Legal Stuff: I don't know NSYNC or any other celebrity mentioned. While real people are the basis of characters, they are characters here and do not represent the real lives, thoughts, or feelings of the real people. Again, these are characters based on them, not the real people themselves. If you are too young, or live in a location where it is illegal to read stories that include love between men, read no further! Like that would have ever stopped me...
It's Never Easy Chapter 13
Consciousness was difficult to achieve for me. It felt like I was crawling from a frozen pit into an Arctic wasteland. As I regained more and more consciousness, I changed that to a Siberian wasteland. I could feel cold metal shackling my hands close together, and more shackles keeping my legs tightly pinned together. As I opened my eyes, everything seemed very dark, except for a blurry light.
"Shit." I whispered in Russian. "I thought you were a dream."
A laughing voice behind the form of my uncle announced that we weren't alone in the room. Phil frowned down at me, his huge 7'3" frame awkward in a rickety chair. The figure behind him whispered in broken English what I had said.
"Speak in English, Davy." He ordered sternly.
"Nyet." Was my short reply. He moved fast, something I'd forgotten he could do and his slap left my cheek burning.
"You will do what you are told, sinner!" He roared before sitting back down.
"You would have to pick my least favorite uncle to torture me." I said in Russian to the figure behind my uncle. Uncle Phil got up as if to hit me again, but was stopped by the man's firm grip on his shoulder. The elderly man who gripped Phil's shoulder was dressed in a white and beige robe with a headdress. His long, black beard was streaked liberally with gray hairs.
"Mullah, why have you taken me?" I asked him in Russian, trying to gear respect into my voice. It was time for manipulation of the highest order here.
"You are the key to unlock the doors of Russia's prisons." He said in sing-song accented Russian.
"Then what is HE doing here?" I asked. I had decided with Phil here, I would speak only in Russian.
"We held two of his heretics missionaries for ransom. He met their ransom by offering us you. You are big name in America, and important enough to get our people freed. He asked us to be able to `convert' you while we held you, so we let him stay." The Mullah said. Mullah is a Muslim religious leader.
"You would allow a man to force his religion on another?" I asked him.
"What does your heathen religion mean to me?" the old man said with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Do you wish my cooperation?" I asked.
"It would help."
"Then get rid of him, and you will have my promise to cooperate fully." I said.
"How would you have us get rid of him?"
"Shoot him, let him go, hold him somewhere away from me. I don't care so long as he is gone." I said.
"Very well." The old man said, and motioned into the shadows. One of his henchmen came up and handed him a pistol. Uncle Phil watched all of this in silence. I knew he spoke no Russian so he was clueless. The Mullah took the pistol and I almost cringed. I'd said shoot him, but I didn't think they would!
The loud bang, and splattered blood and...other things...that soon covered me told me a different story. It took all my self-control to show no emotion but relief as the Mullah stared deep into my eyes.
"Thank you." I said calmly, laying myself back down on the bed. Inside I raged and vowed that I would not keep the promise I had made. Now I would have to explain to Aunt Chris how I had gotten her husband killed.
"It is no matter." The Mullah said. "He would have been killed when we released you anyway. He learned too much of us in helping to bring you here. You will stay in this room. There is hole for you to relieve yourself in that corner. There is water through pipe there for you to wash and to drink. We will bring food to you two times a day. Make no effort to escape and we will free you when our demands are met."
"I have given my word." I said to him, offended that he would doubt me (by this time I'd built a character to play in my act with him and his men and was now fully into that character). He simply nodded and waved to two men who took Uncle Phil's body and left the room. Another man came and undid my shackles and left with them. They closed the door behind them as they left.
Too bad, the shackles could have made a nice heavy weapon. I got up off the bed, a cot really, and went to the corner he had indicated. The water through the tap was freezing, but it helped me to wash off the remains of Uncle Phil. I let tears flow through my eyes, masked by the sound of the trickling water as I let little sobs out.
There was no guilt, now, however. Uncle Phil had signed his own death warrant when he cooperated with these guys. He had gotten his just reward. The only impact my statement had was that his execution was carried out immediately. As soon as I cleaned myself, I returned to the bed and stripped the sheets off to clean them. They were soaked now, and in this cold room they would not dry for some time, but I spread them out anyway. One light, near the door lit the room dimly and I made myself familiar with the small area that was now my prison.
I started shivering, and looked at the clean, but wet sheets with disgust. I would soon be sick if I didn't think of somehow to warm up. The floor was dirt, not rock or stone except for some concrete around the hole that served as drain and toilet. That's why I started exercising. Sit-ups, push-ups, jumping jacks, running in place were all things I cycled through. I took my time doing each set, trying to keep the energy level just high enough to raise my body temperature without breaking into a sweat. I soon found a decent rhythm and continued that until there was a sound at the door.
