Carnifex (89 page)

Strong winds, strong winds
Many dead tonight, it could be you

—Ladysmith Black Mambazo,
Homeless

They called Carrera "the Blue Jinn." He took a small and perverse pride in the title. Blue jinni were evil jinni. That his enemies thought him evil was . . . pleasant. Even more pleasant was the sight of his enemies, beaten and bleeding, captive and bound.

Carrera, the Jinn, looked over those enemies in the late afternoon sun. Sinking in the west, the sun's light was carved by the mountains to cast long, sharp shadows across the ground. Much of that ground was covered with the head-bowed, broken prisoners.

One of those captives, Abdul Aziz ibn Kalb, held his bleeding head upright. Abdul Aziz glared hate at his captors. These were a mix of Pashtun mercenaries—tall and light eyed; light skinned they would have been, too, had the sun not burned them red-brown—and shorter, darker men. All were heavily armed, bearing wicked looking rifles with shiny steel blades affixed. All sneered back the hate Abdul Aziz felt, mixing with that hate a full measure of disgust and contempt.

Aziz's hate mixed with and fed on fear. Along with several hundred other male prisoners, and well over a thousand women and children, Aziz waited to hear his fate. The male prisoners' hands and legs were taped together. Not far away, the women and children waited unbound. The two groups were close enough together that Abdul Aziz could see the noncombatants as well as a small group of his enemies ascending a low hill to his front.

Leading that group, Abdul Aziz saw, was a uniformed man, medium in height, and with his face and head wrapped with a keffiyah. Another looked oriental. Three more were dressed much as any mullahs would be. A sixth wore the white dress of the Emirate of Doha. The last was another man in uniform, bearing the rank badges of a
subadar
. Trimly bearded, tall and slender, with bright gray eyes, the
subadar
looked Pashtun to Abdul Aziz.

That man in the lead partially unwrapped the keffiyah from around his head. Aziz had never seen him before, but had heard enough descriptions to recognize the "Blue Jinn."

Carrera paused and lit a cigarette. He puffed it contemplatively for a few moments. Then he sat back easily in a chair, almost a throne, which had been prepared for him by his followers out of hastily felled and trimmed trees. Even at this distance Abdul Aziz saw the eyes that gave the Jinn his name. Though it was just a trick of the sun, the eyes seemed to glow from the inside like malevolent coals.

A dark-clad, bearded mullah walked to the microphone of a portable public address set standing in front of the chair and began to speak.

"I have consulted," he announced, "with
Duque
Carrera, the man you probably know as the Blue Jinn, and whom you see to my right, concerning your fate. He, in accordance with the Sharia, has turned the general resolution of your cases over to myself and my fellow mullahs. We have pronounced sentence of death upon you, in accordance with the will of Allah, for complicity in murder."

It was widely speculated that the mullah only consulted the quarter gold Boerrand Carrera allegedly paid him for each desired "legal" death sentence he passed on. He never admitted this. Neither did he deny it.

"Your young children shall be taken back to your enemy's country," the mullah continued. "Your women, and the girls over twelve, are awarded to his Pashtun Scouts as prizes. Mr. Yamaguchi," and the mullah's head nodded to indicate the oriental man who had accompanied the party, "and Mr. Al Ajami," another head nod, "represent certain interests in Yamato and Doha that might wish to buy some of these women and girls from the Scouts. Having consulted with the Jinn I have informed him that there is no religious prohibition to this, that you are all apostates and your women may properly be enslaved. For his part, he says he could care less what happens to them so long as it is within the law."

A wild and heartrending moan emerged from the cluster of women as the grinning, leering Pashtun began to prod them away to the processing area. Aziz felt a sudden relief that his wife had been spared the ignominy of rape followed by sale into prostitution.

"As for the rest of you, as I said, you shall die. But the Jinn tells me to inform you that he is solicitous of your souls."

The mullah stopped speaking and backed away from the microphone. Carrera stood and took the mullah's place. He spoke in decent Arabic, Aziz was surprised to discover, though his accent was somewhat heavy.

