Mr. & Mrs. America, Aftermath

"Fuck that! Leave the little bitch laying and let's go!"

I put the Makarov to his temple. "If I have to make a choice between you or her, I'll drop you now. If you want to get out of this alive, follow our orders."

He paled, then looked at me funny, trying to place my voice, I think. He grabbed Fatima, throwing her over his shoulder. Moshe and Said took the corpse and carried it out, his head in a bag. Fatima, Anatoli, and I followed, weapons hidden but ready.

There was a small crowd of about a dozen outside. The shouted and fired their weapons in the air at the sight of the headless corpse. I was glad now that every one pretty much wore the same clothes, and that blood covered most of his body, obscuring him even further. I raised my arms, holding on to the ends of my robe.

"Praise Allah! The infidel has been brought to justice! Your great leader, the Sword of God, is inside, in prayer with his trusted guards. He asks you not to disturb him, but pray yourselves that Allah continue to bless your cause. Go with Allah! We will dispose of this filth in the desert for you. Allah Akbar!"

"Allah Akbar!," they screamed back, before going to find prayer mats. We threw the corpse into the back of one of our trucks, and put Fatima in with us.

"Drive!," I told our startled guards. "But slowly. Blow your horns, wave your rifles around, fire a few rounds, let them think we're rejoicing. As soon as you get out of town, step on the gas."

It was thirty five miles to the border.

...

We were about twenty miles from the border when we saw them coming, in every vehicle they could find. We knew the slow trucks would never outrun them, so we had to adapt. Anatoli grinned, telling us to stop when we went into hilly country and rounded a curve.

Seems Said and the locals had rounded up some explosives, just in case. In three minutes they had the trap ready, three pounds of the Russian version of C-4, and as much scrap metal and spare ammunition as they could find in the trucks. We were about three minutes away when we heard the boom, and were close enough to see truck parts and bodies flying. Anatoli had us stop immediately, to drop their headless leader in the middle of the road, with yet more explosives strapped underneath him. It took them ten minutes to clear the road, and the booby trapped body bought us another five. By now we were ten miles from the border, and Moshe was on the radio our contact had given us, in case something went wrong. I was pretty sure this qualified.

Ten miles out we could see them coming.

Three miles out they started shooting at us. They were nowhere close enough to hit anything, especially from a moving vehicle, but it was still pretty unnerving.

Then one of them stopped, and we saw fire blossom. RPG! The first one missed, but the second one landed between the second and third truck, creating a hole that flipped it over. We were in the third truck.

Sand isn't as soft as you think it would be, especially when you hit it at forty miles an hour. I had the wind knocked out of me and got a pretty good case of road rash. If I hadn't been wearing thick robes it would have been far worse. I had my breath back pretty quick, and ran back to the truck.

Emil had landed hard, and was bleeding again. Fatima and Sherry were the least stunned, and they were trying to help him, dragging him to some nearby rocks. Moshe was unconscious, and the drivers helped me load him in our one good truck, the one that held the scrolls. Anatoli was bleeding from the mouth, flecks of foam evident, and I felt it was internal, possibly a punctured lung, which made it really bad.

"Come on, comrade. Let's get you to the truck."

"Nyet. My days are over, I fear. Save the scrolls instead. Move me over to the rocks, and let me give you some cover fire. You'll never make it if I don't." I was trying to argue, but Said just grabbed him up and carried him over. putting him in position, and giving him his weapon and some spare clips. He turned and did the same for Emil, before kissing each man on their cheeks.

"Come, American. We go. Let them die with dignity."

I saw it was the only way, logically, but my emotions fought it. By now, they were close enough that the bullets were actually reaching us. I shook both their hands, and ran for the truck. Said was there, holding a light machine gun and four belts of ammo. I jumped into the truck and he slapped the tailgate. The truck started rolling, leaving him standing in the middle of the road.

"Said!" I screamed, but he just waved and walked back to the rocks, settling in between Emil and Anatoli.

We saw the trucks swerve, and one flipped. The rest were stopped and we could hear the chatter of small arms fire. I watched them fade, and wished I'd left them the shotgun, in case they got close.

