The video started. It was too much. Such unspeakable violence. They were not human. Even Anne had been unable to watch again. The cost of freedom,she thought. At the end of the video a bearded man, his face covered, and speaking in a perfect English accent appeared on the video and started to speak.
He said that the British had been stupid. That they should have followed instructions, and that they would now be punished for their stupidity. He said they would be punished over and over again until they learned that Allah was coming. Did they not know? He had smiled. Huge dark eyes in the camera. Intelligent eyes, thought Anne.
Then they heard the screams as Julie was dragged into the room. The video did a quick close up, confirming to the viewers that it was, indeed, Julie.
Her hands were bound behind her and her hair was a mess, matted and wet. Her blouse was undone and if she had been wearing a bra she certainly was not now. A huge fist grabbed her hair. Lifted her up.
Two masked men dragged her to the centre of the room where she was forced to her knees.
Unlike similar videos they had seen the girl did not have her head covered. Her eyes bore into the camera, defiant, pleading and terrified at the same time.
The masked man approached the girl, then he smashed a huge fist into her face, then he stuck a sword in her stomach, turned and said only three sentences:
“In three days we will send our suicide bombers throughout Europe.
You have one chance to avoid the carnage.
Send us your killer known as “The Rainbow Man.“
He took out his erect penis. The video faded to black and the sound of Julie’s continued screaming.
Nobody was prepared for what was in the video. The “highlights” were posted on YouTube, the bloodiest parts edited out so that the video was sure to be shown. It was a short video made long by the amount of product advertising. The whole room was silent. They had all just watched the video. At first, they had been relieved that Julie was still alive. Then their relief had turned to horror as the torture had started. Nobody wanted to buy the coffee or soap offered in the advertisements that made Google their money.
Then, the second video.
The sword had sliced through her nipples. They had fallen to the floor and the man with the mask jumped on them. “Whore!” he shouted. Then they had cut off her breasts. Blood was everywhere. Bad as that was, it was still not enough. Two had held her legs. Pulled them apart. Someone, the big guy, had rammed the sword inside of her, cutting her. Julie had screamed and screamed and screamed. But they had not killed her. They had let her live, let her live a few moments longer in pain. The video zoomed in to her face. None of them would ever forget that face.
Nobody had been prepared for what was in that video.
The whole room was silent. They had all just watched. At first, they had been relieved that Julie was still alive. Then their relief had turned to horror as the torture had started.
“Look, we knew it would be difficult”, said Anne. “OK, we get the point, stop it,” she said.
Bakr Nadir was surrounded by food. He was at his Yemeni home, eating a great meal. He was surrounded by wealth. His plan had started and the final Jihad was on it’s way. He was a very rich man, terribly rich. The fools around him thought it was oil. But it was not just oil. It was shipping and hotels. Hotels and houses in London. Hotels and houses in Saudi Arabia, in Yemen, in Washington. It was friends in politics, in London, Washington and throughout the middle east. Friends who were bankers. Friends in the military who knew where his houses were. Friends who would make sure his houses would never be hit by American or British drones. Friends who knew what he would do if they were. Friends who knew to fear him,. Only Allah could be more powerful and like Allah, he saw and knew everything!
English girls were everywhere. White skin covered in air. He loved their little pink nipples. They were not the huge dark brown blobs of his Arab women. They were pink and erect with pleasure! Anyone could see that!
His English whore had sent him another message earlier but he ignored it. Let her sweat with the messenger. She could think all she wanted that she was in control, that she could make plans but it was he, Bakr Nadir, who was making the plans. She may be smiling now, lapping up his champagne, wallowing in his silk sheets, but he would smile last when he sent her to hell with the rest of the infidel whores.
This evening the world would learn of his plan. This evening they would begin to see the extent of his power. This evening they would begin to fear him. He tapped a golden spoon against a crystal glass and started on his grandiose speech. In it he outlined what he was about to do. He told them how he would strike pure terror everywhere, make them all fear him. He stopped talking and put another shrimp into his large mouth. It had been farmed and picked from the oceans very near, in his own farms. Pink and perfect. Like his wife had been. Like the cheap, imported nipples of his English whores. He had no need of cheap fish from Taiwan. No need, even, for his pretty pink English whore. Still, not even he was not immune to the pleasures of the flesh. But, Allah could be proud of him. He laughed out loud. They would not fear him though, no they would not fear Bakr Nadir, they would fear Allah. Again he laughed. They were all so stupid!
There was no going back. For far too long the middle east had been a weak enemy for the west. A weak source of oil which the West continued to steal and which , they, continued to sell. They had been weak for America. Weak for Britain. That would now change. He, Bakr Nadir would show them what Islamic terror was really like. He was going to put the fear of Allah into every last one of them. Soon they would tremble at the very mention of Allah’s name. The bombs in Europe were just the beginning.
He had talked to Djamila. She would find this Ax, this killer. Djamila would show no mercy. She had been trained since birth. She was a killer, yes, but she was his killer. She would kill Ax, kill his girlfriend and kill everyone and anyone close to him. Bakr Nadir laughed when he thought of Djamila. He had used her before. He knew what she could do. Trained since birth and suffered from birth. They had taken her from her Berber grandmother and she had absorbed everything like a sponge. Arab though and through. It was time.
He turned his attention back to the meal. He raised a fat hand, commanding silence again and when he continued to talk they all listened. He liked the sound of his voice, echoing in the huge room. I have called our jewel, he said. She will raze the flesh of the infidel. For now, eat. You must be strong when you face the enemies of Allah, Praise be upon him. It was a huge room. Filled with gold. Filled with paintings. Carpets. Food and champagne. Filled with money. Their money. His money.
Bakr Nadir sat at the head of the huge table. The amount of food was disgusting. Eat, he said. There was nobody strong enough to deny him here. Nobody. He would soon be richer than all of them put together. It was a good plan. A great plan. Everyone was scared of Islam. He would use that. He would be the richest Arab in all of the Arabian lands. Then he would be the richest man in all of this world. The Gates of Hell were about to open. All the power would be his. All would obey. Those he could not scare he would buy. Those he could not buy he would kill.
“Today, I called Allah himself. He wishes you well. And to eat well!” He laughed as he stuffed another pink shrimp into his mouth.
They did not think about how he could call Allah. But they all believed he had spoken with God. Such was his power and such was the ignorance of these stupid believers. None of them knew that this was their last meal. All would be slaughtered this night. All the heads of all the Arabian families were here this night. The important ones. Never before had they all been under the one roof, such was their hate and jealousy of each other. But he, Bakr Nadir, had lured them in with important information. Information concerning “The Last Jihad.” It was like fishing for fat carp, he though. Just throw some bread in the water, hiding the hook. Except, this time, the bread was money. Surely, he thought, their deaths were important. When the news got out he would buy everything they owned. It would all be his. He would make it look like he was protecting the Arab world from Western scavengers. He would own everything. He put another fat, pink shrimp into his mouth. The shrimps were the only food not laced with the tasteless poison brought from Switzerland. Soon they would all be dead. Nobody noticed that he was only eating shrimp. He smiled a cold smile that did not reach his eyes as he bit down on the fat, pink, cold flesh.