Post by Deleted on Nov 16, 2023 23:16:33 GMT -5
September 24th, 2023
Beirut, Lebanon
For years now, the country of Lebanon has been deemed as unsafe for outside citizens to travel to. The conflict between Israeli and Palestinian forces was seemingly never ending, there were always risks of terrorists attacks and on more than one occasion, rockets and other airstrikes had reportedly been fired to and from the small Middle Eastern country. Unless you had to fly there to get someone out, there really wasn't any good reason to go to the country.
Despite all of that, David Carroll was in a state of serenity. Taking into consideration his recent loss in the UWL to Billy Danielson and the battle wounds that had still not fully healed, he was in a state of serenity. His coterie that he traveled with, consisting of a handful of the most devote parishioners, as well as a few men whom he listed as being members of his church, but were really more along the lines of private security; serenity was something that none of them felt. Even the former Army Ranger that had recently joined the Church and was accompanying them was constantly looking over his shoulder. David supposed it was good to have someone like that, however being worried belied the faith he had. God would protect him, for his mission was truly a noble one.
Presently, David was traveling in a black SUV with the previously mentioned former Ranger, named Preston Chambers, who had previously spent seven months stationed in Beirut another lifetime ago. The other was a short, stout man named Raymond Wells who had a head like a cement block stacked on a tree trunk neck. David didn't know too much about Wells' former life, nor was he particularly interested to find out. Both men had been recently baptized at the Spirit and Truth Church, therefore in David's eyes, any past sins were washed away by those cleansing holy waters. Between Chambers' constant looking around, David's calmness and Wells' stoicism, the three of them covered a wide spectrum of emotions. David believed that God had brought these men into his life for a purpose, and they believed it as well; at least David thought that Chambers did. There was no telling what ran through Wells' mind.
"Just another minute, sir."
The driver, a young, recently converted Christian named Varinder, called out from the front. Varinder was half Lebanese and half Indian, raised as a Sunni Muslim for most of his life until about a year and a half ago. David had met him five days prior during the first stop of his missionary work, which took place at a Christian church in a poor section of Akkar. The young man had impressed David with his knowledge of the Bible, specifically of the Old Testament, which most Christians outright ignored. Too much bloodshed, David had heard, but he was always of the belief that you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.
He could see the destination up ahead, and was in awe of how big the structure was around. There wasn't too much else in the immediate surrounding area, which was probably a safety precaution. They were headed towards Roumieh Prison, which had a negative reputation, even as prisons go. From what he had read prior, the prison was designed to hold about fifteen hundred people, but the population had been closer to four thousand. The outside was a fortress of beige concrete and barbed wire to keep the residing broken souls at bay. Broken, David thought to himself, didn't mean that it couldn't be put back together. He leaned forward in his seat as the prison grew closer, seeing the gate slowly open to allow entry. There were four prison guards at the gate, two of them visibly armed with rifles across the front of their bodies. What had been a beautiful morning was contrast to the gray colored sky now, seemingly growing more dismal the closer they got to the place.
David didn't speak Arabic, so he wasn't sure what was said between Varinder and the guard who approached the vehicle, but they were let through pretty easily. As they should have been; David had been expected. Past the entrance was a parking lot that opened up on both sides that took up about a fifth of the circle formed by the prison walls. More barbed wire fences on the interior carved a path towards the lot that could possibly fit two-way traffic if both vehicles were small. At the edge of the parking lot, a giant fence ran the length of the enclosure, and in the lot to the left, David could see a group of four people waiting. Three of them wore the standard guard attire, all of them visibly armed. The fourth man, shorter and visibly out of shape compared to the other three, wore a different uniform with a hat that signified he was somebody. Must be the warden, David thought to himself.
The SUV stopped about twenty feet away from the men, kicking up dust that crept up on their shoes. The warden seemed to be the only person that was visibly put off by it. Varinder exited the car first, followed by David and his two-man entourage. The air reeked of a combination of body odor, garbage and the sea, which was only a few miles away from the prison. Their group of four approached the prison's group of four. The guards seemed to tense up at the appearance of Chambers and Wells, but David took the lead with Varinder following closely behind him. David put his hands out, palms up, as if he was the one welcoming the warden and the guards into his home.
