Sabotage: Beginnings

by LS Silverii

  And there it was—anti-Semitism in its most purely hateful form. “So you had her assigned to me in hopes she wouldn’t survive?”

  Dunnigan’s chuckle sickened him. “Lets just say it was a good plan to rid us of Israel’s best operative while bringing the Jews closer to our agenda. It would become a show of unity while we worked hand in hand. Too bad she was killed by the Muslims.”

  “But she wasn’t.”

  “She will be.”

  “You evil motherfucker.”

  “Let’s just say Jabar, the local police commander, would’ve played the part if fucking Ben Ford hadn’t rushed in to save the day.”

  Justice clamped down on the inside of his cheek. His heart quivered at the recall of Batya’s assault suffered on orders from his very own agency.

  “So you’re responsible for that?”

  “Yep. Now, put a bullet in Ben and get your ass back home. You’ve got to answer for your crimes.”

  Chapter 15

  The calendar showed April 30, 2011. Ben snickered as he crossed off the date with a wax pencil. He folded the paper as he ducked into the shade of an alley about two hundred yards shy of the medical clinic. He revived himself with splashes of water, straightened his day coat, and pressed down against the erection that lifted his shalwar kameez.

  His destiny was just down the road. The good doctor, Shakale Atrigi would help Ben with more than the bullshit facts about his vaccine scam. The doctor had no idea just how helpful he’d be or how tasty. Ben slapped at his hard dick. It was time to save America.

  Doctor Atrigi stared as Ben slipped unchallenged through the rear door of the flat roof, single-story structure. The exterior and interior of the clinic were both painted a dingy white, and a simple red cross on each outside wall signaled the cinderblock structure was a medical facility.

  Atrigi’s mouth dropped open. Ben pressed his finger to his lips. “Hush, I’m here for the vaccination.”

  “The vaccination?” Fear had begun to replace Atrigi’s perplexed surprise.

  About mid-fifties, the doctor looked older but that was to be expected. The stress of cooperating with the CIA had a tendency to destroy everyone. Dark skin contrasted with his white linen suit. Worry lines etched deep around his down-turned mouth, and ran into his bristly salt and pepper mustache.

  Ben approached with an outstretched hand, but Atrigi moved behind his metal desk. Ben allowed his hand to linger in the awkward reach of rejection. He forced a courtesy smile, though he was disappointed at the loss of his hard on.

  “Doctor Atrigi, I come as an ally. Please do not disrespect me.” He waggled his hand to emphasize the point.

  “You sneak in the back of my clinic like a thief and expect a friend’s greeting?” Atrigi spoke quietly in broken English but his fiery eyes were wild with anguish and uncertainty.

  Ben moved in long strides around the small space to stand beside him. “I’m an American.”

  “And how does that make you a friend of mine?” Atrigi shoved his hands in the white lab coat.

  “I work for the Agency. We both have the same goal. I expect you to confirm The Goat’s location.”

  “The Goat?” Atrigi stepped back.

  Ben poked his unshaken palm out for Atrigi, but the doctor swatted it away. Ben grinned—he was pissed. He’d enjoy this encounter. Atrigi wouldn’t.

  “Osama bin Laden.” Ben’s voice quaked. “You know who the fuck I’m talking about. How many Caucasians come to this shit hole for a vaccination?”

  Atrigi froze at the mention of the monster’s name, but refused to answer. Ben’s heart pounded at the realization of how close he was. He was about to become America’s hero—even greater than Charles Lindbergh. His tight lips stretched across unbrushed teeth. He’d shown too much enthusiasm. It was time to dial it back—he was too close to blow it now.

  “Lets try this again, Doctor Atrigi. I’ve traveled many miles to speak with you and if I frightened you by entering from your rear door, I apologize.” Ben bit back a snicker at his pun of entering the rear.

  “Thank you for your apology, but I still do not know what you refer to by The Goat, or bin Laden.” Atrigi slipped toward the door.

  “If you try to sneak through that door, I’ll end this conversation abruptly. By abrupt, I mean I’ll kill you.”

  “What do you want?” The doctor asked with defiance.

