Sabotage: Beginnings (5 page)

“I know Justice Boudreaux has killed the other twenty-four like me. They aren’t me, Mother. I’m special. He’s here and he’s close—I sense his presence. His spirit is pure but wounded. I won’t kill him because of that, but yours, Mother—your spirit is evil and you won’t be so lucky.”

He heard her huff across the line, “We’ll see about that, you little shit. Justice is just as warped as you are. You’d do well to get him before he gets you. The other twenty-four were better than you. You know why?” she asked.

He took the bait. “Why?”

“They weren’t sissified momma’s boys like you are.”

Ben did his best to balance the night scope across his bent thighs as he mashed the hard plastic phone receiver against his face. His tears never really stopped welling in his eyes, but it was his mommy after all.

“Goodbye, Mother,” Ben cleared his throat and tried to shield the mouthpiece against the whirling wind gusts. “I regret to inform you that our next encounter will not be by happenstance but by design. It will be then that I will have you.”

“Benny?”

“Yes, Mommy?”

“Fuck off.”

W
rath warmed Ben
through the night’s bitter cold. His thoughts bent between the mother who raised him and the whore who sold out her son for a top position at the CIA. He had a mission, and with the earliest of sun’s rising came a gorgeous cloud kissed sky. He was in the cradle of civilization, yet other than the majesty of sunrise and the peaceful surrender of night to day, these people were insufferable when it came to helping him.

He snaked his leathered hand into his light cotton kameez to retrieve two strips of beef jerky which would sustain him until he foraged for additional sustenance. His high school’s JROTC training and early military enlistment had prepared him to live off the land. The CIA taught him to live off other people.

Ben wasn’t really sure what they’d done to him, but after a steady diet of experimental psychotropic drugs, violence and Americana, he could only focus on what he was programmed to do—kill.

He’d slept exactly forty-seven minutes. A bit groggy, he’d learned to operate on less rest. He could sleep once he died, he was told by his trainers. This day held lots to do.

The Popi tribe stirred early also. They’d held late night meetings with what was left of their council. Ben chortled at the thought of the other high and mighty tribal wise men still string wired against the trees. The edges of a razor thin grin curled upward as he imagined the horror passersby must have felt to see what remained of the bodies.

I bet Justice is pissed.

A confrontation grabbed his attention. Three Afghanis looked to argue—he assumed it was over him. Ben shoved the hearing enhancement device further into his ear canal. Not much luck eavesdropping from this distance, and considering that the wind gusts muffled and distorted an already difficult language to understand.

His scope spotted Sunni. His ass looked flat worn out. He grabbed at another man, possibly older, but difficult to tell. The third man was definitely the oldest and had probably skipped on their round table at Khojak Pass because he looked too feeble to travel.

Sunni and the ancient one stormed off. The third hung around—his head constantly swiveling atop hunched shoulders. Ben’s heart picked up a beat. He yipped because he knew what that meant. He had an unnatural ability to read human behavior. His ability to observe even the most minute micro-expressions and forecast what others were about to do had saved his life more than once. It also helped him end many others before any damage could be done.

This man was about to rat out Osama bin Laden. Ben straightened his back and began gathering his few precious supplies. He anticipated the third Popi tribesman would head into the rugged hill region. The ancient one couldn’t physically follow him, and Sunni still looked scared shitless. The third man would be free to seek out.

Ben’s stomach growled—he also knew the third man would be his sustenance. He steadied his scope on the man’s every move—he was swift and looked determined. Ben knew his information would be accurate. Why would he risk his own life to tell a lie? Sunni had obviously shared what he’d personally witnessed.

Ben suddenly felt weak. He reached out with his right hand to balance himself against a stone overhang. Rocks began to tumble down toward the tribe. He huffed at the clumsy mistake—he’d pay for that one later. He stood erect and noticed why he’d become so dizzy. He’d not had an orgasm in days. This boner had drawn the blood to his crotch and made him woozy.

The hunt excited Ben. Manipulations and mind games were part of it—and his commitment to continue his mission while others ordered him home or tracked him to kill him. Sometimes his talents were just too overwhelming and the sexual arousal would intensify.

Stalking the third man as he unknowingly made a beeline toward a sparse collection of shrubs and vines made Ben’s mouth dry. Not from exhaustion, but from desire. Ben stopped about twenty yards away and watched. He’d learned to marinate his prey. Allowing them to stew in anticipation created a better environment for information output. It also allowed Ben to see whether the snitch was alone or being tailed.

As a new CIA operative, he’d once made the mistake of rushing into a contact. Year’s back, while in Tel Aviv to track a broken arrow for the CIA, he made an error that nearly cost him his life. The agent had gone crooked and wasn’t trustworthy. Ben’s assignment was simple—kill him.

New to the job, Ben had found himself among the Israeli city’s bustling nightlife along the strip on Lilienblum Street in possession of information about where to intercept the agent. Once Ben arrived at the Port’s waterfront, he hurried beyond the safe area of boutiques and restaurants. He’d fucked up. The rogue agent he’d been sent to erase had orchestrated the entire faux pas.

Ben was beaten and raped by the corrupt agent and his band of high-tech criminals over the course of three days. Left for dead with his intestines hanging out of his rectum, he knew no one to turn to for help. A single call to his handler back in Washington, D.C. and Ben learned how on his own he actually was. Never again would he so foolishly rush in—or trust his CIA handler.

Ahead, the third Popi tribesman looked anxious—it was natural. He was about to betray everything and everyone he’d believed in or who had believed in him. It was a hell of a decision to turn against someone once trusted, much less an ideology.

Ben crouched even lower. His hard-on stiffened, so erect that his flowing Pashtun dress tented in front of him. He tried to massage the erection down, but the need to consume this male traitor was consuming him with a renewed sexual energy that teetered close to too dangerous for the mission.