A young man came into the room then, no more than sixteen and dressed like a guerrilla fighter. In one hand he carried a pistol aimed at me, and in another a tray with food and a newspaper. The food was a rice bowl with strips of dried meat over it. There was a small pot of tea with it that was still warm. As he set the tray down, he turned and grabbed something from the doorway.
It was a cream colored robe of medium thickness. I thanked him in Russian and put it on before pouring the tea into a plastic cup on the tray. He stared at me for a few minutes more then spoke.
"I thought you American." He said in English.
"I am." I replied.
"Then why speak Russky?" he continued in English.
"Because I am in Russia." I said in Russian.
"No more." He said in English, then got a panicked look on his face. He turned and left, and this time I heard the grate of a bar over the door. More information to ponder. I ate the food slowly. It was bland, thankfully, but the tea was quite good. After eating, I refilled the pot with the cold water and drank from that for a while. Then I returned to my calisthenics.
After I had gotten warm under the robe, I sat down near the light and began to read the newspaper. It was a copy of Isvestia, a Russian newspaper. I was the headline. There was a picture of James and kids there on the front page, and the scared looks on their faces nearly made me cry. It took me a while to read the articles since they were all in Russian. It was kind of like reading when you're a kid, sounding out the words and putting them together.
There was one bit of good news in the article. Sergei had not died from the gun shot. It had grazed his lung, collapsing it, but he was still alive in a hospital. They listed his condition as critical. A demand for the release of hundreds of Chechen rebels had been received, and they believed my captors were Chechen separatists. That matched what I'd seen so far.
The rebels had strong ties to Muslim religious groups, so it made sense the Mullah was in charge here. So far, the Russian government was denouncing their actions and refusing to release the prisoners. The American government denounced the taking of a prominent American as hostage, but deferred to the Russians in the handling of this matter.
What wasn't printed was that the government would be more than happy to see me dead. They didn't really like me much anyway.
I managed to get through the articles and benefited from a map on the second page of regional weather. It looked like I was somewhere between Kazakhstan and Chechnya. Unlike American maps, this one had longitude and latitude lines that I committed to memory. They weren't perfect, and there was still a five hundred kilometer region I might be in, but if I could get out of this place it would help to know this stuff. I was amazed that my captors could be so stupid as to give me this much information.
When I was done, I got up and resumed my calisthenics. I worked out semi-regularly with James whenever we had the time, so I wasn't totally out of shape. However, I heard the words of a Navy instructor echoing through my head from over a decade ago.
The instructor had been a Vietnam vet, former POW that should have retired long ago. He had no family except the Navy, however, so he was in a teaching position at the A school. Every time he got boring, we'd get him to tell us a story about Vietnam. One of the stories had been about his time as a POW and how he had survived his time as a prisoner. It was at this point that his distraction turned into the most important lesson of my life.
I put the paper on the tray after my calisthenics round and sat on the bed, thinking steadily about my situation. I wanted to stare at the picture of James and the kids, but if I did that I would quickly become depressed, and if I wanted to live, that couldn't happen. I really didn't believe they'd let me go after this. I could directly associate the cleric with my abduction, so the concept of letting me go just didn't fit into the equation.
The same young man that had brought my lunch showed back up a while later and took the tray. I took a better look at him this time. He was a lean young man with just a hint of facial hair. He was dressed in old soviet style fatigue pants, boots, and a khaki jacket with a checkered shoufa around his neck. His black hair was glossy and recently cut. His dark eyes revealed intelligence behind them.
He returned my stare for a few moments. His gaze matched mine, and I saw curiosity there, but not hatred. Hope tried to surge in me as he continued to match my gaze. Maybe he would be my key to the locked door.
"May I have something to read?" I asked in Russian.
"I can give you a copy of the Koran." He said after a moment's thought. "It is in Russian."
"That will be challenging enough to keep my mind occupied." I said in English. He nodded, understanding me. I smiled.
"I will bring it with your evening meal. This paper is the only one we will bring you." He said in English again. A few hours later, he brought the evening meal with a copy of the Koran. I thanked him in English, and he seemed relieved. I also noticed a different look in his face as he watched me eat. He seemed almost disappointed. I remembered the same look the last time he'd come in, but not the first time.
Now that I thought about it, the first time he'd been looking at me avidly that first time. What was different? I figured it out as I finished the bowl of rice and strips of unidentified meat. I had been nude the first time.
Another chink in the armor of my captors? Maybe. I would have to test my theory out when he next returned. For now, my muscles ached and I was anything but tired, so I opened the Koran and began to read.
It was worse than the King James Bible.
After several hours of intensive effort on my part, I had translated a few pages of the text mentally. My brain was mush though, and my body was aching from the workout. I put the book aside and stretched out on the lumpy cot, drifting softly off to sleep. I let the tears stream down my face as I wondered what James was doing.
