to make sure the colonel delivers."
"Good," Jawhar said.
"1 will see you then." The phone went dead.
Jawhar pulled the knife out and played with the razor-sharp edge as he considered Katrina. At least he would not be bored while he waited.
Chapter Nineteen
"You think these are your guys?" Morty Lorsen pulled out a pair of rimless glasses and looked at the two downloaded images.
"Yes." Thorpe was in the passenger seat, Master Sergeant King cramped in the back of Lorsen's old car. "We think they're from the Middle East," he added. "Saudi Arabia."
"Odd names for Saudis," Lorsen noted. "I got just the guy for us to see." He threw the old BMW into gear and pulled into traffic.
"Who?" Thorpe asked.
"You'll see," Lorsen said.
They wove through the narrow streets of the old part of Stuttgart, several times almost colliding with a car coming the opposite way. With a squeal of breaks badly needing servicing, Lorsen spun the wheel and came to a halt in a narrow alley that barely allowed them to open the doors on the driver's side. Thorpe slid across the seat and followed Lorsen out, King getting out of the back.
"Do you know every back alley in Stuttgart?" Thorpe asked, trying to see into the darkness ahead.
"Not every." Lorsen was already walking and Thorpe and King hurried to catch up.
Thorpe stopped as Lorsen suddenly disappeared to the right. "Come on, come on," the old man's voice echoed back.
Thorpe turned the corner and saw Lorsen standing in front of a steel door. Above the door a video camera was staring at them, the little red light on the top letting them know they were being observed.
Lorsen was looking up at the camera and waving. "Me they know. You they'll be wondering about."
"Who?" Thorpe asked once more.
"You'll see. If they ever open this door." Lorsen waved his hands in front of the camera. "Let's go, let's go."
Thorpe was surprised when the door quietly opened, swinging back so smoothly he had no doubt it was being done mechanically. There was no one inside the small, white-painted foyer that beckoned. A wooden door was on the other end ten feet farther in. Another camera was above that door.
Lorsen ushered Thorpe and King in, the steel door swinging shut behind them with a solid thud.
"Are you armed?" Lorsen asked.
"Yeah," Thorpe answered.
"Put your weapons here." Lorsen pulled out a snub-nosed revolver and placed it on a small shelf.
Thorpe placed the 9mm pistol he had been given by Dublowski on the shelf, while King deposited a Beretta.