BOUGHT GIRL

BY CHRISTOPHER TOILKIEN

The western soldiers manning the inner pedestrian checkpoint blocking the main road into Kabul watched with little interest as the man leading a donkey heavily laden with dried branches and twigs approached. It was a relatively uneventful spring day so far and their lunch was due to be delivered soon.

Their interest perked up when the two began weaving through the zigzag of concrete filled oil drums preventing a direct approach. There was a little girl tied to the donkey with a rope around her neck and walking directly behind it in worn running shoes. They knew it was a girl because her tiny form was enshrouded from head to foot except for her eyes and almost completely hidden under an equally big pile of firewood she was toting, strapped to her back.

"I’ll bet he looks after the donkey better than he does the girl." One soldier remarked. "It at least is actually worth something in their society."

Two of the soldiers stood back covering the man while a third ran a metal detector over him and then the donkey. The NCO indicated they could continue into the city and the man stepped forward pulling on the donkeys rope lead.

Just as the girl passed the soldier holding the metal detector it went off. A barbed wire gate dropped blocking further entrance into the city. As the nearby soldiers stepped back leveling their weapons and a 50 caliber machine gun mounted in a sandbagged tower swiveled down to cover the entranced way.

The man leading the donkey began wildly gesturing with his arms and pointing at the girl. But his language was unintelligible to the western born soldiers.

A man dressed in native attire hopped down from the sandbagged emplacement. Walking directly up to the still babbling man and began talking to him in his own language.

"He supplements his regular job by gathering hard to find twigs for firewood as he moves around performing it." He informed the wary soldiers.

"So what is his regular job?" The battle hardened NCO responsible for this checkpoint inquired."

"Tracking down and returning to their families runaway reluctant brides." The interpreter informed the foreigners as he bent down, exposing the iron fetters complete with hobble chain locked onto the little girls heavy socks covered ankles.

"She can't be more than twelve years old." One soldier remarked.

"Local customs are none of our concern." The NCO ordered. "Let them all precede.

The heavily burdened runaway little girl had not even looked up at the men around her throughout the entire event. Simply shuffling along when the donkeys’ forward movement tugged at her lead.

An Hour Later On

"It will take months for these welts to heal from wearing the chains for even an hour round my ankles." The little girl protested to the adult male sitting nearby with a hand drawn map spread out over a low table.

"Shoosh Girl." He admonished her. "I am trying to locate the house of our target."

Everyone of those soldiers who saw the heavily burdened fully enshrouded form, just an hour go, would be flabbergasted to see her now.

She had stripped off her bhurka as soon as the solid wood door of their small rented room closed behind them, dumping it on the carpet in the middle of the room.

Her running shoes and heavy socks had quickly followed. She now stood leaning up against a wall in a flat black silk leotard and leggings. One ankle lifted up to her other legs knee a she rubbed liniment on it.

Over her leotards she wore a black leather harness with two pistol holsters at chest with extra magazines below. The backside of the rig was lined with pouches of different sizes containing the rest of their professional gear. With an ammunition belt sitting snug around her slim hips.

Two years ago, a leather worker in Morocco had created this custom harness for her master. And she had lived inside it every day since, except for while in her daily bath, until its encumbrance had become a natural part of her.

“What did you say to that man who you sold the wood to that we used as cover so we could enter Kabul?” She softly inquired.

“He offered me twice what we paid for the wood and donkey a week ago.” He lied.

He looked up to see her calmly screwing the silencer onto the barrel of the twenty-two caliber automatic he had given her as her twelfth birthday present only two months ago.

It had been hand made by the finest craftsmen gunsmiths at Woolrich Armory in England during the Second World War for England’s greatest assassin, his mother.

And realized she had deliberately tossed her bulky outer wear over his 9MM Pistol. Instinctively acting and thinking as the White Ghost.

Twenty years ago he would have been fast enough to retrieve it and take her out. Swelling with pride at his creation, he had trained her so very well to be his replacement.

“Do you remember Mrs. Silenzi, the Lady with the gouty legs?” She asked him as she slipped a fresh clip into her weapon.

“You used to buy her Groceries.” He calmly replied.

“I bought her groceries since I was seven years old.” She informed her master. “And she was born in Afghanistan where she taught languages at the university in Kabul and met her linguist Italian husband.” She informed him. ”Consequently I understand the local dialect even better than you do.”