I awoke to the sound of the door being opened. I immediately sat up and was greeted by the sight of the old Mullah entering with two men, including the young man, following behind him. Both men were armed and pointing their weapons at me. The Mullah sat on a chair a third man brought into the room. I remembered my manners and stood until the man had seated and motioned for me to sit back on the bed. He had smiled when I stood, and smiled even more when I waited for his permission to sit.
"At least you show manners. Many Americans seem to have forgotten them." He said in English.
"I made a promise to cooperate." I told him. "That includes manners. So far you have not treated me poorly except by bringing my uncle here, and you took care of that for me as well."
"You are not what I expected." He said after a moment, then nodded towards the copy of the Koran sitting on the edge of the bed. "I see Mahmoud has brought you something to read."
"Yes," I replied, still in English. "I appreciate the act. Translating from Russian will keep me occupied for however long you hold me here."
"We need to provide a video of you to the Russians to prove you are alive." He said, changing the topic abruptly.
"Of course." I said, nodding. He barked some commands in one of the Arabic languages and the third man reappeared. He had a camera with him, and a current edition of the newspaper. I noted that the date was about four days after I'd been taken. Then he handed me a comb so I could straighten out my hair. When I was done, I handed the comb back to him and held up the paper before me. They instructed me on the basics of what I was to say, then the light came on from the camera.
"This is David Young." I said solidly into the camera. "I am being held by Chechen freedom fighters for demands they have passed on to the Russian Government. I am being treated fairly. I have been allowed reasonable freedom of movement, toilet facilities, and adequate food. My love goes out to my family and I pray that they will be strong until I am released."
I finished, and the cleric nodded. The cameraman took the paper back without letting me really read it, and left the room. The old cleric stared at me for some time, then asked me what I had read in the Koran. He laughed when I said I had started in the beginning and agreed with my comment that beginnings are always important. We talked for a few minutes about the passages I had read, and he corrected some mistakes I had made. After about an hour or so, he informed me that they would now be feeding me three times a day. He also told me that Mahmoud, the young teenager would be staying during my meals and I could ask him any questions I had about my readings in the Koran.
The old man was a priest alright. He wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to proselytize to an unbeliever. I smiled because as a kidnapper he wasn't being too smart. Being in the company of Mahmoud for any length of time would allow a rapport to be established.
Unlike the Stockholm Syndrome, I planned to use that rapport for MY purposes, not for the kidnappers. I smiled and thanked the cleric for his generosity, imaging how his face would look with a bullet hole in it, and rose to my feet as he stood. When they had all left, I stripped off the robe, used the `toilet' and then began some stretching exercises.
I couldn't have timed it better. I was sitting Indian style with my feet touching and stretching my inner thighs when Mahmoud returned with a bowl of rice. This time it had a chopped boil egg on top of it. Mahmoud stopped when he saw my nude form, a clear view of my penis available to him. His gaze lingered just long enough, and his tongue darted between his lips before he scowled.
"You should be dressed." He snapped in Russian.
"I don't want my only clothing to smell of sweat from my exercise." I replied in Russian, letting him lead in the language we would speak.
"That is good, then." He said, extending the tray to me. I stood up, and his eyes were focused on my crotch for just long enough to reaffirm my thoughts regarding him. There were gay men even in radical organizations, though I doubted he would ever admit to his desires openly. I hesitated a moment, as I thought of James. Then I realized that James would be far more upset if I didn't use this opportunity as a means of escape.
As I ate and sipped at the tea, I moved so that different parts of my body were always exposed to him. The seduction of this young man wasn't going to happen immediately. He was still too wary. I figured I would have at least a week before they killed me, regardless of the outcome of their demands. I would take a few days to make my move.
For now, I had to build a rapport with the young man, and I did that by asking questions about the Koran. He really did help me understand the text. Most of our conversation was in English, and he eventually admitted he was the only one there who spoke the language besides the old cleric.
After some time, he looked at his watch and announced it was time for him to leave. He took the tray with him and I resumed my exercise. I continued the calisthenics this time until my arms felt like rubber. Then I used the tap to rinse my body off and sat on the bed after drying. I read some more of the Koran, focusing on some passages that Mahmoud had recommended.
The text reminded me of the type of passages Uncle Phil would have liked. That caused me to take a walk down memory lane. I remembered him fondly from growing up. There was the time he had helped me build and fly a model airplane. His stories about the early days of the astronaut program, and his talks about astronomy (not astrology, but rather the scientific study of the stars) had fueled my imagination as a kid. I mourned that man that I had known growing up rather than the hellfire and brimstone preacher who had denounced me when I came out to the family.
It seemed like only a few hours had passed when Mahmoud reappeared with my lunch. This time the rice came with some asparagus in it, as well as meat I definitely recognized as chicken. It seemed I was being rewarded. Whether for the study of the Koran or the video, I wasn't sure, and I didn't care. The extra calories would only make me stronger.
