Terrorist

"I didn't honey," she sobbed pitifully. "I had no choice."

"I understand," I agreed, though in reality I had no idea at all.

"Not the first time."

"Sorry," I responded, wondering if I'd misunderstood. "What did you say?"

"The first time Ken," she whimpered almost inaudibly. "I had no choice. He forced me. Raped me."

"What are you trying to tell me Jenny?" I nearly choked on my words.

"Easy Ken," Mike butted in, trying to calm things down. "Let her tell you in her own words."

"I couldn't help it Ken," my lovely wife cried out in anguish. "He took me, dominated me, controlled me. I couldn't help myself."

"Couldn't help what Jenny," I asked nervously, dreading what I surely knew was coming next.

"He fucked me good that first time honey," she mumbled. "I'm sorry but I lost it, and my most vivid memory is of fucking him back. Screaming at him to fuck me harder. It seemed to go on forever and I lost count of how many times I orgasmed as they seemed to merge into one another. I didn't want it to end. I didn't want him to stop. I wanted it to go on for ever and ever."

"Christ!" I exclaimed, when she seemed to run out of words. I'd expected something bad, but not that.

"There's more honey," she whispered uncertainly. "I really need to tell you. I have to get it out of my system. Please honey, you're not going to like it, but I do have to tell you."

"Ok," I grunted, swallowing deeply, not trusting myself to say more. Not wanting to listen to her confession, but knowing that I had to. Knowing that my wife had to unburden herself if she was to be able to move on, despite how much her words were going to destroy me. It was now becoming clear why Jenny had been so reluctant to have sex with me.

"After that first time Ken," she continued, strangely calmer and more determined than before. "I just become his slut, his sex slave. He kept me naked all the time and I seemed happy to do that for him, though I couldn't understand why. His men came in from time to time and stared at my naked body, and Ibrahim shouted at me if I tried to hide it. One of his lieutenants groped my breast on the second day, and when I slapped him round the face, Ibrahim dragged me over the other man's knee and let him spank my bare bottom till I cried out for mercy. After that he made it very clear that he would decide who got to look at me and who got to touch me. It was a sort of pecking order. I was expected to sit on the lap of his two most senior men, and let them play with my tits and finger me while they discussed tactics or whatever with Ibrahim. Sometimes he used me as a reward to one of the other guys if he'd done something that had pleased him."

"He let them fuck you?" I croaked, at the edge of my capacity.

"No Ken, he didn't," she replied, displaying what I thought was the hint of a smile on her face if I hadn't known better. "He kept that for himself."

"My God Jenny," I felt myself sobbing in frustration. "I never realised. It must have been awful for you."

"For God's sake Ken," she suddenly screamed out loud. "You don't understand do you? You're not listening to what I'm trying to tell you."

"What ..." I stammered. "What .... How .... "

"Better tell him Jenny, love," Mike encouraged her gently. "It's got to come out sooner or later. Better to get it over with."

"What's got to come out," I demanded my mind spinning in utter confusion, glaring at the two of them.

"Better tell him Jenny," Mike repeated when Jenny sat there tight-lipped.

"It wasn't awful Ken," Jenny, my wife spoke out eventually, quietly but purposefully. "It wasn't awful at all. I hated him for what he was doing to me. I despised myself for the wanton way I was behaving. But it wasn't awful, and I was doing it willingly. I begged him to fuck me more frequently, and stuck my tits out at his men to encourage them to fondle me. I cursed Ibrahim for not letting the others stick their cocks in me, and lay there with my legs open wide to encourage them to defy him. All that, and all he did was laugh at me. I was his toy to do with what he wanted, and in some weird way, I loved it."

With that, leaving me in total shock and lost for words, Jenny leapt to her feet, burst into tears and fled the room, leaving Mike and I silently staring at one another.

"Best to leave her on her own for a while," Mike told me, holding up his hand to mentally if not physically restrain me. "She's let it out and that's half the battle. Believe me Ken, I've seen this sort of thing before, and it's better if you leave her on her own for a few hours."

"And what the fuck am I supposed to do," I exploded, feelings of utter helplessness overcoming me.

"Got any beers in the fridge?"

