[Rogue Warrior 18] Curse of the Infidel by Richard Marcinko Read Free Book Online Page A

me as easy pickings, they grabbed hold of my legs and dragged me without ceremony into the building, through a hall, and up a pair of steps to a luxurious lounge complete with a sauna and bargirls, very soft pillows, and a masseuse whose fingers should be numbered among the ten wonders of the world.
    At least, that’s how my fevered brain remembers it. The reality may have been slightly grittier. In any event, I soon fell into an undisturbed slumber, and didn’t wake until the next morning, when we were summoned for prayers by the blare of the prison loudspeaker.
    My eyes opened into the dim blue light of predawn filtering through the window above my head. There were only two other inmates in my cell; even though it was about half the size of the one where I’d initially been locked up, the lack of nearby bodies made it feel like a hotel.
    “Come, come,” whispered one of my companions, nudging me gently. He was Pakistani, and spoke in English. “Do not be caught in the cell. It would be worth many lashes to dally. Come.”
    I followed along to the yard, did the prayer thing, then wandered around in search of Garrett. He was standing near the fence about where I’d seen him the day before, away from the other prisoners. It was still relatively dark, but I noticed that he had some bruises to his eyes and the side of his face that hadn’t been there before.
    “You again,” he muttered as I walked over to him.
    “Me.”
    “You shouldn’t hang around me. It’s bad luck for both of us.”
    “I’m going to get you out,” I told him.
    He snorted contemptuously.
    “Tomorrow at ten,” I said. “Where will you be?”
    “At night?”
    “In the morning.”
    “Studying the Koran.” He didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic. Maybe they hadn’t given him a good verse to memorize.
    “Where will you be?”
    “In the library.”
    “I’ll come for you.”
    “Right.” I’ve heard assurances that Iran doesn’t want to build nukes voiced with more conviction.
    “Make sure you’re there,” I told him. “No matter what else happens. You understand?”
    He made a face. I pointed to his eye. “You want more of these?”
    “Fuck off.”
    “Make sure you’re in the library. Ten o’clock. Sharp.”
    He looked at me like I had the plague, and moved away.
    *   *   *
    My conversion to Islam began twenty minutes later. It was an extremely moving event.
    Dragged into the interview suite, I was happy to see that my usual spot on the floor had been spruced up with some fresh applications of bleach. They hadn’t gotten all of it—a myriad of dull brown splatters covered the spot where I was tossed, face-first—but it’s the thought that counts.
    I wallowed in the dust for a moment. Then, lo, a holy voice began speaking to me, and I was filled with the spirit of the most holy and glorious Messenger, the one, true Voice of the one true and glorious Allah.
    Suddenly I understood the sacred writ. Nay, more than understood. I began propounding it, albeit in every foreign tongue known to man, and several that weren’t. As I cited chapter and verse of the Holy Koran, even the most skeptical of my observers was moved to the deepest emotions: they kicked, they punched, they screamed, they pummeled. Through it all I continued my litany of praise for the Prophet, for the Book, for the one and only force of life, the being I am not worthy to contemplate, let alone mention.
    For thirty solid minutes I spoke in tongues, imparting blessings upon all in earshot. By the end of the session, not only had my interlocutors and their aides joined me in prayer, but three other guards and two supervisors were now proclaiming the verity of my Truth, a special aspect of which revealed the very Holiness of the Saud family not just as defenders of the faith, but as veritable UNIVERSAL ETERNAL HOLY MEN SENT DIRECTLY FROM THE MESSENGER HIMSELF!!!! (Editor—yes, we need those caps!!!!)
    It was, clearly, the most tremendous and spiritually