Mahmoud was surprised when I compared one of the passages in the Koran to a passage of the Christian bible. I quoted it to him from memory, and he expressed his surprise that a `homosexual' would know the Christian bible so well. I laughed and told him my father, and recently departed uncle were both preachers and had drilled me in bible passages as a kid. That led to a lengthy discussion on comparisons between the two religions, and we were finally interrupted by the door opening. Mahmoud jumped from where he sat on the floor a few feet away from me and the old cleric walked in. He looked a little upset, and the two spoke rapidly in Arabic.
"Your study time is over." He said sternly in English after a bit. Mahmoud left, but the old cleric studied me for a few moments, then looked meaningfully at the robe still sitting on the bed. As soon as he left, and the door was barred, I resumed exercising. When Mahmoud came in that evening, I was dressed in the robe and glad that I had done so. The cleric came with him this time, and we continued the discussion on comparisons between the two religions. Mahmoud left several times to refill the pot of tea that we drank as we talked.
"You have a fine mind." The old cleric said after a while. "It is a pity you are a heathen."
"I am an American." I said shrugging. "We believe in a diversity of ways and letting people find their own paths. I have learned to respect the many viewpoints of my fellow citizens."
"The world is not like that." He said stoically.
"No, it isn't." I agreed. "What has happened here in Chechnya has been an example of how bad things can get."
"What do you know of our land?" He demanded angrily. That's when I began to spout all my knowledge of the conflict that had raged in this land since the fall of the Soviet Union. He was surprised once again.
"It is a pity that you were chosen for this purpose." He said after I had finished. "If we had known you were so sympathetic we might not have taken you."
"If you had ever watched my show, you would have known." I said with a soft smile. "I once wrote an episode that reflected on the situation in Chechnya."
"You did?" He said, surprised.
"Yes." I said. He got up to leave then, and his face was troubled. I almost didn't suppress the smile that I felt inside. Mahmoud was staring at me again, this time with some respect in his eyes. The next three days passed in similar routine. Mahmoud came alone each morning, and told me he would be alone at the morning meal. After that, I made it a point to remain nude in the morning, and his eyes roamed my body. During the afternoon and evening we were joined by the old cleric who eventually gave me his name as al-Sayid. The fourth day was different in that they made another video of me during the afternoon.
Five more days passed after that and the routine became set. It was the tenth day of captivity that something changed. During the morning visit, Mahmoud seemed distracted, barely looking at me. When he returned at lunch, he was alone. I asked him in a concerned voice where al-Sayid was, and got a very curt response that he was gone for the day, as were most of the men. He would be back tomorrow.
When Mahmoud came back to deliver dinner and have our evening discussion, I was nude. More than that, I was raging a full hard-on. It had only taken a few thoughts of James nude to get me in that condition. Mahmoud approached the bed where I sat nervously, his eyes barely leaving my hard-on. He set the tray down next to me and sat on the bed while I ate. A sideways glance revealed him to adjust himself a few times.
As I finished the food, I managed to brush his leg lightly a few times, and he jumped each time. I turned to face him fully, and he met my gaze nervously. I raised my hand and lightly traced his jawline. He looked at me hungrily.
"You are a handsome man." I whispered in English, and leaned forward until my lips touched his. He only groaned and leaned back against the wall at the head of the bed. My left hand began to caress him through his pants as I continued the kiss and he groaned again. My other hand reached down to his pants and I unclasped his belt, opening his pants. He started to say no in Russian, but another kiss squelched his protest. As I removed his hard-on from his underwear he groaned again. I pulled his head a few inches away from the wall and maneuvered myself into position.
He never knew what hit him. My left hand grabbed his exposed balls and penis and squeezed tightly. As he gasped in pain and leaned forward, my right hand grabbed the front of his face and slammed the back of his head into the wall. Three times I slammed his head against the wall before he lost consciousness. As he slumped against the wall, I moved quickly. His pants were big on him, but a little short on me. His boots were way too small for my feet, but his jacket was a tight fit. I wasn't surprised to find handcuffs on his belt and used them to secure him, and used his belt to hogtie him. I was wearing his socks, but I used his underwear to gag him.
Then I took his pistol and made sure it was loaded. I also took the extra magazine he carried. From what he said at lunch, there was only one other person in the house. I carefully opened the door of the basement they had been holding me in and climbed upstairs. There was the sound of a radio from what I assumed to be the kitchen, and a voice called out "Mahmoud?" and something else in Arabic. I came around the corner to find a taller Arabic man sitting at the table smoking a cigarette as he listened to the radio. He was very surprised to see me come around the corner, and reached for an AK-47 on the table.
