Ajit winced, then started praying. His heartrate was so jacked up he thought it would burst out of his chest, looking for a place to escape from his captors. His body started trembling uncontrollably.
Laghari was still ever mindful of what they did to him last time; the last two times, in fact. He still writhed in pain from it. Worse, he was never offered pain medication or medications of any sort.
The only way he would ever receive medical treatment would be to denounce Jesus and trust in Romanero.
The thought of being tortured again in a similar fashion caused his body to constrict.
“Good morning, sunshine!” a female prison guard said, sarcastically. “I see someone didn’t eat his dinner again.”
When Ajit didn’t reply, she kicked her prisoner in the hip as hard as she could. His groan satisfied her immensely; at least for the moment. That was as good as it would get for him this day. Even he knew it.
Ajit remembered his first week at this prison. Before being smashed in the mouth with his Bible, a female guard on the other side of this hideous house of torture warned it would be the best food he would ever eat again. She was spot on.
Before he was transferred to this side, with so many missing teeth, he was forced to nibble on stale, moldy bread, then let it marinate in his own saliva to soften it just enough before swallowing it without choking on it. He drank water sparingly. The last thing he wanted was a bad case of vomiting or diarrhea on top of everything else.
Upon being transferred to this side, one whiff of the food was all it took for Ajit to start his lifetime fast. Even worse, the slop was never removed from his cell. It piled up daily, filling his small space with a stench so severe that even flies exposed to it might go on lifetime fasts themselves.
The two guards wearing surgical masks and protective gloves, grabbed their prisoner by his arms, and dragged him out of his prison cell.
Ajit didn’t need to inquire as to where he was being taken or why. The room he was being dragged off to, was the very horrific place where two of his fingers were recently cut off, and two deep gashes were made on his tongue, due to his unwillingness to deny Jesus.
The female guard, before cauterizing the wounds on his right hand with a hot iron, so her prisoner wouldn’t bleed out, doused his mouth and right hand with lemon juice both times, sending a dizzying pain all throughout his body, on top of the agony he already suffered.
The first cut he received on the tongue and the first finger removed were both done in the name of the Father.
The second round was done in the name of the Son.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what was coming next. The two bloody knobs on his right hand, where fingers used to be, would soon turn into three, after being seared with a hot iron again.
Laghari was quite mindful of the cauterization process. In his former life as an Indian diplomat, he went on many humanitarian missions with fellow colleagues. It always saddened him to meet many in his country, mostly young Muslims, who’d lost toes and fingers for stealing things and for perpetrating various other offenses. The affected area was seared either with acid or hot metal.
Ajit knew it was a painful procedure. He just never expected to experience it firsthand. The thought of it happening to him a third time in less than a week was the most terrifying of thoughts…
As he was dragged into the room, his eyes told a fearful story no one would ever want to be part of, even if being offered millions of dollars.
The steel chair he was strapped to still had dry blood covering much of it—his blood to be precise—from the last two times he was there.
The foul odor in the room was also his, from never showering. Even if he had access to a shower, he wouldn’t use it.
For one thing he no longer had the strength to stand on his own. Not only that, the water would hurt his body too much.
The last time water touched his body was during the electrocution part of Romanero’s so-called rehabilitation program, that many others were now suffering through.
When the water from the firehose struck his burnt and beaten body, Ajit was exposed to a new level of pain he never knew existed. He was amazed he survived it. He wished he hadn’t. Excruciating as it was, at least he left there with his body parts still intact. Unlike now…
With body cameras rolling, once Laghari was strapped to the metal chair, and his arms and legs were shackled, the guard with the paring knife in his hand—which still had Laghari’s blood on it from last time—said to his prisoner, “You have one last chance to redeem yourself. Once you do that, the healing process can begin. A doctor is waiting to provide all the care you need, plus give you strong medicine for the pain.”
The man paused to eyeball Ajit very carefully. “Do you understand you have the power to make all this go away? All you have to do is deny Jesus and the road to recovery can finally begin for you. You can be relatively pain free in no time.”
Ajit grimaced. He made it sound so good. Tempting as it was, this wasn’t his world.
The guard demanded, “So, what do you have to say?”
With deep cuts on his tongue and most of his teeth knocked out, Laghari’s words were deeply gargled. He looked up at his jailer and said, “Wepen!”
“What?” the guard barked.
“Wepen!”
“Did you say repent?”
Ajit Laghari closed his eyes and nodded yes.
The guard slapped him hard across the face, “You fool!”
With his chained left hand, Ajit scribbled in the air.
The man motioned for the female guard to bring him paper and a pencil. With her face covered, Ajit could only see her eyes. Taking the pencil from her hand, it was evident the person glaring back at him was someone possessing that shifting nature of those not belonging to God.
Did she even know she had a soul?
As if on cue, she slapped him across the face, “What, no thank you?”
Laghari winced and did his best to block out this new round of pain. With two fingers chopped off his right hand—soon to be three—he had to use his left hand to write. The female guard held the pad of yellow legal paper as Ajit steadied his left hand and did his best to scribble out the words. It was sloppy but still legible.