David: "Mister Basrah, I presume?"
Basrah: "Captain Basrah."
David extended his right hand, putting his left hand to his chest.
David: "My humblest apologies, Captain. Thank you for allowing this meeting."
Captain Basrah looked at David's hand for a moment before grasping it and shaking. The way that the captain pulled away could insinuate that David's grip may have been too hard for his liking, but David's face did not betray any ill intentions. The captain looked back at his guards briefly, then to David once more.
Basrah: "Do you have the money we spoke about?"
David: "You mean our donation in the rebuilding and remodeling efforts for this fine penitentiary? If that's what you mean, then yes I do. And I presume that you have the release in order for the two young men who have been wrongfully detained?"
The warden was a little slow to catch what David was saying, but he finally nodded his head in agreement. He motioned to one of the guards behind him, who handed him a clipboard with a few pages of paper that the warden looked over, or at least pretended to.
Basrah: "Yes, just to confirm, we have Amir and Youssef Saliba. Brothers, ages twenty-six and twenty-five…"
David: "Cousins."
The warden looked up from the sheet at David, one of his eyebrows cocked.
David: "They're cousins actually. If you look at their dates of birth, they were born less than seven months apart. It'd be impossible for them to come from the same womb given the timeline, unless you're insinuating that they have the same father who impregnated two different women."
Basrah: "…….okay, so they're cousins. You do know why they're in here, right?"
David: "You mean allegedly?"
Basrah: "One of the victims is still in the hospital. There isn't an allegedly about that."
David nodded his head a couple of times, twisting his lips and furrowing his brow.
David: "I was made privy to the incident, and it is a true shame about what happened to that gentleman. Father of four, God willing he makes a full recovery. To wit, I also saw the police report, and the man gave the description of his attackers as being large men with dark brown hair in their twenties or thirties. He could not accurately identify his assailants, so realistically, wouldn't it stand to reason that he could be describing hundreds or even thousands of people in Beirut?"
The warden just stared in response at David, his mouth slightly agape. The guards behind him were expressionless, as were David's two associates. Young Varinder shifted from side to side anxiously, trying not to meet eyes with anyone there as he suddenly felt like he was in over his head. David looked back towards Mr. Wells, who turned and headed back to the car. Turning around, David gave the warden a friendly smile once again.
David: "My associate is getting the donation money. If you wouldn't mind?"
Motioning towards the paperwork, the warden hesitated before handing it over.
Basrah: "I wish to renegotiate the terms of our deal."
For the first time during their meeting, something flashed across David's eyes that would not be considered friendly. The word that would best describe the look would probably be malice. David looked down for a moment, bringing his hands together against his chest, chin grazing his knuckles.
David: "Renegotiate? We had an agreement on a fifty thousand dollar charitable donation."
Basrah: "We had an agreement, I believe it's called 'past tense' in English. New agreement is eighty thousand. Unless, of course, you'd like me to bring this matter to the attention of your Embassy."
The warden smirked at David, turning his head to the guards behind him who matched his expression. Over David's shoulders, Wells came back with the briefcase and stopped next to Chambers, who started looking around. Both men seemed comfortable by the prospect of violence. David, on the other hand, looked back up at Basrah. His head canted to the side the slightest.
David: "Are you a religious man, Captain?"
Basrah, caught off guard by the question, narrowed his eyes.
Basrah: "I am Muslim."
An 'Ahh' sound escaped David's lips as he nodded his head a couple of times. His hands were now unclasped and he held them out momentarily with his palms up.
David: "You are Muslim. I am a Christian. And both are fine, we both believe in a higher power that will protect us. You know…"
David points to the warden's feet.
David: "…this ground you stand on, why almost a thousand years ago, it was known as the County of Tripoli. A Crusader State, do you know what that means? Even if you do, I'll go ahead and tell you. It means that, at the beginning of the twelfth century, this land was claimed by the Catholics during the First Crusade. It's notable for being one of the less violent acquisitions of the Church during that time. Apparently, the people of the land, most likely your ancestors, didn't even bother to put up a fight over their land. They just offered it up…probably even let the Catholic soldiers have their way with their wives while they were at it."
The warden's jaw clench, but David pushed through unfazed.