We made it to the border, arriving just as two attack helicopters flew over. Apparently someone was listening to the radio. We were grabbed, piled into some armored vehicles, and moved fifty miles deeper into the country. I had forgotten about Mike, and Fatima had put the gag and hood back on him.

We stopped in a small village in a very remote area. These people lived much the way they had lived ten centuries ago. Herders, farmers, craftsmen. The headman was friendly but cautious, happy we would be leaving soon.

We slept, putting the women in the middle again. In the early morning hours we heard a commotion and rose. Fatima had gotten up, and I handed her a Makarov, which she had no trouble accepting now, bringing the shotgun to bear. There was a knock, and one of the elders of the tribe called out, saying he had something that was ours.

Said! He had been picked up by one of the helicopters after the firefight. He had a few scratches, but nothing major.

"Emil? Anatoli?" I dreaded asking, seeing the bleak look at his face.

"Emil emptied all his magazines, leaned back against the rock, and passed quietly. It seemed he held on just long enough to give it his all. Anatoli, as they got closer, seemed to snap. When they were about thirty yards away he jumped into the middle of the road, blood frothing at his mouth, shooting and screaming like a madman. He actually stopped them for a minute, before they figured out it was just one man, and opened up. He dropped like a rock. It was the moment I was waiting for, and I started firing, emptying all four belts as fast as I could. I pulled my pistol, grabbed Emil's, and prepared to die. That's when the helicopters arrived, by the time they stopped there was nothing but scrap metal in the road. They came back over and I waved. One hovered while the other dropped down. There was a pretty big argument when I insisted we bring both Emil and Anatoli with us, but in the end they loaded them into the chopper, then it hovered while I got into the other one."

The next morning we talked about what we needed to do about Mike. Moshe was awake, very upset when he heard about his friends, and he took him to attend his needs, keeping the gag in and his pistol ready. Fatima reacted to him in sheer terror every time the hood was off. Sherry got it out of her that afternoon. Seems Mike was with the group that took her, and was pretty positive he was the one that shot Emil. He had claimed her, and raped her the rest of the night before passing her to his companions. She wasn't sure exactly how he had been exposed, just that he had. He used her as a bargaining chip, saying she was one of the S7. They were just beginning to torture her when the leader decided to drag her in to witness the beheading, thinking it would scare her into cooperating.

I saw them later, talking. Finally Said came to me.

"He is your friend, yes?"

"To be honest, Said, looking back, I don't think he was ever my friend."

"He must be punished. If we get back to safe territory, they will insist he be let go. HE MUST BE PUNISHED. The others agree. Do you?"

I did. We developed a plan. Said approached the head man, explaining our thinking. For the first time, he smiled at us.

That night, I took the gag and cuffs off, allowing him a little freedom. He took it as a sign he was going to be all right. He had finally figured out who I was.

"Damn, Petey, you were the absolute last person in the world I expected to see in that shithole. What the fuck was a college professor doing there? Does Jo know? She'll have your balls when she finds out."

"Jo's not exactly at the top of my list of worries. You're supposed to be dead, remember? I went to your funeral, saw your casket slid into the creamatorium. A week later, your Mom gave me a small urn to remember you by."

"Still got a place of honor on your mantle, I bet."

"Actually, Mike, I poured them out in a pigsty, and then I pissed on them."

He laughed, until he saw I was serious. "What the hell did you do that for? I bet Jo threw a fit."

"Jo saw me do it, and had very little to say. Why did I do it? The letter, remember? The one where you destroyed my world by telling me it had all been a lie from the very beginning."

"Oh yeah, the note. Sure fooled your ass, huh? All this time and you didn't know. It was driving me crazy, you living in your little world, fat and happy, while I lived in places a dog would turn up their nose at, eating stuff just one notch above garbage. I decided when I had to go into deep cover to give you a little dose of reality. How'd you like it, knowing your whole life was a lie, engineered by the people you loved and trusted the most?" He never knew how close he was to death just then. I still had the robes on, and my left hand was drawing my pistol before I stopped myself.