I hesitated just long enough for his hand to touch the weapon. Then I broke a promise I had made to myself many years ago and squeezed the trigger. I was both relieved and disturbed that my training from the Navy was still remembered by my body. The fact that I had just killed again, after over a decade was disturbing, but I pushed the feelings aside. I'd deal with them as I had before, once this was over.
I quickly began to search the rest of the house, but the small four room building was otherwise empty of people. In the sole bedroom, I found a bigger pair of Russian camouflage pants, and boots that were only a little tight on me. I also found a bigger jacket, some gloves, and most importantly, a civilian GPS locator. It would give the user their current latitude and longitude to within a few hundred feet. I also found some Russian military rations a canteen, and several magazines of ammunition for the AK-47 rifle. There was also a small hand-held radio. I quickly gathered the supplies up and piled them into a backpack, then grabbed the rifle and left the house.
It was in the woods. From the GPS locator, and the newspaper map I had been given that first day, I figured I was in the southern Chechen mountains about 100 kilometers from Grozny. If I made it to Grozny, I could find a Russian military patrol, I knew that. If lucky, I'd meet a patrol on the way, but I was just as likely to run into a rebel patrol in these mountains.
The sun had set and the sky was growing steadily darker. Light could be seen through the woods from other homes nearby, and I realized I had to move out immediately. There was a gravel road that led to this house, and I decided to head in a direction away from it, but that would take me roughly northeast. I set out immediately at a very rapid walk.
At first I hesitated at every sound, but soon remembered part of my studies for that episode I'd written. Neither Russians nor Chechens moved much at night. They simply did not have the technology the American military possessed for night time operations. I traveled for hours before taking a break. During the break, I played with the hand-held radio I had found, but was unable to pick up anything except occasional bursts in Arabic and some garbled communications that sounded like they were scrambled military channels. I memorized the settings in the faint moonlight, but they were so faint that I knew any transmission from this small unit wouldn't reach any friendly ears. I would use it when I got closer to civilization.
I stretched for a few minutes after resting, getting my leg muscles warmed back up before heading out. I figured I was on a pace now that would cover about three miles an hour. Not bad for a 31 year old television producer, although an in-shape military person would be laughing at me. I cursed myself for not taking Mahmoud's watch, but used the passage of the moon to gauge how much time was passing. It was only half-full but still provided enough light to move through the forest. I was glad it was March, because it was still damn cold.
I stopped after three hours and rested again, eating a ration bar that tasted like cardboard and taking a few sips of water. Until I passed a stream I wouldn't dare do more than sip. When I felt ready, I got up and continued on for another several hours, before falling into a small hollow under a fallen trunk. I was exhausted and passed out before too long.
I woke with the sun high overhead. It was nearly mid-day, if not later. I had been awoken by the crunching of feet moving through the forest. >From my hidden position, I saw some deer moving through the forest. They heard my slight movement and scattered immediately. I sighed and took my hand off the trigger of the rifle. Another ration and some water were consumed before I moved from my spot.
During the day, I moved much slower, taking cover at almost every sound. I was lucky in that none of the sounds were human. Nightfall came and I took a longer break, consuming another bar and emptying the canteen near a stream. I risked being waterlogged, or catching some bacteria and drank several long drinks from the stream before filling the canteen. Then I moved onwards.
It was early morning before I passed out from exhaustion. I woke again near mid-day and ate some more of the rations I was quickly growing to hate. I half-drained the canteen from thirst before making myself stop. I was thirsty. Luckily I had only walked for two hours before finding another spring. I emptied the canteen and refilled it twice before moving on. I waited until I was a good mile from the spot before emptying my bladder. It was just after sunset that I found the road.
It was paved, and two lanes across. The tree line had been cut back for about two hundred yards on either side, which meant the Russians had been here quite a few times, cutting the trees back to prevent ambush. I stayed in the treeline and began to parallel the road. No vehicles passed down the road at night, and I was growing tired before I found a suitable spot to sleep in. I was passed out before I knew it.
I woke to pain. My muscles were all protesting at the abuse of the last few days. I also realized I was down to two ration bars. If I didn't find help soon, I wasn't going to last much longer. I took my time and stretched my aching muscles until I felt them loosen enough to continue walking. I even took the boots off and massaged my aching feet.
That was when I heard the truck. I carefully approached the edge of the treeline and looked. It was a good thing I was well hidden because the flat bed truck was full of people that were definitely NOT Russian army. They slowed down a hundred yards up the road from me and came to a stop. In moments, the flatbed was emptying of men and they were forming up into two man search teams to head out to check the trees on each side of the road. I groaned, realizing that if I moved, I risked detection. If I stayed here, they'd find me. I flicked the safety off of the rifle, deciding I was going to die fighting. As a two man team headed in my direction, I sighed and took aim. I'd take as many down with me as I could.
