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Unauthorized Report

Report unauthorized

Today: The Escape

The plans we have developed in detail, at some point in our lives, every detail carefully measured, risk, logistics, costs, losses, could be truncated, it is a possibility. Just that sometimes we think it is a "remote possibility" and we were wrong because we have no control of anything anymore. The statistics and forecasts, and the calculations have been overtaken by the speed, violence of speed. The technology has seduced us. One day you wake up and you are no longer included in those plans. And no longer dependent on you. They flew through the air as the bodies when it explodes, as the body of a little girl of 10 who can not fulfill their sweet desires. And suddenly you wake up a day where everything seems a movie or a nightmare or a pattern of play station, or nothing is the same as nothing. The kidnapping was not in the details of my plans. I came to make a report on the Muslim tribes and I'm not saying that I brought a sense of revenge or of patriotism, no. I just want to know why, why not stop this vicious passion for death, human sacrifice, by fanaticism, why the divisions.

"Bobby is in Spain, home of some friends of UD."

We had left the area at risk, scooter motorcycle, pulling more smoke than a chimney, a smoke burning, nauseous, when I heard Kalim say what I thought I heard said.

"I found the name of a blog on your website and left a message with my mail for your child, if you have ever seen."

Why are you doing this, Kalim?! Why help me escape, Kalim? Why did you leave him messages to my son, Kalim?!

"Now we go to the home of brothers. Do not talk too much, do not say you're a journalist. You're a tourist caught in a confusion. Artist ... a photographer was taking pictures of buildings, tourist photos, do not know, invent something. And do not make references to our customs with knowledge superiority. Do not look any further problems. "

What did you say to my son ..?!

"What were delayed by our laws, soon put you back in touch with him. It's all what I sent."

Kalim's response did not leave me satisfied, I do not know if I was lying, if indeed it was true that he had communicated. All were suspects, all in Pakistan speak little to strangers, and do not speak English.

At the bike traveled many miles until we left the largest concentration of people, animal-drawn carts, rickshaws, and bicycles in the city. We stopped at an auto parts house, Kalima prmitió I approached, I stopped riding the scooter while he was negotiating with two young thing. Then I made a sign to get on a van and young people moved away. Kalim had rented the vehicle. He told me they were his cousins and that they would go by truck in two days. After two hours we reached a kind of hidden village at the foot of the mountain. Actually it was a village of about a kilometer dedicated exclusively to selling all types of weapons. Revolvers, rifles, rifles, machine guns, an estimated forty thousand people living in this business and can deliver up to 400 weapons per day can copy any weapons d the market demands. The arms trade is controlled by a tribal branch pasthunes, Pakistani laws are not applicable because these positions are located in a tribal area. Russian, Chinese and Africans are often the main customers. These merchants do not make political distinctions, religious or moral, are only interested in the business. You give them a sample piece and they will make an exact replica. Weapons and accessories, hand grenades are sold as bread. Stores are no doors, just have to sit on the carpet after removing shoes. As in the local shops in the city only here do not sell clothes or fabrics.

Kalim stopped the van and smiling, as he lit a cigarette, he invited me down. "Here nobody will say anything. You can not take pictures. We will greet friends. "

Before I did get an inquiry Kalim: You carry a gun, not me. What will you do with me, what are you up? He opened his bag, took out my lapto and handed it to me.

"For now use my space. Interpol is looking for Zuckerberg Facebook, draw Muhammad, the fool.

Fear not, reporter. I have to collect my passport. Your freedom has a price, your ticket is a condition. Your life and my life have already marked a destination for Allah: you take me to America, Robert Mederos. And do not worry, I will pay my fare. "

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