We did. We had a few, but they didn't survive the evening. Ken let me rant and rave and scream out my anger, while he explained to me some facts about the harsher side of life, that most of us have no knowledge of.

--------------------

Reconciliation, because that's what it felt like, wasn't easy. It was Jenny that had suffered, but it seemed that I as the ultimate victim. Jenny but especially Mike explained to me how she had used her position to help and protect the other hostages, and there was a hint that she'd used her body to achieve this on more than one occasion, though I never pushed for fuller details. This was where the hero bit came in, the others considering that without Jenny they might well have not survived to see the end of their imprisonment, though they weren't fully aware of what she had to submit to, in order to accomplish it.

She was a heroin, and I loved her dearly, but what had happened and the awful details I had heard was like some mental block erected between us. Her confession had given her the release from the mental conflict she was suffering, but had resulted in the opposite effect on me. It wasn't that she'd given herself sexually to that bastard Ibrahim, so much that she'd done it so willingly. Lusting after him, in a way that to my mind, more than she ever had for me.

The limited sexual relations that we'd been enjoying stopped that day. They didn't just stop, but ran into a brick wall. I kept reaching for her, wanting to take her lovingly into my arms, only to choke up inside at the slightest touch of her breasts against my chest. I couldn't do it, and it was destroying our marriage.

Something had to happen and of course something did.

---------------

It was Mike again of course.

I came home from an average day at work, nothing special, nothing remarkable, only to note a car sat outside on our drive that I recognised.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" I cursed under my breath. "What is it this time?"

"Hi Ken," Jenny greeted me, her eyes giving away how she was wondering what mood I'd come home in. "Mike is here."

"So I see," I replied curtly.

"We've got another problem."

"What's one more," I said back.

A few minutes later found me sat there facing Mike, a cup of tea in my hand, Jenny hovering around nervously.

"So what is it this time?" I snapped, totally unreasonably.

"Something's come up and we need your help," he informed me, looking up at Jenny for confirmation. "It's Jenny's help we need, but we need you to be Ok with it. She needs you to be OK with it."

I simply nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"Have you been following the news Ken?" he asked to my surprise.

I simply nodded again.

"Have you read about the terrorist outrage that took place in London at the week end,"

"The one that went wrong," I queried, my interest suddenly piqued. "The police foiled it and there was a shoot out."

"That's right," Mike he confirmed. "Several of them got shot, but three of them escaped and are holed up with three young kids they took as hostages."

"Sounds bad," I sighed. "Sounds familiar. How could this involve Jenny?"

"It's Ibrahim," Mike then told me, holding my eye. It was by then no great surprise, and I just sat there shaking my head in bewilderment.

"Go in guns blazing and shoot the bastard," was my suggestions.

"And the kids?"

"Maybe not," I conceded. "As I said before, what has this got to do with Jenny?"

"We need to get those three kids out," Mike went on solemnly.

"You expect Jenny to go and get them," I joked, though none of us found it funny.

"Tell him Mike," Jenny butted in. "Get it over with."

"Yes tell me Mike," I growled. "How much worse can it get."

"He's agreed to a swap."

"Shit!" I cried out, seeing where this was going.

"He'll release the kids unharmed, if Jenny replaces them."

"And where does that leave Jenny?" I asked trying to keep calm.

"Don't know Ken," he admitted. "But the odds look good."

"How good?"

"I've got to do it Ken," Jenny butted in again. "I can't let those three kids be harmed. I'd never forgive myself."

"And you don't think he'll kill you?" I questioned her. This is the UK and not Egypt remember. The British government will never negotiate to let him escape like the last time."

"I know honey," she answered. "But I don't think he intends to harm me."

"Just to fuck you," I accused her angrily.

"Now hang on there," Mike cried out.

"No he's right Mike," Jenny broke in. "Let's not pretend. That's what he wants me for. He knows the British Government will never give in to his demands, and wants me to keep him amused while he waits it out."

"And is it what you want Jenny," I asked.

"No Ken," she replied, looking me straight in the eye. "I swear it's not what I want, but if it's the only way to save those three poor kids, then that's exactly what I will do."

"You've made your mind up?"

"Yes!"

"Fine," I surrendered, not seeing any way out. "What can I do to help?"

Things couldn't get much worse anyway, could they?