At least James would be able to keep the kids. We had adopted them together and my death would not rob them of his parenting. I just hoped they would grow up proud that I'd fought to the last.
I don't know who was more surprised when the Russian armored personnel carrier rounded a corner of the road coming up from the opposite direction: the Russians, the Chechen Rebels, or me. All I knew was the firefight was quick and deadly. I never fired a shot. There was no need to, and gunfire from the trees would likely be interpreted as an attack by the Russians. Instead I lowered the rifle, and removed the pistol from my pants.
When the firefight was over, I stood slowly from my hidden position, arms raised high. I was immediately noticed, and the cannon on the APC swiveled to point at me. An officer with a bullhorn ordered me to stay where I was in Russian. Two troopers approached me cautiously, and I could see surprise on their faces as I knocked off my hat to reveal my blond hair. They were even more surprised when I spoke in Russian.
"I am David Young." I told them in clear Russian. They looked surprised for a moment before one of them ran back to the APC shouting "He's here, he's here!" The other grabbed my arm and dragged me towards the APC. The officer started shouting orders through the bull horn for his troops to get back in the APC. I was thrown into the back of the machine and the troops quickly climbed inside. No sooner had the last entered, then the door was closed and the vehicle roared down the highway. The officer climbed out of the top hatch and turned towards me. He held a picture in his hand and compared it to my face. He stared for many minutes, then let out a big cheer.
I learned later James had posted a $500,000 reward for anyone who helped me to return safely. These men would split that award and with Russia's economy, they could all start civilian life in relative luxury. They all started yelling at me, slapping my back and laughing. Someone brought out a vodka bottle and I joined them in drinking to my health. Then I broke down and started crying.
They sobered up at that point, and the officer took me forward where I had a little more privacy. He was busy speaking into a radio, and less than five minutes later, I heard the distinctive sound of helicopters overhead. He told me that there were now four attack helicopters escorting us, and we would meet with three tanks and two more APC further down the road.
Two hours later, we were pulling into the Russian airbase at Grozny. Ten minutes after that, I was in the air with an FSB Colonel at my side. I was giving him all the information I could about the people who had held me, where it was (I had memorized the GPS coordinates) and the surrounding area. He told me that three teams of Spetznaz commandos would be dispatched to the place soon. Hours later, we landed at a military base outside Moscow. James was waiting for me on the tarmac, and rushed into my arms.
He looked terrible. There were bags under his eyes, and his face was red from crying. But he was James and as I fell into his arms I began to cry. By the time we made it inside a building, he was supporting my full weight as I bawled my head off. I finally recovered enough, as did he, to notice the two men standing near us. One was dressed in a smartly cut suit, the other was a Russian general.
"Welcome back, Mr. Young." The suit said, smiling gently. "I'm Daniel Rogers, US Ambassador to the Russian Federation. This is General Borishev, commander of the Russian Army."
"Gentlemen." I said in English, nodding at them, then switched to Russian. "General, I must thank your men who rescued me. Their arrival was timely."
"Nichevo." He said (it means `nothing'). "I am glad that we were able to assist your escape. You traveled some 60 kilometers on your own as well as escaping from your captors. A fine achievement even for a trained soldier."
"Thank you, sir." I said.
"I want you to know that we found the house you were held in." He continued after a moment. "Sheik al-Sayid had just returned with several men. We took most of them alive and found the body of the man you killed and the other you tied up in the basement. He was still alive as well. Questioning revealed that they had planned to kill you on their return."
"I figured as much." I murmured, and wondered what would happen to Mahmoud now. Maybe later I would decide if I wanted to intervene on his behalf. At the moment I only wanted to talk to James.
"I have a car waiting to take you back to your hotel." Ambassador Rogers said softly, and we followed him out to the car. Once inside, he chattered softly about the media frenzy that was happening over my kidnapping while James and I just stared into each other's faces. To be honest, I didn't hear a word he said. Tears leaked down my face as I softly touched James' face. After about a half-hour, we reached the hotel, and had to depend on the police to make room for us to walk inside.
The place was surrounded by the press and the general public. Questions were being shouted in Russian and English, but I ignored them all. Inside the lobby was the second most beautiful sight I had seen since landing. Nathan led the rush to me, followed closely by Tyler. Jordan, Kali, and Cindy were close behind them and I found myself wrapped in their arms, all of us crying.
"You stink." Jordan said, and we all laughed. I was surprised when I looked up and saw Nanny and Grandma barely holding back from joining the mass hug. I freed myself long enough to hug them both tightly. Nanny looked haggard, as did Grandma. Then it was Manuel's turn. I was surprised when Josh joined him, followed by the rest of the guys.
I was even more surprised to see Kelly and Briana smiling, with Drew next to them. It seems Chris' little secret was out, and that Drew was more than a one-night stand. I couldn't help but laugh as Drew saluted me. They followed me into the elevator (it still worked!) and we went upstairs. While they all congregated in the main room, James joined me in the bathroom.
