Brian Haig - Man in the middle

Bian ordered me, "Take them downstairs. Tell Finder to execute them."

She looked and sounded completely serious.

I stared at her back a moment, and she sensed my hesitance, because, keeping her weapon on the men against the wall, she glanced backward and winked.

She turned back to the prisoners and began speaking in Arabic, probably apprising them that their fellow jihadists were about to become compost.

I used my M16 to prod both men out of the room, through the doorway, and then down the long dark hallway to the stairwell. You aren't supposed to threaten prisoners with death or bodily harm, of course; but neither are you supposed to send human bombers into the streets to murder civilians. And on a more Zen-like note, if they did not speak English, they did not understand the threat, and it's not a threat. I hoped that circuitous logic would sound as good in court as it sounded to me at that moment. We had reached the top of the stairwell and as a precautionary measure, I called out, "Drummond coming down with two prisoners."

I had the prisoners lead the way down the stairs. They moved like sheep, passive, completely clueless. Neither of these clowns had the slightest idea what was going on.

Finder was standing at the base of the stairs and he asked, "Who are these guys?"

"Object lessons."

He looked at me closely. "Meaning what?"

"She's using the shock treatment. Divide and conquer. We culled these two out to be shot."

"For real?"

"No… not for real."

"You're sure? No extra charge."

I stared at him.

He laughed. "That's a joke, Drummond. Lighten up."

I left him with the two prisoners and returned back upstairs. When I reentered the room, Bian was still loudly haranguing the prisoners in Arabic. They were paying rapt attention to her and ignored me.

She halted her monologue and glanced at me.

I told her, "That second guy, the naked one, took three slugs. Boy, was he hard to kill." After a moment, I added, "He kept screaming in Arabic, begging to be put out of his misery."

A bit subtle, maybe, but I could see from her expression that she picked up the message-neither man spoke English.

She glanced again at her prisoners and commented to me, "I'll give you one or two more in a second."

"No hurry." I leaned casually against the wall. "Finder's guys are busy castrating them, and finding a place where their bodies face west. A good hidey place where nobody will ever find their corpses." I laughed.

Bian also laughed.

This coarse allusion referred, of course, to the dual Muslim and extremists' beliefs that a corpse must be cleansed and buried, facing east, soon after death for a suitable entrance to heaven; and those who enter as martyrs are met and pleasured by a flock of beautiful virgins, which, without your equipment, falls into the category of an empty blessing.

And, through the corner of my eye, I noted that the second prisoner from the left registered an expression of mild outrage. He heard, and more important, he clearly understood, what we were saying.

Bian picked up on it as well. She pointed at the man. "You… step forward."

He stared straight ahead, as if she was talking to somebody else.

Bian stepped directly to his front and positioned herself maybe two feet from his face. Joe Cool stood to the man's right, and the relative complacency and indifference on his face made this man's anxiety all the more palpable: Nervous Nellie.

Bian stared into Nellie's eyes and said, "Well…?"

He shrugged like he was clueless. Then, out of the blue, Bian's weapon went off. In such a confined space, the loud bang sounded like a cannon, and we were all, I think, surprised and stunned.

I took a step toward Bian, but she turned to me and said, "Oh, shit. It was an accident."

"Accident?"

"My weapon… it was off safe, and… I… well, I guess my finger… Oh, shit."

Nellie Nervous had crumbled to the floor, and he lay there gripping his left knee, writhing, bleeding, and moaning something in Arabic.

I took a step toward the wounded man, but Bian said, "Sean, please, what's done is done-let me handle this."

I looked at her, and she did appear surprised and shocked that she had shot the man. She looked down at him and pronounced something in Arabic. But her tone sounded a bit harsh for an apology; in fact it sounded like a threat, and he quickly muttered something in reply that resembled a wounded animal mewling.

I said to Bian, "Whatever you're doing… stop now."

She ignored me and prodded the man on the ground with her boot. She said something with a harsh undertone in Arabic.

He said, "Okay… yes, yes… I speak English. Not good, though. Do not shoot me again, please."

Bian stepped back from him and asked, "Which of these men is Ali bin Pacha?"

"Uh, oooh, you have ruined my knee… Ow, I am in great pain… I-"

"Answer me. Which one?"

"Who… who is this name?"

"Ali bin Pacha. Point him out."

The man rocked around a bit, holding his knee and contemplating his pain, which appeared to be considerable. Finally he said to her,

"Me. I am this man you search for… this Ali bin Pacha."

"Liar."

"No, American lady. This is truth. Please, not to shoot me again. Please-"

"You're not bin Pacha. If you don't point him out, I'll blow your brains across the floor."

On the one hand, I should yank her out of the room; on the other hand, I wanted to hear this guy's response. Possibly, his shooting was an accident, and while that act was unfortunate, sometimes good comes from bad. On the other hand, what if it wasn't an accident? Was she really ready to blow this guy's brains out?

She jammed the barrel of her weapon down hard on the man's wounded knee. He cringed and howled with pain.

That answered it. I quickly stepped toward her, intending to take the weapon out of her hands.

But Hardy Hardass had the same idea, and he was closer. He lunged at Bian, who was ignoring him, and had carelessly allowed herself to get too close to the prisoners.

Before I could take a step, his arms were wrapped around Bian, and he had her M16 across her throat.

He was pulling it upward, screaming, "Allah Akbar, Allah Akbar." Bian's feet were off the ground. She was struggling and kicking, but he was large and strong, and she looked a rag doll being shaken in a mad dog's mouth.

I drew back my M16, then shoved it forward, buttstroking the center of his forehead. There was a nasty cracking sound and his head jerked backward, but he did not loosen his grip. Now ugly gurgling sounds were erupting from Bian's mouth.

I once again drew back my weapon, buttstroked him harder, and I knew I had hit the sweet spot, because a loud "Ooof" popped out of his throat. He released Bian and sank to his knees, groaning.

Bian also collapsed to her knees, heaving and coughing.

Now Sean Drummond also had stopped paying attention to the threat in the wings, and I swung around and directed my weapon at the two men against the wall who were edging toward me. "Don't." They seemed to understand, if not my words then Mr. Automatic Rifle, because both froze.

Eventually, Bian pushed herself off the floor, stood, and straightened up. She picked up her weapon and turned her gaze to Hardy Hardass, who was transfixed by his own problems, such as the torrent of blood flowing down his forehead. She said something short and sharp in Arabic. Slowly he stumbled to his feet and moved back against the wall. I asked Bian, "Are you okay?"

"I'm…" That answer stopped in midsentence, and she stared off into space.

"Are you-"

"Yes. I'm fine. A little dazed… out of breath…"

Before I could say another word, she swung to her right and- bang, bang, bang-first one, then another prisoner crumpled to the floor. I looked at her, and I looked at them. Two of the prisoners, like Nervous Nellie, now lay on the floor holding their hands on their left knees, writhing and howling from pain. The other, Joe Cool, sort of sank to the floor, staring at Bian, in no apparent pain, just mildly surprised.