----------------

They kept the press clear when the exchange was made, and I simply didn't want to be there. Apparently it went without a hitch, and three very frightened children were united with three very relieved sets of parents. I sort of felt good about that. The speculation in the media went crazy, right off the scale. They were aware that an exchange of hostages had taken place, but were fobbed off that it was high up diplomat. I suspect some of them knew more, but if they did they kept quiet about it, and I had high hopes that in the aftermath Jenny and I might be able to re-establish our relationship without the glare of publicity. If we could re-establish it at all that is, and that was far from sure.

The next two days were terrible.

Not worse than when my wife had been a hostage in Egypt, but different. Somehow I never had a doubt that she would come out of it alive, but this time I knew what she would be doing, and even worse, that to some minor degree she would be doing it willingly.

-----------------

The end came swiftly and unexpectedly, and apparently with it any hopes that Jenny's name could be kept out of it. I found that I was never far from a television during that period, most of the time tuned into one of the all day news channels.

"We interrupt this program for a news flash," announced the presenter, breaking off from some obscure explanation about the declining numbers of honeybees. "There's been a report of shooting at the Shaftsbury siege." She then listened to some words in her earpiece and informed the world, or that part of it that was listening, that they were going over to their reporter on the spot.

"We're not sure what's happening," the reporter told us excitedly, my insides turning to ice. "We've all heard some shots just a few moments ago."

At the point, the there was a shout, and the camera swung round to the building where the terrorists were holding Jenny, and to my astonishment she was suddenly there on the screen. She was running from the door in obvious panic, and maybe running for her life. It took me a few moments to register that she was totally naked, but then even worse that a man had burst out from the same door behind her, took two or three steps and raised his gun, some sort of machine gun to aim at her.

The burst of gunfire seemed to go on forever and my heart stopped, and I shut my eyes in fear. When I opened them again, the news coverage had been blanked out, and I screamed at it demanding to know what had happened.

Blackout! A total real news blackout, that lasted most of that afternoon, while the police moved the press away and they speculated about what had happened, coming up with crazier and crazier ideas.

Who was the beautiful young woman? Did she get shot? Was she still alive? Why was she naked?

Then there were the photos. Lots of them, the world's press having camped just up the road, and hundreds of cameras focused on the door from which she'd emerged in all her glory, all of them on high alert after the shots that had been fired. Not just photos, but living film as well, some of them judiciously fuzzing the pictures of Jenny's nudity, and others, less scrupulous, taking advantage of one of the biggest news scandals of the year.

I cursed the newspaper that speculated that she was some prostitute caught up in the affair, and ranted at another who claimed she was a cleaner who had been working there. Strangely, none of them seemed to make the connection with the hostage swap, and for that I was grateful.

Later that evening I got a phone call from Mike Jones, who apologised for not being able to call earlier.

"I can't tell you much Ken, only that Jenny is still alive," he told me.

"She's uninjured?" I demanded. "She didn't get shot?"

"Just wounded," I heard the dreaded, but somehow welcome news.

"How badly? When can I see her?"

"I don't know Ken," he told me with a calmness that I couldn't match. "This has gone way above my level. The minister himself is involved and I'm awaiting news. As soon as I hear anything I'll let you know. I'm sure she'll be alright."

"Sure?" I demanded, but he wasn't, and wasn't going to lie to me.

We talked for a few more moments and he rang off, promising to ring me the following morning whether he had any new information or not.

If that wasn't bad enough, then it got worse, and I wasn't even allowed to suffer in silence. Some reporter had made the connection with Ibrahim, the Shaftsbury siege and the Egyptian hostages, and had started to try to contact the Brits that had been released from the refinery. Not sure what his angle was, but all I knew was that this nosey bastard was putting his nose in where it wasn't wanted and I told him so. Five more calls later and I only just resisted throwing my mobile against the wall in anger, settling for turning it off and tossing it into a drawer. Another three calls and I pulled the plug on the house phone as well, berating myself for being so stupid as telling a reporter to 'fuck off', and piquing his interest. It was only when the buggers started knocking on my door twenty minutes later that I decided I'd had enough. Slipping out of the back door, I was able to make my way down the lane behind our house, across the neighbours garden and off down the road without them knowing.

