This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 24; the Twenty-Fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for this month is BLACK AND WHITE.
February 21, 2002.
Holding the camera and looking straight into the eyes of the journalist had been the toughest part of the job yet. When he had been briefed three months ago, he knew he would have to be part of terrible deeds and he would have a lot of innocent blood on his hands. But he never though it would be something as high-strung as this. Filming a man who knew he was about to die in a short while was scary. At least he didn't have to do the job himself. No, the bosses wanted the glory. Thank goodness for that. A minute and a half into filming, Daniel Pearl's throat was slit and then with a calm that would put pristine lakes to shame, the commander took his right hand away and brought the great knife slashing through the dying journalist's neck.
Too many years had gone by and Abdul Karim had risen in rank and power. Always on the move, he had evaded death many times. Too many times. There had been miscalculations by himself. There had been errors on the part of his leaders too. Too many years had he spent in exile. He remembered the time when growing up as a young boy in Afghanistan. The wars had not been enough. Since the Soviets left, he had waged many wars and fought multi-faceted enemies. The hardships he had gone through and those he had literally made his family endure was unbearable. They had been shot long ago. The vengeance is what coursed through his veins and made his decade long battle remain inviolable. He knew where his allegiance lay. Too many loved ones had died because of him. He himself had killed too many that others loved. No more.
“It's time. We do it on the date mentioned in the package. You know where I stand today. Mark this spot. He will be on top this time then. It's three stories high. You can watch it from a variety of angles. Don't miss again. I've had enough. ”
After years of living in Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, Sudan, the USA and the Philippines, he had died over and over and again. Envisioning deaths had taken their toll on him and he had become quite reckless. But lately, he had though of his mother who had been shot at point blank range. Whether they were for or because of his deeds did not matter. They said his mother was an informer and they killed her for good measure. No matter. They would all go down in flames. It was just a matter of time. A matter of twenty four more hours. He smiled to himself as he thought of the next day and impending doom. He slept like a baby.
The day had passed. At night, everything was still. The night air was despondently hot. He was waiting, but not for long. Throughout the day he had thought of the means of his own death. It seemed ironic that it had been put off so long and that success meant his death. But maybe Allah would grant him his mother's lap again if he lived another day longer and no more. That's all he wanted. Peace.
The landing filled with the slightest crack of street light as the door opened. On the second floor, Abdul Karim lay quiet in bed, waiting. The soldiers started filing up. Operation Neptune Spear was in play. Then, like a blaze of lightning, they came from everywhere. A helicopter flew close overhead. The erstwhile leader ran down and Karim told him,
“There is now nowhere we can go. I just woke up. They've got us surrounded. Let's fight to our death. May Allah be proud of us when we go to heaven.”
Storming into the mansion, the US Navy SEALs pierced the darkness and shot like they knew every spot. Few bullets were wasted. The great leader was shot dead. A second later, so was he.
It was May 2nd, 2011. Operation Neptune Spear had been successful.
Abdul Karim was an unknown man captured in Manila in connection with planting a bomb under a bridge on which then President Clinton's motorcade was to pass in 1998. After torture and rigorous grilling by the CIA, he was shown satellite images of his family being shot by members of the Taliban soon after the US embassy bombings in Africa. The psychologist on their team said that she saw some good in him, that he was an ordinary man, not a Jihadi. He was requested to help in the hunt for Osama Bin Laden. After what seemed like an aeon, he nodded. In October 2001, he joined the Al-Qaeda as a soldier. It took him, the dark knight, nine years to reach a silent unacknowledged martyrdom.
PS. This is a purely fictitious account of a long and broiling history of terrorism and the war on terror. True events have been considered and the protagonist is a fictional character.