“He wanted me to sell you along with the Donkey. So he could set his youngest son up in the firewood business and buy him a subservient, hard working wife at the same time.” He admitted.

“How much did he offer you?” His student inquired.

“Five thousand US dollars in cash.” He admitted. “Quite a tidy sum for a mere wood merchant to offer for a girl he did not know anything about.”

“Sell me to him.” She asked.

“Why?” He had to know.

“It will get me closer to our target.” She suggested. ”We know it is one of his sons with a predilection for little girls.”

Much later that night, Girl wondered if she had gotten herself into more than she had bargained for this time. Her little preteen form covered in a thin white cotton shift, hanging by her wrists on tiptoes from a chain. Itself hanging down from the center of a concave ceiling high above. The pain emanating from her shoulder joints almost overriding the pain from the rest of her abused little preteen female body.

An hour after their discussion concerning selling her, they were back inside the wood merchants yard.

Many sections of Kabul are composed of modern buildings. The streets full of motorized vehicles. But most of it had not changed much since the British occupation. The wood merchants yard a prime example.

Ten foot high two feet thick mud brick walls completely enclosed it on four sides. Only the wooden double entrance doors from the street and a single man door, probably leading inside to a residential area, broke the expanse.

The resulting enclosure was almost filled completely with small bundles of wood. Three younger versions of the merchant were busy untying large donkey load sized bundles and sorting them into smaller bundles. While an even younger beardless youth was tying the small bundles up with string and then adding them to the stacks around the walls

"This wood you are trying to pawn off on me is riddled with wood borers. "The bearded late middle aged merchant complained.

"I bought it from a man who said he was your cousin and guaranteed its quality on your family name." The man with two heavily laden with bundles of wood, donkeys shot back. "Besides you are not the only firewood merchant in Kabul."

Just then he spotted the man leading the hobbled chained girl re-entering his compound.

"Azid, pay this wood thief two thirds of his asking price and remember the face of the man who stole my days profit from me." He instructed as he walked towards the newly returned pair.

The wood seller guffawed out loud. But recounted thrice the American money the solid looking Azid paid him from a leather wallet drawn from inside his jacket pocket.

"You have reconsidered my previous over generous offer for the runaway? "He inquired.

"I will not return a penny if she proves to be a problem in anyway. "The man holding the little girls leash replied.

"Azid, Tolepo, Dubic, Barr." The wood merchant said loudly. The younger men immediately stopped what they were doing. Walking towards the merchant and arranging themselves in a descending order by age file just beside him.

This is the man I mentioned a mid day meal." He informed them. "And we have just concluded an arrangement to obtain the girl for Barr."

The youngster Barr's eyes flew wide at this revelation. But the eldest, Azid eyes narrowed and a scowl briefly flashed across his face.

The other two gathered around their younger brother clapping him on the back. "No more long cold lonely nights for you. "One laughed.

"Now mother will have all four of us to badger for grandchildren." The other added.

The boy, for she could see he was probably no more than sixteen himself, was smiling from ear to ear.

"Azid pay the hunter five thousand in US bills for his catch." Their father instructed taking the rope lead from the seller’s outstretched hand. "Barr take this lead and bring her to your mother."

Girl never even looked up as she was led away. Assuming her latest role as a runaway Islamic girl. Who’s spirit has been broken by the callous attitude and treatment of the males around her.

The first old wooden door lead to a bare room ten feet square with firing slits on either side of a blank faced steel door in a steel frame. It self set in the center of a wall to her right as she entered. It had no external door knob, but swung outward as they approached. To Girl, this inner room beyond the steel barrier was obviously a guardroom as AK47 rifles and ammunition pouches hung from pegs driven into one wall. Two heavily armed adult males its only occupants.

Beyond another steel door was an open courtyard with a colonnade supported portico all the way around. Plants in earthenware pots, freshly white washed walls and a tilled floor gave this area a civilized peaceful retreat from the outside world look.

But centered in each wall was another solid steel door with fire slits either side. The open sky above defended from intruders by a net woven from barbed wire supported by thick woven strands of more barbed wire.

The boy, eagerly pulling on her lead rope, led her right across the open area towards one blank steel door. Girl hustling along as fast as her hobbled feet would allow without tripping herself up.

Just outside in the shade sat an elderly woman with two younger woman seated at her feet.

“Beloved Mother.” The boy began. “Here is the girl father talked of at midday meal.”