"So you decided since your life was shit mine had to be as well? What did you hope to accomplish by sending it? I'll tell you what it did accomplish. It drove me away from the woman I thought loved me, from a person I had always counted as a friend, and a parent I'll probably never speak to again. If you wanted to destroy my life, Mike, you did a damn good job."

"You'll get over it, Pete. Jo will make sure of that. It was your dad and I who came up the scheme, but it was your loving wife that ran with it. She was the planner, because she knew you better than anyone in the world. And you followed right along, because you believed her and believed IN her. How's your faith in her now? Has she showed you her bitch side yet? That's one cold woman when she sets a goal. I'll tell you this, she was about to sleep with one of her bosses once, to help her career. Ask her about her 'meetings' with Alan Jeffers, see how she tries to spin it. You never knew a thing, believing her about all the long hours and meetings she had to attend. In the end she chickened out, but it was a close thing. By all rights she should have been mine. I really fucked up when I introduced you, because she decided you were exactly what she wanted and she went for it. I asked her once, years later, why she didn't pick me."

He paused, the hate and passion plain on his face. "This were her exact words."

"Oh you're more handsome, and more exciting, but I could never control you like I control him. You're too much man for me, and I need to be in charge, and he's just right. Even if he ever finds out what we did to him, he'll never walk away. He loves me and the kids way too much to let us go."

"I decided to test that theory when I sent her that letter. I'm still keeping up with your lives, your dad, yes, he knows I'm alive, keeps me informed. Gotta tell you, he's not real happy about your reaction. Not as shocked as Jo was, though. She never though you'd have enough spine to walk away from her, even if it is temporary."

"But why fight it, a pussy like you will always go back. It's in your nature."

I was so angry I thought I'd pass out. I breathed while he laughed, trying to get under control.

"Yeah, Mike, you got me good. Got your friends as well. Was all that pablum about Mr. and Mrs. America true or just more bullshit? It had to be if you thought the ideal of American life was a poor deluded fool, a scheming wife, and manipulative relatives and friends."

I stood before he could answer, holding the pistol steady as Said and Moshe put the cuffs, gag, and hood back on.

When he was down I leaned over, talking quietly in his ear.

"You're not in America, Mikey, nor are you anywhere that your friends, if you have any, can come and get you. You're completely off the grid, so I can do anything I want with you. But I won't. I think I'll let justice take it's course here. Their headman is old school. You do realize the punishment for rape in this country used to be castration? Have a pleasant night, Mikey. Sweet dreams. Oh, and Fatima wants to say goodnight"

He was writhing, yelling into his gag. I let Fatima in, and she stood quietly for a minute, waiting for him to relax. When he was she waited until he turned just right, and then slammed her boot into his crotch, three times. Even through the gag you can hear the scream. She smiled at me, turned, and left. I leaned back over as he whimpered. "Don't worry about it, Mikey. I'll make all the pain goes away tomorrow."

He was screaming into the gag as I left. I instructed the guards to make sure he didn't choke in his sleep, went to my room, and slept like a lamb.

...

I didn't know how far the others were willing to go, and I deferred to them. I didn't think they would actually castrate him, but I was sure we were going to scare the hell out of him. Thinking on it, I was good either way. That he was going to lose a body part was a given. I got a lot of satisfaction over that, knowing a spy with a missing appendage wouldn't be very effective at his job.

My arm twinged, and I adjusted the sling, rubbing the groove in my jaw because it itched. Yeah, I managed to get shot twice there at the end, once through the upper arm, and a bullet dug a groove three inches long on my left cheek. Sherry had sewn it up for me when we got to the village. I imagined I'd have a pretty good scar, a permanent reminder of my adventure.

They dragged Mike out, and lay him over a stone, extending his left arm and securing it to the block. A small brazier was going, and the blade of the jeweled sword lay atop of it, getting hotter.

We pulled the hood off, and his eyes grew wild when he saw the blade. I spoke in the local language, as a courtesy to our hosts. I was sure Mike could understand.

"This man has wronged us! He stole something from me, something more precious than jewels or gold. He lied, diverting me from my chosen path, all in the name of the greater good, shattering my world, costing me my wife and my family. It is something he can never pay for, but this will be a start."