"Some years ago the actions of your leader and your movement robbed me of my wife and children," Carrera announced. He turned to the chief mullah. "What does Surah Eighty-one say, O' man of God?" he asked.

The mullah recited aloud, loud enough for the microphone to pick up so that the prisoners could hear, "When the infant girl, buried alive, is asked for what crime she was slain—"

"What does it mean?"

"It means,
sayidi
, when Allah asks who murdered her, for no infant girl can be guilty of a crime."

"Does Allah approve of burying infant girls alive, then?"

"He does not. Surah Eighty-one, the Cessations, is concerned with the end of time, Judgment Day, and the punishment of the wicked. God will punish the murderers of infant girls."

Carrera's face twitched in the smallest of smiles. "Ah, I see. What does the Holy Koran say about those who bring disorder to the world?

"It says, O Jinn, in Surah Five, the Table, that those who fight against God or his Apostle, bringing disorder to the world, should be killed, or have the hands and feet cut off on opposite sides, or be exiled, or be crucified."

"I see," said Carrera. "Do those who kill infant girls fight against God? Have these men brought disorder to the world?"

"They have. They do," answered the mullah, "for this is expressly forbidden under Islam."

Carrera turned back to his captives. "I loved my family, even as—one supposes—you love your own. I swore, when they were murdered, to avenge myself on all who had contributed, even passively, to my loss. Thus you shall die. I am, though, as Mullah Hassim told you, very solicitous of your fate in the hereafter. So before you die, you will be thoroughly Christianized."

Then Carrera smiled, nastily, and turned to his
subadar
.

"Crucify them."

Abdul Aziz spoke English quite well. Moreover, Carrera was close enough to the microphone for him to hear the dread words, "Crucify them."

He had not been the only one. Several others understood English, too. The group of a bit over four hundred captives began to curse and writhe on the ground, trying to free themselves of their sticky bonds. Balboan Cazadors and Pashtun Scouts then walked among them, applying boot and rifle butt until they quieted down.

Several helicopters came in shortly thereafter bearing bundles of metal stakes slung underneath. The bundles swayed in the downdraft and crossing wind. The helicopters and their load, again, caused a stirring among the
mujahadin
. Again, the guards dealt with it brutally.

As soon as the helicopters' loads were unbundled some men went to work with devices—to Abdul they looked like sections of heavy pipe with end caps on one end and handles welded on—to drive the crosses (for that's what the bundles proved to be) into the earth. The steady
clang-clang-clang
went on for quite some time. When it ended, one section of the valley was saturated with crosses.

The crosses looked to have been about four meters high, with a one and a quarter meter cross piece welded on, before they were erected. Afterwards, they seem to stand about three quarters of that above the earth.

Abdul Aziz ibn Kalb was one of the first to be taken to his death. The haughty Pashtun guards carved up the mass of prisoners, forcing lanes between them. Three of them walked up to Abdul and grabbed him by his tape-bound arms and legs. They then carried and dragged him to his cross. His arms, which had been taped behind, were cut loose. He was roughly stripped of his clothing. Then his hands were re-taped in front. Two of the guards lifted him up bodily, while the third hooked his arms over the peak of the upright. They then lowered him, none too gently, letting him fall with his back to the cross until his taped wrists reached the welded juncture of upright and cross piece. They lifted his feet and taped them to the upright, forcing him to relax his knees by the none-too-gentle method of striking him in the gonads. Once he was in that position his hands were taped to the crosspiece so that he could not hope to wear away his bonds by rubbing them against the upright, or to free his arms by lifting them over the top.

Thus affixed, Abdul Aziz could not get his wrists over the upright even by standing fully erect by his taped feet. Still, the orders had said to do it that way and the Scouts were the sort who followed orders. Besides, what Pashtun worthy of the name would hesitate to follow the orders of a leader who gifted them so lavishly with slave women and money.

Abdul Aziz was in no pain, as of yet, even though the position was uncomfortable. He wondered how long it might take for discomfort to transform into agony. He had his first clue when, after about fifteen minutes of having his weight on his wrists, he found he could not breathe. Rather, he could not exhale and had to push up with his feet to relieve the pressure to allow him to expel the used air in his lungs to draw in new.