David: "I bring this up, because it came up in a conversation that I have with a Mr. Mikati at the Embassy just this morning. We had breakfast, you see. There may have also been mention of the donation that I was set to deliver to Roumieh today, to the tune of fifty thousand dollars. He was overjoyed at the generosity that we were showing to their prison reform efforts, so you can imagine his disappointment when he finds out that one of his prison wardens demanded a higher amount. So let me just put it this way. Again, we're both men of religion. Given the circumstances, which one of our Gods do you think will answer our prayers?"
During the last part of David's speech, the warden's face had become two shades lighter at the mention of the man from the Embassy. Beads of sweat began to drip down from underneath his cap. David reached for the clipboard with the paperwork, making sure to carefully slide the documents out before handing the board back to the warden.
David: "Now why don't you bring out the detainees?"
The suddenly pliable warden said something to one of the guards, who unhooked a radio hanging by his hip and spoke into it. David looked at Varinder, who gave a quick nod then continued to look away. It didn't take long before a door opened in the distance and out stepped another guard with a rifle across his chest. After him, two men walked out that had to turn sideways to fit through the frame. They were flanked by another two guards who, despite their guns, looked about as non-threatening as small mouse compared to the two men who walked out ahead of them. They weren't wearing any kind of identifiable jumpsuits as one might imagine, but rather dirty white tank tops and generic gray pants. David smiled brightly at the sight of the two men, who looked more confused than relieved to be leaving their wretched domiciles. As they got closer, David motioned to Wells, who hesitated. David just shook his head.
David: "Don't worry, Mr. Wells. We'll be completely unharmed. We've got Him on our sides."
Wells handed over the briefcase as David stepped past the warden and strolled towards the former prisoners. Everyone stopped, fingers hovered over triggers, waiting for something to happen. The two men looked at David as he presented his right hand.
David: "Amir Saliba."
He said to man on his left, who was only the slightly larger of the two. The man hesitantly shook David's hand.
David: "Youssef Saliba."
David motioned to the man on the right, who seemed a little more relaxed. He shook David's hand as well.
David: "My name is David Carroll. I believe you may have heard of me in these last few days. You are free men, however, there is much good work that we need to do."
Beirut, Lebanon
For years now, the country of Lebanon has been deemed as unsafe for outside citizens to travel to. The conflict between Israeli and Palestinian forces was seemingly never ending, there were always risks of terrorists attacks and on more than one occasion, rockets and other airstrikes had reportedly been fired to and from the small Middle Eastern country. Unless you had to fly there to get someone out, there really wasn't any good reason to go to the country.
Despite all of that, David Carroll was in a state of serenity. Taking into consideration his recent loss in the UWL to Billy Danielson and the battle wounds that had still not fully healed, he was in a state of serenity. His coterie that he traveled with, consisting of a handful of the most devote parishioners, as well as a few men whom he listed as being members of his church, but were really more along the lines of private security; serenity was something that none of them felt. Even the former Army Ranger that had recently joined the Church and was accompanying them was constantly looking over his shoulder. David supposed it was good to have someone like that, however being worried belied the faith he had. God would protect him, for his mission was truly a noble one.
Presently, David was traveling in a black SUV with the previously mentioned former Ranger, named Preston Chambers, who had previously spent seven months stationed in Beirut another lifetime ago. The other was a short, stout man named Raymond Wells who had a head like a cement block stacked on a tree trunk neck. David didn't know too much about Wells' former life, nor was he particularly interested to find out. Both men had been recently baptized at the Spirit and Truth Church, therefore in David's eyes, any past sins were washed away by those cleansing holy waters. Between Chambers' constant looking around, David's calmness and Wells' stoicism, the three of them covered a wide spectrum of emotions. David believed that God had brought these men into his life for a purpose, and they believed it as well; at least David thought that Chambers did. There was no telling what ran through Wells' mind.
"Just another minute, sir."
The driver, a young, recently converted Christian named Varinder, called out from the front. Varinder was half Lebanese and half Indian, raised as a Sunni Muslim for most of his life until about a year and a half ago. David had met him five days prior during the first stop of his missionary work, which took place at a Christian church in a poor section of Akkar. The young man had impressed David with his knowledge of the Bible, specifically of the Old Testament, which most Christians outright ignored. Too much bloodshed, David had heard, but he was always of the belief that you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.
