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Sunday, November 22, 2009

AN EXPLOSIVE SITUATION: A FICTIONAL BLOG

QUOTE:



SCENE FIVE


Warning: If you are easily shocked with regard to contrary
points of view, conspiracy theories, offensive language,
political correctness, sex, or anything else that may offend
your sensibilities or lack of open-mindedness, or if you're a
minor (but by no means limited to the aforementioned),
please do not read this novel, short story, fictional blog, or
anything else F. Scott Sinclair writes about. It's not for you...


Note: This is a work of fiction. The events described here
are imaginary: the settings, events and characters are
fictitious, and/or are the product of the author's imagination
or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events
or locales or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.



Copyright © 2006 by F. Scott Sinclair. All Rights Reserved.





Installment 5 of "The Walls Have Ears: A Novel of America"




General Ortega



I found myself on the floor of a mud hut. The stench of
my own blood and body fluids made my eyes open like a
cork popping off of a champagne bottle. I nearly gagged.
The back of my head and ribs felt like a sledge hammer
had pulverized them senseless. As I internally searched
for any broken bones, I attempted to move my arms.
As I did so, I felt the unbearable pain of a weight crushing
my forearm. Was I paralyzed…?! If I were paralyzed,
there wouldn’t be any pain, I thought.


“Good morning, General Ortega,” an unfamiliar
voice spoke out of nowhere.


I tried to move my right arm once more, perhaps
I was experiencing hallucinations. It wouldn’t budge…
As I tried to focus my bloodshot eyes through my
puffy eyelids, I saw the outline of a black boot that
had immobilized my forearm, and said, “Morning. It’s
a bit difficult to shake your hand from where I am.
Please excuse me…”


Stepping down harder, I winced in pain…but tried
to be brave under the circumstances.


“Now, is that anyway to treat a guest in your
country?” the stranger asked.


Tasting the blood from my facial wounds, I choked
and coughed, then said best I could, “If you’d remove
your boot from my arm, I think I could manage to greet
you as you’ve suggested.”


As the stranger removed the sole of his jungle boot,
he said, “Is that better?”


“Yes.”


With a mocking tone, and the stranger said, “That
being the case, let’s start over from scratch. How’s
that sound?”


I raised myself to my knees, and then collapsed.
Seconds later, I awoke to a startling chill. He’d thrown
ice water in my face to revive me.


“As I was saying, General Ortega, I’d like to clear
a few matters up. Sergeant Smith, place our friend
here in the hot seat.”


With drooping eyelids and bloody saliva running
off the corner of my mouth, I said, “I didn’t catch
your name. Care to repeat it?”


Standing with a cane stick in his hand, the stranger
said, “My name is not important. But let’s skip the
formalities and get to the bottom line. Whose side
are you on, General?”


Gasping for air, I said, “Yours, of course…!”


“That’s not what our informants are telling us.
You’re behind the propaganda scheme to defy
American interests, isn’t that correct?”


God, I hope the troops I had deployed get here soon.


“Answer me…!”


As he pounced on my right foot with the heel
of his jungle boot, I shouted, “For Christ’s sake, I
don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”


“Are you the one who has been behind your
President’s speeches?!”


I cried, “No…!”


The tall stranger in fatigues with his cane in
hand, smacked me across the face, and said,
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’d better
come clean, General Ortega…or else. You’ve
received a lot of money under the table, yet
we’re losing the propaganda war. And it’s
because of you, right?!”


I was speechless… My tongue was so swollen,
I couldn’t utter a word.


“Have it your way, General Ortega. But if
there’s a next time, you’d better tell your boss
that if one oil well is blown to smithereens, his
Boy Scout militia of the loyal poor will be annihilated.
Completely…! We’ll, defoliate the forests and
mountains so thoroughly, our satellites will be
able to photograph anyone taking a shit anywhere
in the countryside. Is that understood?”


My head fell forward as I slumped over in
the chair. A dose of smelling salts startled my
senses. His huge fists slapped my face into
submission, but only on the surface. I wasn’t
going to agree to anything, or sign anything.
I’d die before I betrayed our President.


Hearing the frustration of a harsh exhale from
the interrogator, I sensed my doom.