“Bring her closer my youngest." A strong voice, obviously used to being obeyed instructed. “And let my old eyes observe the one you will use to beget me strong healthy grandsons.”

The boy pulled the hesitating girl his father had bought for him right up to his mother. As if he was proudly showing off some prize he had won in a tournament of skill.

The closer she was dragged. The less Girl liked the look of this elder female. She was attired in a dark colored bhurka, except the hood was drawn back off her head. Exposing a dark haired woman who’s face told you it bore the cares of the world.

But who’s eyes bore the look of one who was determined to make very sure what was hers would survive.

She held out her hand and the boy pulled her head down close to that of his mother. Her right hand then grasped the girls lead rope just above his in an iron grip.

“Is it not time you returned to your tasks?” She inquired. “This overpriced girl will be safe with me and mine.”

“Yes mother.” You are correct as always.” The boy hastily replied as he backed up into the sunlight, bowed and hurried off.

His mother had seen his prize and was obviously not impressed.

“Shani, Beri, bring her inside and we will see what my husband has paid five thousand hard earned American dollars for.” The Elder woman ordered as she stood.

"And test her threshold for pain as I inquire how and why she has come into my household."

Girl attempted to back away. But the age of the one holding her leash had not affected the strength of the arm holding it.

The two females that had been sitting as her feet swiftly rose. Grasping her at wrist and underarm. The door in the wall opened outward as the elder woman turned towards it and the four of them walked in. Girl having no choice as the three women had her well in hand.

This inner room was another guardroom, identical to the first. Except the two guards in this one were female.

Girl almost peeing herself with fear when she heard the steel door slamming behind her, heavy bolts sliding into place.

They dragged her through a delicately tilled room beyond another steel door that was right out of the Arabian Nights. Complete with Arabic columned archways, stone figurine walls and concave ceilings. But they dragged her through all this beautiful architecture and into another doorway.

The senior woman unlocked the door with keys from a pocket and they dragged Girl inside. Girl saw this was just a store room piled high with bags, bales and unused furniture. They hauled her over to an old iron bed frame leaning up against a wall, turned her around and shoved her backwards it.

And Girl found it was not just an old bed frame as it had handcuffs attached to its four corners. They pulled her hands up and out. Physically lifting the poor little struggling girl up, pinioning her thin wrists outstretched wide, then letting her body go.

Girl cried out as the thin metal of the handcuffs bit into her wrists. Learning that keeping her body still greatly reduced the painful chaffing of her wrists.

“Strip her.” The matriarch instructed.

The two moved in close, each slipping a curved knife from under their clothing. And begun slicing Girls clothing off, careful not to cut their captives skin.

Once they had her nude, one reached out and picked up a simple plastic spray bottle and carefully applied a clear liquid all over Girls body. While the other pulled each of her ankles out to a point were they were almost dislocated before fastening them in place with another pair of handcuffs.

“Your body has been carefully built up with diet and exercise girl for years.” The senior woman noted. ”Requiring the provision of more and finer food than would be expended on any native girl in Afghanistan.”

“Who are you girl?” She inquired.

“I am from Peshware near the Iranian border.” Girl replied.

“Wrong answer girl.” Her inquisitor replied.

She nodded and one of the others stepped up, fastening alligator clipped leads to first Girls nipples then her quim.

The one on the receiving end of this attention began to breathe in short gasps as her eyes focused on the lead tormentor.

The matriarch stepped back and pointed towards Girl with her right index finger.

And Girl screamed and screamed and screamed.

Her thin little body writhing in pain as electric shocks coursed though body, emanating from her tenderized nipples and quim.

"This is how the Russian secret police tested my threshold for pain when I was about your age girl." The matriarch informed the sobbing girl a few seconds later. ”For twenty four hours I endured it. My only rests those times he and his fellows were raping me.

"Again, you are?" Her inquisitor asked the helpless captive.

“I am from Peshware near the Iranian border.” Girl sobbed. "Please believe me."

Girl saw her tormentors right hand rise and her extended index finger jab towards her.

"Nooooooooo!!!!!!" Girl cried out until that sound was replaced by her screaming.

Girl's mind swam up from the bottom of an unknown body of water. Gasping for air as she finally broke surface.