At least my moments of action had kept my mind off of Jenny's situation for a while, but as I trudged the streets it all came flooding back. I needed a drink, a strong drink and I needed one quickly. Seeing a pub's lights further down the road, I made a bea-line for it, and was pleased to get in from the cold, soon finding myself huddled up in the corner with a double scotch in my hand, trying to ignore the banter going on around me, and the nonsense being spouted on the discussion program on the TV above the bar.

I was managing to settle myself down, telling myself that Jenny would be OK, when for the second time that evening I heard those dreaded words again.

'We interrupt this program for a news flash.'

Time stopped, my breathing stopped, the world stopped, and then my world came to end.

"We've just had it confirmed that the woman shot in the Shaftsbury siege earlier today, has died in hospital of her wounds. The police have confirmed that the woman in question was ..."

Somehow I couldn't hear the rest of what was being said, as a red blur descended on me. Rough hands grabbed me and I was thrown to the floor, hitting my head against the bar, and knocking me half senseless.

'The bastards have got me as well,' were the last thoughts that went through my mind.

-----------------------

I struggled to open my eyes, trying to make sense of where I was, and why I was there. At last managing to focus them, I was able to make out what looked to be a man in uniform sitting in the corner reading something. It took me a few moments to gather my thoughts, and then it all came flooding back to me, and I cried out in anguish. Alarm bells rang, people rushed in and suddenly my head was flopping back and I was drifting off again into la la land. The bastards had got me again.

The next time I was aware of coming to again, I tried to trick them, lying there with my eyes closed, trying to sort out who these people were.

"Mr Bolton, Ken, can you hear me?"

The bastards were trying to trick me, but the voice sounded somehow familiar. "Mike," I croaked. "Is that you? Where the hell am I?"

"It's me Mike Jones," he told me. "You're in hospital. Had a bad crack on the head, but you're going to be OK."

"Good," I said trying to smile, realising that there was no 'them'. Then letting out a wail as the news of my wife's death came back to me.

"Jenny," I sobbed. "She's dead Mike. The bastards got her. They shot her."

"Slight exaggeration Mike," he grinned at me.

"Don't fuck with me Mike," I growled at him. "Jenny, she's dead."

"She's not," I heard him say.

"Stop lying to me," I shouted, as far as I was able, at him.

"Better believe him honey," came a softer voice from somewhere on my left.

"Is that you Jenny?" I cried out in confusion.

"Yes my love it's me," I heard my wife's voice, and looking up, saw her sitting there. Sitting there in a wheel chair, her left shoulder swathed in bandages, and that was the image in my mind as I drifted back into unconsciousness again.

-------------------------

A week or so later, I wasn't too aware of time passing, found me sitting on our settee at home, Jenny alongside me, the pair of us hanging onto one another's hand, not wanting to let go.

"So you're telling me that it was all a cover up, Mike," I said to the ministry man sat across from us. "The Government wanted to keep Jenny's name out of the press."

"That's right Ken," Mike confirmed. "Didn't want the world to find out that we'd given into a terrorist's demands, or that we'd sent an untrained woman into a dangerous situation. That's why we hinted that the hostage swap had been a diplomat, and could hardly change our story."

"But I heard that Jenny had died of her wounds?" I queried.

"And if you hadn't thrown your glass through the TV screen at that point, then you would have probably heard that her name was being withheld, as she was a foreign diplomat," he grinned at me. "It's still being withheld, but the rumour going round is that she was actually an Egyptian secret service agent. I tried to ring you to warn you about the press statement about to go out, but couldn't get through to you."

"That's what happened, was it?" I mumbled, it all beginning to make sense, remembering my mobile phone still sitting there in the drawer. "I guess it was the guys in the pub who tackled me."

"The landlord actually," he laughed. "Wasn't best pleased with you smashing his new television, so he wasn't exactly gentle with you. Don't worry by the way, we've sorted it out with him."

"I suppose it was you who started the rumour about the dead woman being an Egyptian," Jenny joined in.

"Not me personally," Mike smiled, making it clear that it was his department, without having to admit it. "Besides, we couldn't risk Jenny having to go to court. That could have been a political disaster, so the easiest thing was to kill the mysterious woman off."