CLOSE YOUR EYES AND SEE by Bernard R. Cenny

Author:Bernard R. Cenny [CENNEY, BERNARD R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781468595000
Publisher: AuthorHouse
Published: 2012-07-16T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

TRAITOR

Nine hundred and fifty-two kilometers away, on Jolo Island, Randal Kloet was running over escape and evasion options in his mind.

The anesthetized feeling had left him, but he noticed he still had the intravenous plastic tubing running from his left arm to the bag hanging on the stainless steel hospital pole next to him.

He could clearly read the words VECURONIUM BROMIDE stamped across the center of the plastic bag.

What these words meant, he could only surmise.

Kloet figured it was some sort of paralytic agent.

The solution must be clearly turned off now, or at a reduced dosage, he thought, as he could now feel all his limbs move when he willed it.

That did not change his situation, however.

Three Filipino men were in the room, pointing AK-47 rifles at him. The men were young.. each around eighteen or nineteen years old. They were dressed in colorful T-shirts, blue jeans, and had sandals on their feet. They were thin, and gave off the appearance of being street punks, or thugs. The men each sat on small bamboo chairs, about four meters in front of Kloet.

The room was the same one he had originally woke up in: thatched palm roof, bamboo walls, and dirt floor. The metal framed twin bed he had been lying on was next to him, to the right. But now, he was sitting in a rickety bamboo chair, with a small table in front of him fashioned out of driftwood.

There was a bowl of rice and baked beans on the table, and a plastic bottle of water.

Kloet was famished.

He picked up the bowl and scooped rice and beans with his right hand, shoveling it into his mouth.

Next, he unscrewed the top off the bottle and guzzled water down his throat.

The guards began to smile at one another, at Kloet’s seeming desperation.

It was night outside, and the shack was lit by a solitary light bulb dangling from the ceiling.

Kloet could hear the monsoon rains pelting the exterior.

Suddenly, the front door of the shack was flung open, allowing the rains to slosh in and causing the solitary light fixture to sway back and forth, splashing illumination off the walls.

Through the doorway downpour stepped a man.

The man was tall, six feet at least. He was in his early forties, and looked like he weighed a very fit two hundred pounds. His hair was dark brown and combed straight back. The man’s chin sported a well-kept goatee.

He was wearing a short sleeved, brightly colored, floral designed island shirt. Khaki pants hung at his hips. His feet were nestled in U.S. Army issued, steel soled, black leather jungle boots, with the olive drab green canvas sides.

On his wrist was a stainless steel Omega Seamaster chronometer watch.

His dark eyes seemed to dart around and capture everything in the room.

The man was soaking wet from head to toe, and, upon entering, wiped the rain off his forehead with a swipe of his right hand, flicking the droplets to the dirt floor.

Kloet could not believe his eyes.

It

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