"Thank god you're back." He said, and everything started hitting me again. I was crying and mumbled out "Phil"
"I know." James said softly. "Your Aunt Chris left with his body last week."
"They shot him in front of me." I whispered, not able to reveal the full circumstances yet.
"Oh, baby." He murmured, kissing my forehead. I'd sat down on the toilet, and he was standing in front of me, holding me.
"I need to shower." I murmured, and he turned and got the shower going. He undressed slowly while I stared at him. Then he stood me up and undressed me. I was still wearing the clothes I'd escaped in, and they stank bad. He said something about getting rid of them, but I told him I wanted to keep them. He just smiled and led me into the shower.
It was the longest, most luxurious shower of my life. James washed every part of my body, then kissed me all over. Then he washed me again. By the third time, I was revived enough to wash him. It felt almost as good running my fingers over him as it had him washing me.
As we showered, I began to tell him about what had happened. He told me that Sergei was now out of intensive care and was recovering. I asked that we see him before we left Moscow, and he readily agreed. When I told him about how I'd escaped, I got nervous, despite how I had rationalized it. He took away any doubts I had saying he'd have chased me all the way to hell if I hadn't seduced Mahmoud. He filled me in on the happenings on his side.
Although the Russian government refused to cave to the demands of the Chechens, they did do everything they could to try to recover me. In fact, they were very close to finding me when I escaped. My caution had been a good thing, but the rebels never found out I had escaped because they had not checked on the men holding me.
The cleric must have really believed that I wouldn't attempt escape.
The soldiers on the roadway hadn't been looking for me. They'd actually been looking for a Russian soldier that had escaped an ambush the previous day. The Russians were still looking for him, and I gave a silent prayer for his safety. I also thanked god that the Russian had been out looking.
The water turned cold, ending our shower, and we took our time drying each other off. James led me into the bedroom and dressed me in clean slacks and a silk shirt. It felt decadent wearing regular clothes again, but I hugged my man closely to me.
We finally reentered the main room, and I was instantly surrounded by kids. They were all touching me and I ended up on the couch so they could climb over me and reassure themselves that I really was there. That was when I noticed Misha sitting next to Nathan. It seems the two had hit it off good while I was gone, and were now madly in love with each other. I barely kept myself from snorting.
If it was real, it would last.
There was a knock on the door, and James answered it. Outside in the hall were two guards and the person who had knocked. He came in and introduced himself as an aide to President Putin. We were being invited to the Kremlin to meet with him, and if we were willing, to hold a press conference.
I hesitated a moment. I didn't want anything but to be with my family at that moment. However, one does not tell the Head of State of the country you were in that you don't feel like meeting with him. I nodded after a bit and agreed.
He informed me that a military escort would arrive in an hour for us. Outside, night was falling and we ordered a dinner in the room for everyone. The adults politely refrained from asking questions while the kids all chattered about what had been going on while I was `gone'. Their chatter centered me, connected me back with my family, and I gripped James' hand tightly under the table. Before too long, there was a knock at the door, and a General stood there, informing me that my escort was ready.
We all road in two limos. There was an APC in front of us, and another behind and I shook my head at the show of force. Then I remembered that I'd been abducted from this city, and a few years ago the Chechens had attacked a theatre and blown up an apartment building. Suddenly I was very glad for the escort and didn't think it was foolish. The General who rode with us saw the expression on my face and assured me the limos were both armored. I relaxed even more and played with Cindy who was sitting in my lap. She just babbled away at me the entire trip, only quieting as we pulled into the Kremlin itself.
The General led us into the President's office. He greeted me warmly, kissing both cheeks in the European fashion. There was only one photographer here taking pictures. We talked for about a half hour before he asked if I was ready to speak to the press. He had apologized for my ordeal, the loss of my uncle, and for the length of time I was imprisoned. I had thanked him for his efforts to recover me, and told him I supported his position of not releasing the prisoners for my safe return. James joined me as we walked down a tall hallway, but the rest of the family stayed behind with some Russian aides.
I recognized the great hall he led us into as being the same room Reagan had signed a treaty in during the 80's. The rich red carpeting was even brighter in person, and the low table that we sat at was festooned with microphones from every news service in existence. I almost chuckled when I realized today's date while looking at the President's notes that he set down.
Two years ago, I'd been at work when this guy called me pissed off because he couldn't move into his new home. I took James' hand in mine and leaned over to whisper "Happy Anniversary." He looked surprised for a moment, then kissed my cheek.
Of course that was caught by the cameras. Next to us, President Putin began his remarks in Russian.
"I am honored to be here tonight to confirm that Mr. David Young of the United States has been safely reunited with his family after being held by the separatists in Chechnya." He began his remarks in a formal tone. "I am also pleased to announce that we have captured those responsible for his abduction and captivity. They will be dealt with by the full justice of Russian law!"
