"So tell me this clear, sister," the gruff man in tan pants and rumpled white shirt said to me. The grizzled man, probably over sixty, made no polite pretense to me whatsoever. His body was sun burnt and reeked of mildew and aftershave lotion. I suppose I could expect nothing less out of an interrogator for the Central Intelligence Agency.

"I am not a nun," I corrected him smartly, crossing my legs. It was so good to be clean again after my long imprisonment!

The wrinkled forehead of the interrogator arose and his voice came out quickly, "Yeah, I know, I know. I call alot of people that. No offense, ma’am." However, his voice was one of impatience and dislike for me. He wanted to solve a problem and saw me as part of the solution. I had a great deal of trouble deciding what to say to a professional liar.

"I understood my captors well," I explained to him. "Yes, they spoke the dialect here, but I comprehended it fine. It was the same language I used to preach the Gospel of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Chr-"

"Listen here, sis-uh, Miss Carter. I know what made the Taliban take you prisoner. And as much as I think it is swell you were trying to spread the word of your God, it was suicide to do it in a country where women have fewer rights than dogs and religious intolerance is at its apex!"

I smiled and swept back my long brown hair to the left. "Mr. Smith is it?"

The interrogator gave me a wry grin. "Yeah, Agent Smith."

Giving him a disbelieving look, I continued calmly. "Agent Smith, I must obey the call of my Lord and preach the Gospel to all-"

"Miss Carter, let me be frank. I could care less if you were a Druid. In fact, if you were praying to trees we would not be talking right now. I need to know just how you came to our encampment. I have a damned good idea, but I want to hear how you got out. Our agents saw the interior of that building where you where kept. Tell me who decorated it. I want to hear the truth."

"You are interested in truth?"

Agent Smith grinned and I believed he was happy when he said, "Of course. I need to know the truth to decide what everyone else hears. What you told us about them releasing you free and clear was pure bullsh-uh, bunk. I do not buy it. Your God will send you to Hell for lying as well as killing someone."

"Well, my God said to put the best construction on everything."

His face grew red as he insisted, "The truth, Miss Carter."

Resolved, I decided I must level with him. "It is not a nice story but I will tell it to you."

Agent Smith straddled a small chair backwards as the small room seemed to grow a bit darker. "I’m all ears."

"I had lost track of how long the Taliban kept me prisoner, but knew things were bad in the country. They moved me when the bombings started in what I know now was early October. The day they placed me in a stone room with most of the ceiling missing, I knew I would meet my Lord. They sat me in a metal folding chair and had my hands bound with twine behind my back. I wasn’t gagged for they knew I never cried out. There was no one to hear me in the din of the bombs from American payload bays. The two Taliban men who guarded me, taunted me and promised me death and defiling every day soon sat up a small video recorder on a tripod."

"And what were their plans?"

I adjusted my skirt and told the agent, "They untied my right hand and placed it on the pile of concrete blocks. My other hand was tried to the chair. I understood from their conversation that they intended on chopping off my little finger and sending it to the UN negotiator. They wanted to film this and send it to the UN as part of a blackmail scheme to buy their leaders more time or safe passage to Iraq. I am not sure why exactly, but I knew they were lying. They spoke in low tones as their lackey came in. This lackey was a recent addition to their group. A hunched over, older man, bulbous in size, but always doing their dirty work, came in to witness it all. They spoke as if to obscure their intent from him. They really were going to cut off all my fingers and kill me before the Special Forces got to me. The videotape and fingers would be enough to blackmail the UN for they would hide my body. All they needed was safe passage, they said."

"But how did you get free? I see all of your fingers are there."

I nodded, flexing my hand. "The hunched over, fat lackey? He came in to offer me a drink as the other two stood against the wall, small scimitars in hand. I looked into the face of this lackey and prayed to God that he would keep me safe. I never had known his name and his long gray beard spilled out of his heavy black robes. My heart raced as I beheld his face in that heavy cover. Under the huge turban was a sun-tanned face, but the eyes were all wrong. He had blue eyes."

"Excuse me?"

"Eyes as blue as the sky or glacial ice," I explained. "When one of them winked at me, I knew that my Lord hadn’t forgotten me."

"Your expression is not one of happiness, Miss Carter."

I took a drink of water and went on. "I never counted on what happened next. The lackey stood up, a bizarre feat to the others for he always was hunched over like he had a catch in his back. The bulbous man was actually a giant, towering over all of us in the room. The two Taliban soldiers gaped at the immense man as he removed his turban and false white beard. This action revealed a fount of long blonde hair and a heavy blonde beard."

Agent Smith moved in closer to me. "A giant blonde man you say?"

"Yes. I know it sounds insane, but that is what he looked like. He truly was an unlikely savior in appearance, but-"

"Describe him to me, Miss Carter. To the letter."

"Goodness, he was way over six feet tall, perhaps closer to seven feet in height. His body was immense, built like one of those silly wrestlers on television. His face was like that of a statue, a strong profile, and powerful jaw. Sir? Agent Smith? Do you know this man? Your face betrays you!"

