Justice Denied

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Present day Pakistan

I didn’t know how long I’d been in there.

It could have been day or night and I wouldn’t be any the wiser.

Everything was starting to blur.

I was so, so thirsty, but getting water wasn’t on my priority list right now.

At first it was just the basic questions. “What’s your name? Where are you from?”

I answered them as honestly as I could.

Then came the statements of the facts as the man saw them.

“We know who you are Mr. Justice. So why not just tell us the truth.”

“I’m here on business.” I would reply again and again.

I was so tired, I’d been awake on and off now for what seemed like an eternity.

 “So, why are you here Mr. Justice?” The question came again.

This time I just looked at my interrogator, trying to buy a little time to figure out what might get me out of this situation.

Even though just by being here, in itself, it was a sure sign this was not destined to end well for me.

Then came the slaps, soft at first.

A lot like a naughty school boy getting a clip around the ear.

“Please don’t lie to us Frank.” My interrogator continued, followed immediately by another slap, harder this time, which made me automatically duck my head down, like I wanted to get my nose closer into my imaginary textbook.

“You can’t do that!” I shouted at him. “Who do you think you are? I have rights!”

The man, obviously a soldier from his uniform moved slowly behind me.

The next slap I received sent my head rebounding off the desk in front of me.

“You have no rights here!” He yelled into my ear, his foul smelling spittle, pebble dashing the side of my face.

I would have wiped it off, but for the fact that my hands were handcuffed to my chair.

So it just dripped slowly down towards my chin across the corner of my mouth and I had to try and wipe my cheek against my shoulder to get his slime off me.

I knew it was going to get worse.

I had been staying at the Barossa hotel in Islamabad.

Probably one of the nicest places that was considered safe for foreigners to stay at since the Marriott had been bombed.

My interviews had gone well and I was sure I’d nailed the man I needed for this project and I’d reported back to my back office.

My back office here, being part of the overseas security forces of the UK government.

Our target was a former 2 Star General, Ashif Musfar Khan, who had been identified as a very disgruntled ex- military officer who had been overlooked for promotion to 4 Star General in the post-Musharaf government restructure and had promptly resigned in response to this open political slap in the face.

More importantly, though we knew Khan was patriotic to the core and would never intentionally do any harm to his beloved Pakistan, we also knew he was pro-Taliban and had strong connections to the Mumbai attack in 2009.

And his way of helping his motherland in his screwed up brain was to supply insurgents with weapons and explosives, using the Pakistan army’s own logistical network as the delivery service.