I pointed at Fatima. "He raped and abused this child, before turning her over to his friends, all to hide his betrayal, then trying to sacrifice her to save himself when he got caught. He shot one of our brothers, a fatal wound, to save himself."

There was a rumbling among the witnesses, all men, all familiar with the ways of their enemies.

I switched over to English, grinning down at Mike. "You know the traditional punishment for thievery, don't you Mike? They remove a hand, so you can steal no more. You're left handed like me, as I recall."

I took the gag from his mouth, and he started begging. "Please, Pete, please! I'm begging you. They'll kill me if you let them."

"And I should save you, why? How many others have you betrayed? How many innocents have died so you might live? Tell me one thing that would redeem you in the eyes of me and my companions?"

I picked up the sword, the curved edge glowing a soft red. Holding it close enough to singe his skin, I hesitated. Mike was begging, moaning, tears streaming down his cheeks. A large wet spot appeared on the front of his pants. The crowd saw, and a few laughed.

I smiled down at him. "Behold the great hero, the man safeguarding Mr. And Mrs. America! Wetting his pants and begging, now that some of his sins have come to light. Beg me, Mike, one more time, and I may talk them into letting you go."

He cried and wailed until I heard enough. He was whimpering by now. I started to lift the sword. Fatima, thinking that I was going to spare him, snatched a rifle from a guard, swinging it like a club with all her might, slamming the sword into his wrist. The hand fell, but there was very little blood, because the wound was mostly cauterized.

I dropped the sword, and Sherry picked it up. Before I could think Said and Moshe had his legs stretched out, and with one mighty swing his right foot fell into the dust! He screamed again, blood flowing from the stump because the blade had cooled. I grabbed a dagger we had heating, strictly for show, and slapped it against the stump. With one more scream and another gush of urine, he passed out.

Mike screamed for three minutes after he regained consciousness before someone took pity on him and knocked him out again. I picked the hand up and put it into an ammo box, hoping I could find some ice soon. I knew, though, that nothing would save it. I left the foot lying in the dust. Forty-five minutes later we were on the move again, heading towards an airport three hours away.

Fatima came and sat by my side.

"He deserved it. I would have killed him if it had been me. At least this way he'll have a hard time forcing a woman in the future." I knew she was right, and just nodded. If there was justice in this world, he would have been tried in a court of law, convicted, and sent to prison for a very long time. But I was fast learning in this shadow world you had to make your own justice.

I thought back as I boarded the plane, the hand solidly packed in dry ice. This was the world I had wanted when I was young. Did I want it now? Not really. I was scared the whole time, but functioned, planned, reacted and adjusted as the situation called for. I was steady back there in the desert, but all I could think of was getting back to my family.

It was a hectic few days before we returned to England. The day after the punishment, as I had begun to call it, we flew back to Syria, into a secured zone if there was such a thing, and lay Emil to rest. Moshe wore his skullcap, which caused some whispering, but the tears that flowed down his cheeks were genuine, and no one showed any animosity. Sherry, Fatima, and I wore the traditional robes of mourning. Said had on his militia uniform, standing stoic while he shed his own tears. Just before he was interred, I lay a wrapped package beside him. The plain sword we had taken from the tomb, the weapon of a warrior, worthy to be carried with him into the afterlife.

We flew from there to Russia, where Anatoli was buried with full military honors. The funerals seemed quick, but their religion demanded they be buried as soon as possible. I was surprised to learn he was married, with two small children.

I offered my condolences to his wife, who hugged me. "He was always a warrior, and later a scholar, trying to make a better life for his family. He died honorably, for something he believed in."

I discovered later several nameless countries and individuals created a trust fund for her, leaving her financially secure for life. She emigrated to England three years later.

...

We traveled back to England, minus Said, who returned to his home with a renewed determination to fight for the creation of a separate Kurdish country. I never saw him again. He too, received a pension from grateful nations and individuals.

To be honest, I had forgotten how we looked. I was still bearded, in robes. My face above the beard was pitted from the sand, the gash still livid on my cheek. I'd gotten treatment for my wound, and it was healing well, itching like mad. Fatima and Moshe still had bruises, so except for Sherry we were a sorry looking bunch when we got off the plane.