Agent Smith rubbed his chin and frowned. "Yeah, you could say I may know who he is. Whom he works for that interests me. Go on."

"For such a big man he moved fast, drawing a long rod from the folds of his robes and skewering the man on the left in the belly with it. He kicked the other man in the chest and knocked him against the wall. The struggle was momentary and the big blonde man had the Taliban solder’s scimitar. It makes me ill to think on what he did next."

"Tell me."

I took a deep breath and related, "He made a cross cutting motion twice. I feel that would have sufficed for the throat of the soldier was torn asunder, but this giant slashed at the bloody wound a few more times. When he twirled about to look at the other soldier with the rod in his belly, blood had squirted all over his blonde locks on the left side. He faced me as he grabbed the rod in the stomach of the other soldier…he looked at me…"

"And then?"

I swallowed hard before saying; "He winked at me before driving the rod through the soldier. I can recall the sound it made when it hit the stonewall. Again, he indulged in overkill and seized the head of this man, twisted it and snapped his neck. I never thought such a feat would be so easy but the giant executed this maneuver with ease. Goodness, he…"

"What is it?"

"He stomped on their heads. Their skulls soon broke apart like watermelons. Perhaps his boots possessed a heavy steel lining, I do not know. He then got on his knees and punched his fist into their brains. Sorry, this is nauseating me."

"I must insist that you go on, Miss."

"He screamed a name as he did it, over and over."

"And this name was?"

"Gale. Over and over like a banshee. Gale, Gale, Gale! When he faced me I thought my turn was next."

"But he freed you? This big blonde man freed you?"

"Yes sir. He untied me."

"Did he tell you his name?"

I nodded. "I am certain it was false, but he said his name was Thor."

Agent Smith balled up his right hand and slammed it down on the back of the chair. "Sonofabitch! Yes, go on."

I gave the agent an indignant look and stated, "Thor told me his name and wanted to make sure I told whoever debriefed me that as well. It seems to have the effect he desired."

Smith’s face flushed worse as he replied, "He’s playing games."

"Isn’t he one of yours?"

"No," Smith spat. "Thor Alexander is not CIA."

"He said he was an intelligence officer and was there to rescue me. He was a coarse, crude man, but showed no fear of the Taliban whatever. It was almost as if he invited them to try to kill him. Once in the street, he was just as merciless."

"What do you mean?"

"He wrapped me in a traditional garment worn by Taliban women, but when we journeyed outside, the city was in chaos. Khanduhar was up for grabs and he discarded most of his disguise. When anyone tried to stop us he shot them down like dogs, stomped their heads until their skulls popped and moved on. He was a ruthless killer, no emotion, no pity, simply the cruelest man I have ever seen."

"But why did he save you?"

I shifted on the chair and said, "Thor has a charming, southern voice like those in the Deep South. He explained to me that his superiors had not forgotten me, while other forces wanted me to die as a martyr. Thor stated that he was saving me because he was in the ‘neighborhood’ as he called it and for ‘mischief’ with other forces in government. That and…"

"What?"

"Thor was a rough man and spoke in terms I would not want to repeat. There were times when I thought him unstable but covering it all up with vile bravado. He told me, let me see here, he said ‘Lucky fer ya’all I got such a hard-on fer Jesus. If I didn’t have such a crush on the Lord, you would be dead meat honey’ or to that effect. I asked him how he could have such a love for Jesus and be such a killer. He replied that ‘Jesus loves me to pieces. All that God helps those who help themselves is crap. He helps the helpless, but he needs weapons to do that, he needs a swift sword. That is me!’ That is what Thor told me."

"Self righteous bastard," Agent Smith grumbled.

"I cannot say this for certain, but I sensed something more than insane behavior on his part. It was more methodical, driven and-"

"Yeah, yeah. We had enough trouble cleaning up the streets when he left. This isn’t easy to keep a lid on, you know?"

"If Thor isn’t from CIA, whom does he work for?"

Smith stood up and said, "He is from a secret organization beyond our touch. He isn’t the enemy, but we cannot pin them down. Forget him. This is the truth you will tell, sister."

That is why I told of my fair captors, good treatment, and release to the Green Berets. The truth could never be told of my escape that day, save for in this diary. Telling this weasel of a man that the blonde giant went wild in those dirty streets, screaming the name of this ‘Gale’ until, alas, he was subdued by two other big men. Both of these men were in bad Arab costumes and wearing black underneath. One of them sent me to freedom as the other took Thor off.

I have prayed for forgiveness for my distortion of the truth, but it is necessary to put the best construction on everything. I pray for that blonde giant, however, wishing every blessing of God on him. It is my hope that he will find Jesus before Jesus finds him.

THE END…

©2002 Steven L. Shrewsbury

But for an alternate Point of view of this story, red CRUSH-II: THIS MEANS WAR to see Thor Alexander’s vision of the events described here.