“My name is Alexandra Murphy Wintour, I’m an American citizen attached to the US Embassy in Islamabad with diplomatic immunity. I’m being held against my will, I demand that I be released and returned to the US Embassy in Islamabad.”
I slapped her hard, her head jerked from right to left as the ill fitting hajib fell to the floor, releasing a torrent of red hair. Blood trickled from her nose, swelling erupted below her right eye, she glared at me, wiping the blood from her nose on the back of her hand.
I glared back at her speaking in slow measured tones; “you’re a prisoner of war, a casualty brought on by your government and their campaign against Allah and the tenets of the Holy Koran. You have no rights here, no diplomatic standing you are legal tender to be used in trade for our Muslim leaders in Guantanamo. You will be treated better than our captives, you will not be tortured or humiliated but we’ll not tolerate insolence. Your safe return to the US Embassy depends entirely on your father, his willingness to negotiate your release will determine your fate”.
She was not backing down, I sensed a toughness, a resilience I’m not used too. I saw this in the coeds at Kansas State, it shocked me then but here under these impossible circumstances this girl, this Alexandra Murphy Wintour, was challenging me.
“You underestimate my Father, he is resolute with significant resources at his command, you and your thugs will live to regret this.”
She stared at me, her blue/green eyes had darkened, her tone was guttural almost feral as she challenged me. The next slap was harder, she almost fell off the chair, her fair skin exploded in crimson and the swelling was simultaneous, the glare deepened, she was defying me.
So this is what you and your thugs mean by not being tortured or humiliated, how dare you. I’m the daughter of the United States Ambassador to the Republic of Pakistan, my Father is an American diplomat with credentials accepted by your President and Prime Minister. You will live to regret this Omar or whatever your name is, punishing me will make it go worse for you when I and the American aid worker, Max Stein, are rescued and we will be rescued, you can be sure of it.”
Perhaps my young friend, perhaps but the question for you to ponder is whether you’ll be rescued dead or alive.”
Why am I feeling this way, the girl means nothing to me, she’s the daughter of Satan, a woman sent to tempt me not help me. That last slap did not bring her to submission like Muslim women are taught, it made her defiant and angry. Allah help me why am I physically aroused, not enraged, the ache in my groin is disturbing, suggesting alternative motives, motives forbidden to me.
She wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth against her sleeve, bent her head down and spit out the red saliva, she glared at me, my arousal increased.