Prologue
The morning sun rose slowly above the desert, as if reluctant to waste any of its warmth on the desolate landscape below. Tentatively its rays grazed the rough uninviting surface of the land soaked with blood from the centuries of conflicts.
Unwilling to relinquish their control over the land, the darkness and cold of the desert night were retreating slowly and reluctantly in the face of the advancing light, creeping under the cover of the nearby caves, determined to hide there, concealing their dark secrets until it was time for them to once
again spring forth onto the unsuspecting earth.
In a silent acknowledgement of the immense power that darkness held over this land, the sun merely grazed over the outer surface of the caves, unable or unwilling to penetrate any deeper and intrude upon the murky lair of its nocturnal nemesis. It was only by accident then that a small ray of sunlight slipped through a tiny crevice in the cold rocky surface, freezing in trepidation at the sight that opened before it. Its faint shimmering light slid along the damp wall of the inside of the cave, illuminating for a brief moment a massive iron chain that was imbedded into the rocky interior. The free end of the chain was split in two, like the tongue of a poisonous snake -- the two metal rings crowning its ends roughly encircling the wrists of a prisoner. Shivering as in fright, the
sunray crept up the blood-soaked sleeve of the man's tattered flight jacket, pausing as it reached his gaunt and pale face. It rested there, taking in the cracked bleeding lips, the sunken cheeks covered by rough stubble, the multitude of scrapes and bruises partially concealed by layers of dirt and dried blood.
Curious yet fearful, it kept its watch on the man, careful not to wake him from his troubled sleep.
The sounds of approaching footsteps echoed heavily in the adjacent hallway, and the prisoner awoke with a start, blinking somewhat bewilderedly at his surroundings, as if having forgotten about them in his sleep. But the reality burst into his room mere seconds later in the form of two rifle-wielding Afghani men. The oldest of them, the leader, ('Ahmed,' the prisoner recalled) approached him, bending slightly to get a clearer view of the man's face in the dim light of the cave.
"Good morning," he drawled, his voice thick with accent. "I see you have not touched your supper," he pointed
to a chipped wooden cup of dirty water and a piece of stale moldy bread. "Perhaps you do not like this food, eh?" Ahmed kicked the cup with his boot, spilling its contents onto the damp earth of the cave. "I can arrange for better food," he declared, accentuating each syllable, "all you have to do is tell me what I need to know." He narrowed his eyes on the prisoner's face, pausing for emphasis. "Are you ready to talk to us now?"
The question earned him a hateful glare; the prisoner remained silent. The Afghani shook his head in a mock show of disapproval. "You are a very stubborn man, Commander Rabb," he said, his voice hard and menacing. "But," he sighed as if in resignation, "if that is what you wish... You are only making it worse for yourself, you know." He paused expectantly, but the prisoner made no move that would signal cooperation. "As you wish," the older man concluded, nodding to his companion.
Within minutes the shackles were taken off, and the Navy Commander was pulled roughly to his feet, unable to
suppress a sharp cry as pain racked his battered body. He swayed slightly, nursing his sore bleeding wrists, relishing the moment of reprieve. The moment didn't last, however, as the second gunman shoved him unceremoniously toward the center of the room where a shorter chain dangled ominously from the
low ceiling. Another pair of metal rings closed sharply around his wrists, as his arms were jerked upwards, and Commander Harmon Rabb Jr. closed his eyes against the onslaught of pain that he knew from the countless times before would now grow only stronger.