Finished writing, he gulped hard; his trembling increased.
The woman shook her head and smirked, then read it aloud for her co-jailer to hear. “‘I wouldn’t trade sides with either of you for anything in this world! Jesus is my Lord and Savior and I am not ashamed!’”
You’ve got to be kidding me! The male guard punched his prisoner in the nose with all his might, breaking it, sending a new dizzying pain through his brain. The back of Ajit’s head slammed into the steel chair he was strapped to. It was a wonder his skull didn’t fracture.
The guard glanced at his gloved fist. Seeing his prisoner’s blood splattered on it, he leaned forward. His brown eyes became even more angry and a shade darker. “How dare you bleed on me!”
Instead of walloping him again, he nodded for his co-jailer to restrain the prisoner. The female guard placed both of her gloved hands on Laghari’s forehead to hold his head in place.
Steadying his left hand on Laghari’s chin, the demon-possessed man ripped the bloody gauze out of his prisoner’s mouth, gripped the paring knife in his right hand and shouted, “This I do in the name of the Holy Spirit!”
Without mercy, he began the process of violently cutting his prisoner’s tongue out. He used so much force that the tip of the paring knife actually penetrated Ajit’s right cheek. It could be seen going out then back in with each motion until the tongue was completely severed.
Ajit moaned in agony and squirmed in the steel chair as much as the restraints would allow. Fresh crimson liquid flowed from his mouth, quickly running down his naked body.
The prison guard stuffed gauze in his prisoner’s mouth, to absorb the blood so he didn’t drown from it. He stared angrily at him, as if Ajit was the one who’d caus
ed the unspeakable harm.
Holding his tongue up to his face, the guard hissed, “See this tongue?” When Ajit refused to look up, he yelled, “Look at me! Do you wanna get punched again?!” Once eye contact was made, the guard said, “I’ll ask you again. Do you see this tongue?”
Ajit nodded yes, but his body shook so violently, his head motion resembled a bobble head doll going off in every direction.
“This tongue will never tell me to repent again! More importantly, it will never praise the name of Jesus again! Romanero should have been your lord and savior, not Jesus! You fool!”
When the female guard grabbed the blood-stained pruning shears, she used the first two times, Ajit stiffened up then braced himself. He cried out to God, “Ple, Lod, sa me!” (Please, Lord, save me!).
The masochistic woman shouted, “This I do in the name of the Holy Spirit!” It didn’t take much effort for finger number three to be removed—this time Laghari’s pointer finger—leaving only his thumb and pinky on his right hand.
Ajit screamed in agony again, as blood gushed out of what once was his pointer finger, adding a new crimson coating to the arm of the metal chair to which he was strapped. He screamed even louder when she cauterized the wound so her prisoner wouldn’t bleed out—it still wasn’t time for that. His screams filled the room and echoed down the prison corridors.
Raising Laghari’s severed finger above her head, she said to her coworker, “Two out of three?”
He knew what she meant. “I say you miss this time. Same bet?”
“You’re on!” The woman aimed for the waste basket in the corner and tossed Ajit’s finger like a basketball. It hit the rim and fell to the floor. “Man, so close! I owe you a beer.”
The man smiled and shot her a thumbs up gesture.
The woman bent down until her eyes were level with her prisoner’s. Once eye contact was made, she sneered, “Still don’t want to trade places with us?”
Ajit lowered his head whimpering. He was surprised he hadn’t gone into shock by now. He prayed it would happen soon, so some of the excruciating pain could be blocked out; at least temporarily.
Having endured so much torture at the hands of his diabolical jailers, he was amazed he could feel anything at all.
With this session now complete, the guards fist bumped, then unchained their prisoner. Without a hint of gentleness, dragged his naked body back to his cell.
Ajit moaned in agony the entire way. For the millionth time since his detainment, he begged God to take him out of this world...
When that didn’t happen, instead of giving up and losing control of his mental faculties, he clung to the promise that there was a reason for the pain and torture. Hopeless as it seemed now, God would ultimately use it for His glory.
This meant checking out mentally wasn’t an option. Besides if he checked out now, he would forfeit the only peace he ever felt at this hellish place, which came from reciting the Scriptures to himself over and over again.
Though he was a fairly new Christian, the fact that he read his Bible day and night before his detainment, he was able to memorize many key verses. As a child of the Most High God, Ajit clung to the many promises he would soon enjoy for all eternity, as promised to him by his Maker.
Despite the constant pain racking his body and lack of sleep or nutrition, if there was one thing he could rest in, it was God’s promises.
He mumbled to himself, “Philippians 4:7: ‘And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard my heart and mind through Christ Jesus.’” Needing all the hope and strength he could draw upon, Ajit changed the pronoun from “your” heart to “my” heart.
“Isaiah 26:3: ‘You will keep me in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because I trust in You.’” He changed the pronouns from “him” in perfect peace, to “me”, and “he” trusts in you to “I” trust in you.