He let out a chirp. The man’s body jerked, stiff legged. Ben watched the man’s eyes grow big and round. His face was dark and stained by the weather, but there were no hard, deep etchings of time. The man’s face was round—almost plump. He was a man of leisure, not labor. He looked to eat well and rest often.

The round-faced man looked frightened, and Ben detected hesitation in his posture. Patience was the most difficult tactic to practice in these scenarios. Everyone wanted to dive right in and get the conversation moving. Ben leaned forward on one knee—his gut twisted in anguish. He pressed his hand against his stomach for comfort. Within the balance of moving in and waiting too long, the memories of his sexual assault played within his head.

He closed his eyes, but achieved no relief from that first experience. Sure, he’d hid out in Israel for a month, recovering before tracking and killing his rapists. Ben was so ashamed of the sex and the manipulation that once he located the rogue agent, he bit him in a fit of rage. He bit the agent so hard that skin and meat ripped from his neck.

That experience had flipped a primal switch. He then understood what his CIA handlers had conditioned him to do. It was his first consumption.

The third Popi council member would soon be his next. He would also become Ben’s sexual release. The man’s pleasantly soft appearance incensed Ben and turned him on. Not in a romantic way, but in a hate-filled way to teach the man a lesson for being a cowardly traitor to his people for the sake of saving his own chubby ass.

Ben looked up, but the man was gone. He pounded his fist into the dirt. The thud caught the man’s attention. Ben saw him hesitate just before the snitch crested the ridge to head back to the village.

“Hello?”

Ben whispered in Dari, the man’s native tongue, “I’m here.”

The man stumbled backward, his eyes stretching under thick fat lids. He cupped his right hand next to his mouth and craned forward.

“Are you
shaytan
?”

Ben continued in the Afghan Persian language, “Why do you ask if I’m the devil?”

The man stepped closer. “You American, no? But speak Dari.
Shaytan
speaks in many languages to deceive people.” He dropped his hand from his lips. “Are you
shaytan
?”

Ben slowly stood straight from behind his cover to increase the effect of intimidation. The man’s knees buckled.

“I can be.”

He waved his ringed-fingered hands. “No, please. I come in peace. I only want to help your America, so we may have our freedom from the invaders. I do not mean America is invader, but we want to be let alone.”

“Come. Sit and we shall discuss your help.”

The man took one—two shuffling steps and stopped. His extra weight filled out his garment, his belly rounding the middle of his
Perahan tunban
. Ben had to consciously stop himself from licking his lips—the man looked delicious.

“I am afraid of you.”

“Do not be. My name is Ben. What is your name?”

His eyes darted between the hard earth and the path that led back to his tribe. “Aabdar.” He looked ashamed to say it.

“Good to meet you Aabdar. Your name means juicy, doesn’t it?” Ben struggled to maintain a serious but friendly expression. Giddy laughter hitched in his throat.

“Yes, it was the name I was given. Now, how may I help you?”

“Where is
Usamah
?”

“Ahh, the Lion?” Aabdar’s eyes lost all shine. His expression waxed cold. “I do not know.”

“I will ask you a second time only.” Ben’s tone tightened until all pleasantries were lost. He leaned forward and rested his slender body on his right hand just inches away from his prey.

“
Shaytan
, I mean Ben, I misunderstood what Sunni said. He talks gibberish. He is so young—he often lies.”

Aabdar rocked forward to stand up, but Ben placed his hand over the man’s thigh to press him back. The physical contact with Aabdar sent a shiver through Ben’s groin into his skull. He sucked hot air through his teeth and shook his shoulders to release sexual tension. He leaned forward to conceal his re-hardened dick that jabbed against his clothing.

“This is your last chance to tell me the truth. You want to help Ben. You do not want to face
shaytan
. Trust me.” Ben’s heartbeat increased as his left hand weaved its way to the KA-BAR knife.

“I beg a thousand pardons, but I do not know this Lion Sheik.” Aabdar flipped his right hand into the scarce space between them. The four rings that adorned his fingers flashed the sun’s rays. “I must be going now.”

“How do you know the name Lion Sheik?” Ben growled. The reply didn’t matter, Ben was only biding his time while he decided how he was going to enjoy “juicy”.

“You said it.”

“I only said Usamah.” His teeth clenched hard against each other—hand secured across the knife’s grip.

“Oh, well, my mistake. Please forgive me, but I have taken up too much of your time.”

“Yes, thank you, Aabdar.”

Ben allowed the man to stand, and turn back to his village. He smiled at how naive the man was to actually turn his back and think he would stroll home. Or maybe Aabdar knew what was coming and just chose not to witness it.

Ben stood. His rock-hard cock extended the cotton material, but it no longer mattered. He’d soon use Aabdar as a fuck hole and relieve himself of stored up semen. He also sensed Justice Boudreaux was in the area, so he knew there’d be no way of allowing Aabdar to remain alive and take the chance of him screaming for help or causing a scuffle.

Two quick, silent steps and Ben was directly behind Aabdar. His left hand wrapped around the man’s head and slapped across the soft jewels and thick lips. Simultaneously, his right hand shoved the razor sharp knife tip up and under the base of Aabdar’s skull. He wiggled the blade around until he felt the man’s weight surrender into his arms.

“Ragdoll.” Ben chuckled.

He dragged the corpse away from the opening where their conversation had just taken place. Ben knew his time was limited, so he got to work raping Aabdar.

“You know old boy, your ass is juicy after all.” Ben chortled at his sense of humor.

He orgasmed quickly after a furious pounding, and soon regained his composure. He decided against consumption because he preferred to peel and eat while his victims were still alive. Aabdar’s hasty departure attempt had ruined his plans. Someone else would have to pay.