"Mr. Young escaped through the use of his own cunning, bravery, and heroism. He endured days of walking through forests in an country unknown to him until he found a Russian patrol engaged in combat against separatists. He made himself known to the patrol after they successfully destroyed the separatists and they took him to safety in Grozny where he boarded a plane and was returned to Moscow.
"Make no mistakes, Mr. Young's achievements in his escape are a testament to the bravery and courage the world has come to expect of Americans. I only hope that these events will not stop him from visiting our country again."
There were some chuckles from the reporters at his jest, and I smiled. I grasped James' hand for support before opening my mouth. I had given some thought to what I wanted to say, knowing that people around the world would be watching. I'd probably never have a better chance to shape the world than this opportunity right now.
I only wish I had a few days to write out a speech.
"Thank you, Mister President." I said in Russian. "I promise you that I will return to Russian in the future. I will not be scared off by these events."
"To the world." I said, switching to English to speak more coherently. "I want to say a few words. The shooting of my Russian guide, my kidnapping, the murder of my uncle, and the attempts to obtain the release of prisoners for my safety were acts of terrorism and were wrong.
"The stated goal of the Chechen separatists is to obtain their independence. Whether that is a good thing or a bad thing is not something I am fit to judge. What I can judge is the tactics that are used. One thing I am sure of, is that the targeting of civilians by any side in this or any other conflict is wrong. In achieving my escape, I was forced to overpower one person, and bind him. I was then forced to kill another person.
"I have no doubt that my actions to secure my freedom were justified. I have done nothing to justify their kidnapping me and holding me prisoner. That does not mean that I am comfortable with what I had to do to be free. No matter what we might wish, these men were, and are, human beings. I hope that we, as people, and our governments will remember that everyone on both sides of these conflicts are human beings. I wish to thank the soldiers that rescued me, and hospitality of President Putin. Thank you."
Having said that, I got up to leave, accompanied by James and the President. We walked silently for a while, then he stopped to look at me. He stood there for over a minute before speaking.
"Your words were more...forgiving than I would expect." He said slowly in English.
"They are human beings. No matter what they have done, that is something we must not forget. I hope you put them in jail for a long time. However it was the humanity of one of them that allowed me to escape." I answered him.
"Which one?" He asked.
"The boy Mahmoud." I answered. "He treated me like a human being instead of an object of hatred. That let me gain his trust, and then to use that trust to overpower him. I think if he had grown up in different circumstances, he would have been a different man. He's not a fanatical killer like some of them."
"I will...make sure that is known." He said after a few minutes. My conscious was eased knowing that maybe I'd helped the boy out. We were soon reunited with the rest of the family and on our way back to the hotel. There were still tons of press around, but they got nothing from us as we went upstairs.
James and I crawled into bed an hour later, and lay there for a while, just staring at each other, hugging and kissing. I had no idea how much time had passed before the door creaked open and Nathan poked his head in the room.
"C'mon." I said, smiling in the dark room as he nearly ran and jumped into the bed. He was followed by a mini-stampede as the four younger kids followed him. I sensed a shadow at the door while everyone was getting comfortable and looked up to find Misha standing there.
"You too." I said in Russian, smiling even more. He returned the smile and joined us in the massive huddle of bodies on the bed. As I drifted off to sleep, cuddled up to James with arms and legs all over the place, I silently offered a prayer of thanksgiving for being back where I belonged.
With my family.
Author's Note: Well, that's the last of the major drama from here on out! (I promise). Now, on to the basis for this story. The idea for this plot line came to me after reading an article in a Russian newspaper (since I study Russian, I practice by reading online newspapers in Russian.) The article was about some missionaries that had been kidnapped in Russia. None of them were American, which is why the US media doesn't bother covering the story. That set me off to do some more research.
I'm sure many of you remember the recent hostage taking that happened in 2002 at a Russian theatre and the many people that died when the Russian military attacked. That Moscow theatre was attacked by male and female Chechen rebels. Currently there are at least 14 foreign nationals that have been kidnapped within Russia's borders over the last two years.
Worldwide, there are over two dozen that have been kidnapped in various countries. A recent Japanese businessman was ransomed for the equivalence of about $5 million dollars. Now, you and I don't have to worry too much when we travel overseas. Most victims are rich businessmen or missionaries. Most demands are for money and/or release of prisoners in jails or the expulsion of religious recruiters from the various countries.
Dave's learned his lessons with this little incident. He won't be traveling overseas without a lot of security, and will listen to people when they urge him to accept security around him. The last two chapters of this story are a little bit more upbeat. Chapter 14 will show how James and David get their lives put back together, and get ready for their wedding. Chapter 15 will be their wedding (yes, it DOES happen).
Thanks and enjoy!