"A true Afghan girl would answer something like. Farsiwan, from Barati through Marba." The matriarch informed her. "Giving first her Persian tribal origin, Farasiwan or Speaker of Persian from the Iranian. Then Barati your sub-tribes originator from the Iranian and finally Marba her fathers family name."

"Anyone bothering to ask that question is only interested in your bloodline girl." She added. "And will give you a name to answer too. If they decide you are of sufficiently worthy breeding stock to acquire."

"The index finger of her tormentors left hand pointed towards her as she added. "Remember to supply that information next time you are asked who you are girl. And in Persian, not Arabic Pharisee, if I decide to let you survive this, that is."

Again three pairs of uncaring eyes watched as the sweating body of a little preteen girl writhed in agonizing pain. As soul wrenching screams filling the storage room.

Slap!, Slap!, Slap! A strong hand relentlessly played back and forth across Girls face until her eyes opened and her head came up.

"I have just held a fascinating conversation with a ten year old girl named Natalie." Girl's inquisitor informed her.

"She told me corrupt police in her French hometown had just massacred her entire family. And she was hiding out with a neighbor she was terrified was going to rape her."

"That was from a storybook I was reading. Just before my parents informed me I was being given to an already married cousin twice my age. In order to cement a business deal between our families." Girl lied.

"The one who directed her torture looked into her tear-filled eyes.

"Who are you?" Again the one who held her future in her hands inquired.

If she raised her hand again, Girl knew. The young woman standing beside the whirring generator would press a button. Causing the leads attached to her nipples and quim to be re-energized.

And Girls voice would fill the store room torture chamber with screams of pain as her little preteen body arched and writhed on the iron bed frame it was securely fastened too.

Blood already dripped from her wrists and ankles were the metal handcuffs had bitten into her skin as her body frantically jumped and arched to the limits they allowed it movement in pain.

"Farsiwan,from Barati though Marba." Gapped her victim in highborn Persian through trembling lips between gasps for air.

The late middle aged woman directly in front of the helpless little girl seemed to just stand there studying every inch of her exposed sweat streaked body.

Would she continue the torture until Girl was dead or just enough so her mind and body was irreparably damaged?

“You are a fast learner girl.” The elder woman informed her victim.” And full of contradictions.”

“Your body shows it has been generously fed while it displays none of the calluses or wear it should have if it was required to work hard for its fare.”

“Your approximately twelve years old by the swelling of your buds girl.” She continued as her fingers circled Girls chest sproutings. “And have endured a very expensive electrolysis treatment to permanently remove the hair from every part of your body except your head.”

The woman’s hands roamed over Girls sweating trembling form as she talked. Pressing at hip, fingers probing leg muscles, caressing thigh and the prominent love mound between her legs.

“Heat up the branding irons.” She turned her head and ordered.

Girl cried out and her tormentors’ strong fingers gripped her chin.

“And you have been taught many more languages than any simple Afghani girl would ever be.” She noted. “As my instruction to heat the branding irons was in English.”

“Only those young females who have been chosen to serve as either bodyguard concubines, as my two.” She noted as she turned around pointing at her two companions.” Or ones sent to learn the skills of the Old Man of the Mountain are so prepared.”

Girl, through tear filled eyes watched as the younger ones stripped themselves down, including the wigs from their shaven heads, while their hairless oil glistening bodies moved closer to her bound little form.

“These twin girls were found to be only in love with their own gender by their parents when they were only ten years old.” The matriarch said. “I took them in and after preparing as you were. Then, sent them on to my master for his special training, as I was by my own mother years earlier.”

“Even their touch is death.” She continued. “As the oil glistening on their skin is a deadly contact poison to everyone not acclimatized to it as we three are.” Created from the Nile Asp, it kills in less than a minute by stopping the heart and has no known antidote.

Then her torturer stood back, taking in the whole of Girls being, as if for the first time.

A smile, without any accompanying warmth in her eyes, slowly crept across her worn face and Girl feared for her very life.

Were branding irons really going to be pressed into her young flesh? Or was it to be the razor sharp knives wielded by those two assassins going to start peeling the skin from her young body? According to her master, that was the training the original “Old Man on the Mountain” gave to his fanatical adherents during the Crusades.

Girl knew there was no way she could hold out against that kind of torture. And not reveal who she and her master really were and why they were here in Kabul.

"Release her." She instructed. "Clean her up and bring her to my dayroom."

The reaction to this order was evidenced by the look of surprise on each of the females in the room's faces. No more so than on Girls.