  Ben sneered. He understood why the Agency was able to flip Atrigi. The man was brave, even in the face of danger. He tried to imagine the hell the doctor lived with while single-handedly tracking down the devil. Although he had an appreciation for Atrigi, he’d show no compassion unless the man cooperated. Hell, even then he might not spare Atrigi.

  Ben’s knuckles rapped against the chipped green paint of the metal desk. His fingers blanched white across the back of the matching chair. A smile fissured across his face. He rumbled inside. He glowered at Atrigi. His mind spun—he was about to erupt.

  “I want bin Laden. Tell me where he is, or I’ll make you suffer horribly. That is what I want.”

  “Shaytan.”

  Ben’s muscles flexed. His fist jerked. The chair crashed into the wall. Atrigi lunged to the right. But Ben jammed the desk into his thighs, pinning him against the wall.

  “Devil? I come as a friend and you call me a devil?” Ben crooned smooth as silk—almost sensual. “I’ll show you my devil, you little devil.”

  “Good one, Benny.”

  “Not now.” Ben quick slapped himself.

  Atrigi’s chest rose and fell, Ben saw his Adam’s apple bounce beneath his thick beard. He jerked open a desk drawer. His lips moved but nothing escaped. Ben couldn’t see what Atrigi had managed to grab from the drawer, but he wouldn’t wait to find out.

  Ben jabbed the web of his hand between thumb and index finger into Atrigi’s throat. Atrigi coughed, his eyes rolled. He collapsed over the mess on his desk. Ben’s eyes roamed the length of Atrigi’s body. Long, lean and unconscious—just as he liked them.

  Ben giggled. “Who am I kidding? I like all unconscious bodies.”

  Ben moved with mechanical efficiency as he undressed Atrigi. Impatience nagged at his better judgment, but, damn, the naked doctor had him frisky. Hell, it had Ben turning flips in anticipation of the wicked shit he’d do.

  “Wake up, baby.” Ben slapped Atrigi’s face with his hard dick.

  Tied facedown across his own desk, Atrigi was helpless. Ben was on autopilot overdrive. He didn’t fancy himself as being gay, but the more ass he took, the greater his desire to pump it. Butt fucking was a resource—just like waterboarding or the other techniques the Agency taught him. Of course the goal was to gain information, but his preference for post-mortem booty never gave his victims much chance to chatter.

  Atrigi awoke. “Stop that. What is the matter with you?”

  “Well, mother says I was coddled too much as a child but then abandoned as she and my bastard father pursued careers.” Ben sighed. “But right now there’s nothing the matter. I’m just frisky for your ass or your information.”

  Atrigi shook his head violently as Ben’s gallivanting fingers bristled through the doctor’s thick mane of coarse hair. Ben rubbed his nut sack in the tresses and laughed at the sensation.

  “I t-bagged you.” He burst into hearty laughter.

  “This is inhumane. I request you stop immediately. If we are both working for the Agency, then this will not help our cooperation.”

  Ben tugged at Atrigi’s hair. “So you admit you’re working with the Agency?”

  For once Atrigi’s arrogance waned. Indecision softened his expression. Ben saw the doctor’s lips quiver, and he fought to contain his smile.

  The t-bag got them every time. Ben high-fived himself as he pranced in a tight circle.

  “No. I mean yes. What do you want from me?”

  “Good boy.” Ben stroked Atrigi’s scalp. He knew it was insulting but taunted him anyway because he figured the doctor deserved a good dose of h
umility.

  “Enough of this treatment, you savage. I demand respect.”

  Ben’s anger spiked. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You cry like a bitch and confess working for the CIA, and now I’m supposed to treat you with respect?”

  Ben noticed the engorgement immediately. His dick had a mind of its own.

  “This is what you deserve.” He sneered.

  He grabbed Atrigi by the hair and jerked up until his mouth opened in protest. Ben’s thumb jerked at his elastic waistband and his dick bounced into the open air. It felt amazing. He stuck it in Atrigi’s mouth so violently that the doctor began to gag before he realized what had happened.

  “Respect this, my dirty whore,” Ben jeered as he pumped in Atrigi’s mouth. The man’s eyes couldn’t close because of the grip Ben had on his hair. Ben raped Atrigi’s mouth with such wrath that he came within minutes.