True, no nails were used, neither were any bones split, nor did a drop of blood flow. But this was not a mercy. The Romans knew. Of the two major forms of crucifixion, nailing and tying, it was nailing that was the more merciful.

The crosses, twenty rows of twenty, held exactly one hundred Salafis for every one of Carrera's men who had died on a cross. They faced the low hill on which he sat, watching all four hundred men affixed to the mechanism of their execution. A group of what looked to be fifteen mujahadin and two Earthpigs sat miserably at the base of the hill, at Carrera's feet, where they too could watch and feel the suffering of comrades and followers.

Masood handed Carrera two small devices. One looked like what it was, a detonator. The other looked somewhat similar to a cell phone. "We took the detonator off the weasel in the United Earth Peace Fleet uniform. The old one with the beard had the communications devices."

"Bring the UE officers to me, Subadar." Masood left and grabbed the bound Robinson and Arbeit by the hair, dragging them up the hill and tossing them at Carrera's feet. Arbeit squealed like a pig at the effrontery and the pain.

"You intended to give the Salafis nuclear weapons." It was not a question. Besides the eleven captured at "the Base," a Scout ambush had taken the last nuke not far from this spot as it was being moved to Camp San Lorenzo by camel.

"No, no," Robinson began. "I was only . . . "

Masood kicked him, hard, in the kidney.

"We've captured enough evidence and documents in the cave complex to know better," Carrera said. "You were coming to use a nuke on my people at our camp." This, too, was not a question.

"They
made
me," Robinson tried to explain, with a begging, pleading quality to his voice.

"What did they threaten? Torture? You'll soon learn a lot about torture."

Carrera looked at the cell phone-like device. It had a button on it that said, in tiny letters, "Call." He pushed it and was immediately rewarded with, "UEPF
Spirit of Peace.
How can we help you, High Admiral?"

"Give me Marguerite," Carrera said.

Carrera waited only moments before a familiar voice came back, "Captain Wallenstein, High Admiral." The voice sounded terribly fearful.

"It's not your High Admiral, Captain; it's me."

"
Duque
Carrera!" One could hear the fear washing away. "How grand to hear from you. May I infer you have been successful?"

"You may. I wondered if you might like to speak to your High Admiral."

"Why that would be a great pleasure,
Duque
. Thank you."

Carrera bent at the waist and held the communication device down to Robinson's ear.

"Marguerite, get us out of here," Robinson ordered, though the panic, even terror, in his voice robbed the order of all authority. "Offer them anything, give them
anything,
but don't leave us to die like this."

Wallenstein laughed. "Why would I do that, Admiral? After all, you're just an 'adequate officer, but no more than that.' You weren't much of a lay, either. And as for the marchioness . . . " She let the words hang.

Carrera took the communicator back and held it to the side of his face. "Nice chatting with you, Captain. Don't worry about your High Admiral. He'll be well taken care of. Perhaps we can do business again, sometime."

"My pleasure,
Duque
."

His troops had built a series of great bonfires around the scene of execution. More wood stood by each to light this night and the next. Two of the great, roaring fires flanked Carrera closely, their radiance keeping away the chill of the evening and early morning. The fires lit well a scene from Hell, yet were far enough away that they lent none of their warmth to the denizens of that Hell.

A bottle of scotch sat on one arm of the thronelike chair his troops had also constructed for him. On the other was a glass, frequently consulted and frequently refilled. Despite the fatigue, such a tiredness as ordinary rest could never touch, Carrera refused to sleep.

Is this justice?
he asked himself.
Is it justice for my family, for my men? Left to me, I'd leave them alive to suffer for much longer. But my crucified men deserve justice no less than I do. This, one hundred for one, is justice to them.
My
justice will have to wait.

He glared out at the suffering men and thought,
This is what
you
would inflict on the world. This is the law
you
claimed to want. Does it please you so much now, I wonder, now when you are its victims?