He could see the destination up ahead, and was in awe of how big the structure was around. There wasn't too much else in the immediate surrounding area, which was probably a safety precaution. They were headed towards Roumieh Prison, which had a negative reputation, even as prisons go. From what he had read prior, the prison was designed to hold about fifteen hundred people, but the population had been closer to four thousand. The outside was a fortress of beige concrete and barbed wire to keep the residing broken souls at bay. Broken, David thought to himself, didn't mean that it couldn't be put back together. He leaned forward in his seat as the prison grew closer, seeing the gate slowly open to allow entry. There were four prison guards at the gate, two of them visibly armed with rifles across the front of their bodies. What had been a beautiful morning was contrast to the gray colored sky now, seemingly growing more dismal the closer they got to the place.
David didn't speak Arabic, so he wasn't sure what was said between Varinder and the guard who approached the vehicle, but they were let through pretty easily. As they should have been; David had been expected. Past the entrance was a parking lot that opened up on both sides that took up about a fifth of the circle formed by the prison walls. More barbed wire fences on the interior carved a path towards the lot that could possibly fit two-way traffic if both vehicles were small. At the edge of the parking lot, a giant fence ran the length of the enclosure, and in the lot to the left, David could see a group of four people waiting. Three of them wore the standard guard attire, all of them visibly armed. The fourth man, shorter and visibly out of shape compared to the other three, wore a different uniform with a hat that signified he was somebody. Must be the warden, David thought to himself.
The SUV stopped about twenty feet away from the men, kicking up dust that crept up on their shoes. The warden seemed to be the only person that was visibly put off by it. Varinder exited the car first, followed by David and his two-man entourage. The air reeked of a combination of body odor, garbage and the sea, which was only a few miles away from the prison. Their group of four approached the prison's group of four. The guards seemed to tense up at the appearance of Chambers and Wells, but David took the lead with Varinder following closely behind him. David put his hands out, palms up, as if he was the one welcoming the warden and the guards into his home.
David: "Mister Basrah, I presume?"
Basrah: "Captain Basrah."
David extended his right hand, putting his left hand to his chest.
David: "My humblest apologies, Captain. Thank you for allowing this meeting."
Captain Basrah looked at David's hand for a moment before grasping it and shaking. The way that the captain pulled away could insinuate that David's grip may have been too hard for his liking, but David's face did not betray any ill intentions. The captain looked back at his guards briefly, then to David once more.
Basrah: "Do you have the money we spoke about?"
David: "You mean our donation in the rebuilding and remodeling efforts for this fine penitentiary? If that's what you mean, then yes I do. And I presume that you have the release in order for the two young men who have been wrongfully detained?"
The warden was a little slow to catch what David was saying, but he finally nodded his head in agreement. He motioned to one of the guards behind him, who handed him a clipboard with a few pages of paper that the warden looked over, or at least pretended to.
Basrah: "Yes, just to confirm, we have Amir and Youssef Saliba. Brothers, ages twenty-six and twenty-five…"
David: "Cousins."
The warden looked up from the sheet at David, one of his eyebrows cocked.
David: "They're cousins actually. If you look at their dates of birth, they were born less than seven months apart. It'd be impossible for them to come from the same womb given the timeline, unless you're insinuating that they have the same father who impregnated two different women."
Basrah: "…….okay, so they're cousins. You do know why they're in here, right?"
David: "You mean allegedly?"
Basrah: "One of the victims is still in the hospital. There isn't an allegedly about that."
David nodded his head a couple of times, twisting his lips and furrowing his brow.
David: "I was made privy to the incident, and it is a true shame about what happened to that gentleman. Father of four, God willing he makes a full recovery. To wit, I also saw the police report, and the man gave the description of his attackers as being large men with dark brown hair in their twenties or thirties. He could not accurately identify his assailants, so realistically, wouldn't it stand to reason that he could be describing hundreds or even thousands of people in Beirut?"
The warden just stared in response at David, his mouth slightly agape. The guards behind him were expressionless, as were David's two associates. Young Varinder shifted from side to side anxiously, trying not to meet eyes with anyone there as he suddenly felt like he was in over his head. David looked back towards Mr. Wells, who turned and headed back to the car. Turning around, David gave the warden a friendly smile once again.