  Ben fell to the mopped floor. Breaths came in quick gasps as he waited for his vision to clear. He smiled as Atrigi spit cum from his mouth and tried to blow the sticky liquid off his lips.

  “I hope you die, pig.” Atrigi shuddered in fury. “Fuck America. I will not lift a finger to help.”

  “Really? Then there’s no reason to keep you alive.” Ben delighted in the anticipation. It would be his first physician. He was almost giddy.

  Atrigi continued to spit. “Kill me. I’d rather die than be subjected to this.”

  “I will, my dear. As soon as you tell me where to find bin Laden.” Ben wobbled to his feet.

  “Never.”

  “Last chance, baby cakes.”

  “Kill me. I beg you.”

  Ben stepped back. He’d never expected this level of bravado from the Pakistani.

  “I can see you’re a man of courage. I respect that. You help me and I won’t kill you.” Ben’s fingers were crossed behind his back. He scratched his booty and wiggled at the sexy sensation.

  “Too late, shaytan. You’ve shamed me beyond redemption. If you do respect me, kill me.”

  Atrigi screamed at the whack of a metal rod across his ass. Ben licked his lips as he narrowed his vision on the soft flesh he’d soon enter. He swung again with more force than the first strike. Atrigi quaked. He began to sob.

  “Ready to spill the beans?”

  “Never.”

  “Good answer. I’m dying to butt fuck you anyway.” Ben massaged Atrigi’s reddened hide. He smiled as his fingers rode the ridged whelps left on the man’s rump by the rod.

  Atrigi bucked and arched, trying to escape. He seemed to have suddenly come alive. Ben slipped back from the desk to enjoy the effort.

  About fucking time.

  “Baby. I’ll ask you again, where is bin Laden?”

  “Never.”

  Ben peeked through the opening. It was still daylight but the square seemed deserted. He tapped a fingernail against his teeth and pondered. Maybe the Agency and military were making their move against bin Laden. But they’d have to fly in, and there looked to be storm clouds for miles, he rationalized as he cast an eye heavenward.

  “Why won’t you just play along and tell me?” Ben flopped down cross-legged in front of Atrigi. His finger circled the doctor’s mouth to swipe remnants of cum from them. He licked his finger, “Delicious.”

  “How can you be so cruel?”

  “Easy. I’m Gray Man.”

  Ben hadn’t used that name since his handler, Heinrich, taunted him with it. He liked the covert identity—sort of like a super hero. Not as cool as Captain America though… He frowned.

  “If you work for the Agency are you not included in their plans? Why would you be here and not there? They told me to be leery of chameleons like you. I’m a doomed man already, so do what you will, but I’ll not betray my oath.”

  Ben uncrossed sinewy thighs. An erection had returned. Atrigi’s perseverance had made him frisky again. But to be fair—everything made Ben frisky. He’d grown more hungry to consume the man than to collect his information. His appetite had caused him to veer from the mission’s objective, but he struggled with the Agency’s abandonment of his cause versus his strong urge to kill and consume. It was what they taught him to do after all.

  He’d had enough. It was time to fuck and feast on the good doctor.

  Chapter 16

  The all-terrain buggy rattled across the last incline before it coasted to a slow-rolling stop in between barriers. Less than a mile away, on the outskirts of the complex, Justice killed the ignition. He’d promised Commander Ross they’d not be inside bin Laden’s complex when SEAL Team 6 arrived to take out the terrorist. Justice had other plans. He looked to the passenger seat and jostled a quick thumbs up. There was no reply.

  “Sure you’re up to this?” he asked.

  Batya busied herself adjusting her rifle.

  Justice grabbed her by the left elbow. “You okay?”

  The barrel of a forty-five-caliber semi-automatic jammed its one unblinking eye at him. He lunged out of the aluminum frame buggy—his eyes big and focused.

  “What the fuck, Batya?”

  “Just showing you I am ready. Your medical team did an admirable job getting me back into the fight.” Checkered squares ruffled as Justice saw a determined grin break beneath her headscarf.

  He eased his right hand atop the barrel to move the pistol from his face. “I can see that. They also told you to go easy for a few days.”

  “I am going easy. This is why we drove instead of hiking, no?”