When they reached his cell, the two guards heard their prisoner gurgling to himself. They had no idea what he was saying. Nor did they care to know. They were too focused on what they would eat for lunch.
They closed the prison cell door and left Ajit alone in his misery. If he was still unwilling to deny Jesus at this point, it would never happen.
The prisoner Salvador Romanero gave the dreadful honor of being the face of the rehabilitation program, was beyond rehabilitation.
And that meant there was only one thing left to do…
51
“WE CAN NOW CONFIRM that late Australian billionaire, Nigel Jones, whose plane was used to help Yogesh Patel in his failed escape from the Middle East, owned a third private jet,” the female global news anchor said evenly.
“Flight logs have since confirmed that Jones’ third Gulfstream plane was confiscated that same week, upon landing in Van Nuys, California, after delivering supplies to Monterrey, Mexico. Authorities believe they are somehow linked to the www.LSARglobal.org website.
“The pilot and his crew were taken into custody with all other enemy combatants. After being questioned repeatedly, they have yet to reveal their sources or the name of the global Christian organization they were involved with.
“While the connection between Jones and Patel remains unknown, authorities feel certain what connected them was this Christian organization, which authorities believe is behind the website that has come under investigation.
“Details are still forthcoming. All they can say for now is both men suffered from the same mental illness. In Jones’ case, he lost his mind after losing his entire family in last year’s disappearances.
“After interviewing thousands of employees who worked for the billionaire, including everyone in upper management, no one seemed to know anything about their late boss’ secret life.
“The only thing they offered that might be of use was that his top IT man, Dr. Lee Kim, who worked for Jones for more than a decade, suddenly stopped showing up for work after the disappearances. No one had seen or heard from him since. And Nigel never talked about it.
“The dark-skinned man on the plane with Jones and Patel hasn’t been identified yet, but authorities believe he was also linked to the Christian organization and was perhaps one of its leaders. Otherwise, why would he have been on a billionaire’s Gulfstream airplane?
“Another possible link to the Christian organization is in California, where more than two hundred dissidents were detained by universal peacekeeping forces, after Bibles were discovered on their commune, near the foothills of Big Bear Mountain. During the interrogation process, they claimed to have been given money from those connected to the Last Shot At Redemption website.”
“Finally, after searching Yogesh Patel’s mobile phone, which was confiscated by Dubai officials, authorities believe they have found perhaps a significant link to the Christian organization.
“After questioning Hana Patel about things discovered on her husband’s mobile device, she confessed to authorities that a couple had sent Yogesh a Bible from America a few weeks before the couple travelled to the Middle East for the award ceremony which, consequently, led to Patel’s downward spiral.
“Authorities are looking for Brad and Joan Henriksen. Anyone with information on the couple are urged to contact authorities immediately.”
The TV anchorwoman put her pointer finger up as if silently asking her audience to wait. “I’m being told in my earpiece that we have someone on the phone who may have information on the Henriksens. Mister Yamamoto, can you hear me?”
Kaito Yamamoto spoke very calmly into the phone, “Yes, I can.”
“What is your connection to Brad and Joan Henriksen?”
“I’m the postal clerk who shipped their package to the Patels in Chennai, India. Brad wasn’t there, only Joan was.”
“Which post office was it shipped from?”
“The main distribution center in Trenton, New Jersey…”
The TV anchor stiffened up in her seat, “When was this?”
“A few months ago. What made me rem
ember her was she was eight months pregnant, she paid cash for the delivery, and the package was addressed to Yogesh Patel alone, which was a first.
“I can’t tell you how many packages I sent to the Patels. Though, I must say, it’s been awhile. Anyway, had Joan not addressed it to Yogesh alone, I’m sure I wouldn’t have remembered her. If my memory serves correct, she credited her husband for thinking up the idea. I could be wrong, but I think that’s what she said…”
The newswoman said, “Is there anything else you can share with us?”
“Yes. She was with another woman, whose name I don’t know. Since both wore surgical masks and head scarfs, it would be impossible to give a good description of them both, at least not enough to form a composite sketch.”
The news anchor said, “Anything else you can tell us?”
“Only that they seemed jittery. And they never maintained steady eye contact. The other woman who, if I had to guess, would say was in her forties, never said a word. She looked down at her feet the whole time.
“Joan looked at me when she spoke, but she never looked above my head. Now I know why. They didn’t want their faces being captured by the roaming cameras. Someone must have been coaching them.”
Before the interview ended, local police were already at Yamamoto’s house, eager to question him. Without obtaining a search warrant, authorities searched the video footage at the Trenton post office. The roaming cameras easily captured their images.
Yamamoto was right. With their heads and faces covered, since they never looked up, it was virtually impossible to obtain a clear facial shot. When the camera zoomed in on Joan Henriksen’s midsection, it confirmed the postal clerk’s words that she was indeed pregnant, by at least 8 months, which meant she already gave birth by now.
All surveillance cameras in the vicinity were searched, hoping to spot the two women walking to their vehicle. They tracked them rather easily at first, until the women made a right on one street followed by a quick left. Who knows where they went from there?
The Sealing Page 33