David: "My associate is getting the donation money. If you wouldn't mind?"
Motioning towards the paperwork, the warden hesitated before handing it over.
Basrah: "I wish to renegotiate the terms of our deal."
For the first time during their meeting, something flashed across David's eyes that would not be considered friendly. The word that would best describe the look would probably be malice. David looked down for a moment, bringing his hands together against his chest, chin grazing his knuckles.
David: "Renegotiate? We had an agreement on a fifty thousand dollar charitable donation."
Basrah: "We had an agreement, I believe it's called 'past tense' in English. New agreement is eighty thousand. Unless, of course, you'd like me to bring this matter to the attention of your Embassy."
The warden smirked at David, turning his head to the guards behind him who matched his expression. Over David's shoulders, Wells came back with the briefcase and stopped next to Chambers, who started looking around. Both men seemed comfortable by the prospect of violence. David, on the other hand, looked back up at Basrah. His head canted to the side the slightest.
David: "Are you a religious man, Captain?"
Basrah, caught off guard by the question, narrowed his eyes.
Basrah: "I am Muslim."
An 'Ahh' sound escaped David's lips as he nodded his head a couple of times. His hands were now unclasped and he held them out momentarily with his palms up.
David: "You are Muslim. I am a Christian. And both are fine, we both believe in a higher power that will protect us. You know…"
David points to the warden's feet.
David: "…this ground you stand on, why almost a thousand years ago, it was known as the County of Tripoli. A Crusader State, do you know what that means? Even if you do, I'll go ahead and tell you. It means that, at the beginning of the twelfth century, this land was claimed by the Catholics during the First Crusade. It's notable for being one of the less violent acquisitions of the Church during that time. Apparently, the people of the land, most likely your ancestors, didn't even bother to put up a fight over their land. They just offered it up…probably even let the Catholic soldiers have their way with their wives while they were at it."
The warden's jaw clench, but David pushed through unfazed.
David: "I bring this up, because it came up in a conversation that I have with a Mr. Mikati at the Embassy just this morning. We had breakfast, you see. There may have also been mention of the donation that I was set to deliver to Roumieh today, to the tune of fifty thousand dollars. He was overjoyed at the generosity that we were showing to their prison reform efforts, so you can imagine his disappointment when he finds out that one of his prison wardens demanded a higher amount. So let me just put it this way. Again, we're both men of religion. Given the circumstances, which one of our Gods do you think will answer our prayers?"
During the last part of David's speech, the warden's face had become two shades lighter at the mention of the man from the Embassy. Beads of sweat began to drip down from underneath his cap. David reached for the clipboard with the paperwork, making sure to carefully slide the documents out before handing the board back to the warden.
David: "Now why don't you bring out the detainees?"
The suddenly pliable warden said something to one of the guards, who unhooked a radio hanging by his hip and spoke into it. David looked at Varinder, who gave a quick nod then continued to look away. It didn't take long before a door opened in the distance and out stepped another guard with a rifle across his chest. After him, two men walked out that had to turn sideways to fit through the frame. They were flanked by another two guards who, despite their guns, looked about as non-threatening as small mouse compared to the two men who walked out ahead of them. They weren't wearing any kind of identifiable jumpsuits as one might imagine, but rather dirty white tank tops and generic gray pants. David smiled brightly at the sight of the two men, who looked more confused than relieved to be leaving their wretched domiciles. As they got closer, David motioned to Wells, who hesitated. David just shook his head.
David: "Don't worry, Mr. Wells. We'll be completely unharmed. We've got Him on our sides."
Wells handed over the briefcase as David stepped past the warden and strolled towards the former prisoners. Everyone stopped, fingers hovered over triggers, waiting for something to happen. The two men looked at David as he presented his right hand.
David: "Amir Saliba."
He said to man on his left, who was only the slightly larger of the two. The man hesitantly shook David's hand.
David: "Youssef Saliba."
David motioned to the man on the right, who seemed a little more relaxed. He shook David's hand as well.
David: "My name is David Carroll. I believe you may have heard of me in these last few days. You are free men, however, there is much good work that we need to do."