  Justice smirked. She was back. He’d missed her strength and massacre of the English language. Thankful she’d only suffered from dehydration and not the internal bleeding they suspected, Justice was glad to have his equal back alongside on this mission.

  “And how about you, baby, did you get that stab wound stitched?” she asked.

  Justice groaned as his hand rubbed the tender area low on his abdomen. “Back on the bayou we called those pig stickers. Not deep enough to kill, but enough to get your attention. Jabar fucked up—he should’ve killed me.” Justice’s eyes flashed toward her. He wore a giant grin. “Did you just call me baby?”

  “That I did. You whined like a baby back there. It’s only fitting.” Batya’s eyes flashed a taunting glower. “Are we babies no longer?”

  “Yes, we are still babies.” Justice jabbed his hand beneath his heavy bulletproof vest—agitated at the interruption of a phone call. He pressed a gloved finger across the hard plastic case to reveal the screen’s drab-green marquee. It vibrated until he reluctantly mashed the button to accept the call.

  “Go,” he snarled.

  “It’s time to come home.” Dunnigan’s voice was high-pitched and threatening.

  Justice rolled his eyes. He recognized the tension, maybe even nervousness, in Dunnigan’s tone. He stepped away from Batya and held a finger up for her to give him privacy.

  “What do you mean, time to come home?”

  Dunnigan cleared his throat, “It’s over. You’re not to interfere with the operation to capture The Goat. Do you understand me?”

  Justice kicked at piles of what might’ve been camel dung. He exhaled while he tried to steady the anger that fumed within him. He understood the situation and was determined to not allow the Agency to fuck him over once again. He’d already gone through so much, and to be called off once he got this close was yet another reinforcement of his suspicions that the government never really wanted to win this war on terror.

  “Carl, unless you’re going to come here personally to stop me, then go fuck yourself.” Justice peered against the sun. He bit at his lip as anxiety brewed—his target was less than a mile’s hike across the desert.

  “Don’t make me deactivate you, Justice.”

  “I’m going to see this through. The target is within reach.”

  Justice heard what sounded like Dunnigan slamming his hand against a desk. He’d gotten under Dunnigan’s skin.

  “Last chance, Justice. Confirm my order to return to Langley or I’ll chan
ge your status to rogue.” Dunnigan seemed to have regained his composure.

  Justice shoved his palm against his teeth and seethed. Rogue classification meant CIA Eraser Teams would aggressively hunt him down. Justice licked his lips and spit sand from his tongue. He’d given everything to serve the Agency. Twenty-four experimental agents erased, and Dunnigan wanted to pull the plug before The Goat or Ben was eliminated? No fucking way.

  “Carl, we go back many years. Do you even understand how serious your threat is?” Justice waved to Batya to give him another moment. “I’m too close to allow this devil to live one day more.”

  “Justice, this is an Agency operation. I’ll be damned if some half-rate operative and his Jewish whore are going to jeopardize it,” Dunnigan screamed.

  The satellite phone smashed to pieces as it exploded against a cluster of rocks.

  Mechanically, Justice marched back toward Batya. He struggled to conceal his rage, but the tightness in his jaw felt like a vice grip had yanked his skin back to his spine. This wasn’t Batya’s problem until Dunnigan had just included her in his threats. Dunnigan would pay.

  Batya jerked the glove from her hand and pressed a palm against Justice’s cheek. “Justice, are you okay?” She shook her head. “That was a stupid question, of course you’re not okay. What is going on?”

  He turned away and unzipped his nylon gear bag. “Let’s go.”

  “We are partners in this operation. Do not disrespect me and tell me to ‘go’.”

  Justice jerked his long-range sniper rifle from the dune buggy and secured it across his torso. His eyes narrowed across the mountain—he’d be damned if the CIA or Batya would distract him from killing that murdering bastard. America deserved better.

  “Justice, do not ignore me. I’ve been through hell with you and I’ll finish the journey.” Batya moved in front of Justice’s path, “Is it the CIA? Have they marked you?”

  “Us.”

  Batya bit at her knuckle. Dread seared itself into her beautiful eyes. Justice blew out a breath as an apology hitched in his chest. He reached for her and, for once, she allowed herself to become vulnerable. He buried his bearded chin against her head. He hurt for what the future held.