“One last question: Did you instruct your
revered leader to destroy the damn oil fields
if America attacks your country?”


His face neared mine. Our eyeballs were
locked on like a couple of SAM missiles on
radar. “No, damn it!” as I spit in his face.


As he wiped the blood soaked saliva from
his face, he crushed me with a blow of his cane
to my back. I screamed, but the world wasn’t
listening. For god’s sake, I pray my troops
haven’t abandoned me. Were they employed
by the CIA also? Have they betrayed me?


“That’s it…!” the stranger said to a fellow
interrogator who was sitting in the corner
of the hut being amused. “Get a stick of
dynamite and a long fuse…and some petroleum
jelly. We’re doing this by the book, yah hear?”


The other short and stocky interrogator in
the room pulled the toothpick from his lips,
casting it aside, and says, “Real approved torture?”


Gazing at his partner, the main man says,
“Yeah. Just like the president said at the signing
of the anti-torture bill.”


“You’re referring to the lit fuse scenario?”


“Now, you’re coming around. Anyway, get
with the program. I need the stuff now!”


“Gotcha covered, partner.”


It wasn’t more than a couple of minutes before
he returned with the explosive hardware,
and a surprise.


“What did you bring her here for…!”


His aide just shook his shoulders, placing the
requested stuff in the vacated chair, and
then departed.


His boss, my so-called no name CIA case
officer, appeared out of the shadows, and says,
“Let’s talk this over. Okay?”


“There’s nothing to talk over, dear. Got
it sweets? He’s history. Period…!”


She appeared to be a midget next to my
torturer, but she had spunk, and says, “He’s
my asset, not yours. You’ll do this thing my
way. Water boarding is authorized, but not
this. And I don’t give a damn about the
President’s misguided signing. Is that understood?”


The Army Special Forces sergeant looked
on as the verbal battle escalated.


“Sergeant, take our lady friend here to
her quarters where she’ll remain until
extraction from this miserable place.”


Standing her ground, my case officer says,
“You’ll regret this, mister!”


“Take her away. Get her out of my sight.”


“Yes sir,” the sergeant said as he hauled
her away. She struggled, but the sergeant put
a hand over her mouth to hush her up.


Oh, my god, it was Showtime for me…


“General Ortega, I’m sorry you had to
hear all this, but I think you get the picture.
You’ll either give us the itinerary of your
fearless leader for the next month, his
defense plans, et cetera, and confess to
us your part in this propaganda scheme—or
it’s adieus time! Are you ready to meet your
maker? Do you have the humor and the
courage of an Art Buchwald?!”


I lifted my head proudly, and smiled
the best Art Buchwald smile I could manage,
and said, “You bet… I’m ready, if you are?”


Pissed, he grabbed the fuse and lubricated
it with petroleum jelly and crammed it up my ass.
“Jesus H. Christ…!”


He just smiled with contempt, and says,
“Just think how it would feel without petroleum jelly?”


I felt and got the picture at the same time.
Not comforting thoughts, as I watched him
attached the short fuse to the inside of the
stick of dynamite, and joined the other longer
fuse together with the short one.


He wiggled the shitty end of the fuse so
I’d remember that I was attached to the
forthcoming explosion, and says curtly,
“Here’s to you, General Ortega. I’ll be outside
if you change your mind. Just say the word,
and we’ll dowse the fuse. But if you’re bluffing,
you won’t be for long…”


I just nodded my head, and said, “Get it over with…!”


Shaking his head, the interrogator lit the
fuse and summarily walked out of the hut.
My ass was in his hands: figuratively and literally.
I could feel the shaft of his middle finger
scratching my hemorrhoids. I closed my eyes,
viewing the last slideshow I'd ever see in this life.
As my life passed before my eyes, I saw my
beloved family waving as though they knew that
this was my last day on earth. I trembled like
a condemned prisoner before the gas pellets
were ignited in the gas chamber. I saw the fuse
burning as it roared towards my ass...! I
turned my head away as the flame approached
the dynamite, taking my last breath...

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QUOTE:

A CONVENIENT (I HOPE) TABLE OF CONTENTS
OF F. SCOTT SINCLAIR'S NOVELS, ET CETERA
ON THIS BLOG

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