"Ride The Donkey" - prepare to be shocked...

"Ride The Donkey

(The Biography of a Precocious Urchin turned killer COP.)

Book One - The Early Years.
(Birth to 18 years of age.)

Introduction.

This is Book One of the life and times of a COP ('Covert Operator'), operating for his own country, and freelancing. To understand Book Two, and get a feeling of his disdain for 'Authority', his desire for adventure, amoral callousness, what drove him, and his outlook on life, it is necessary to read this first book. The term 'Covert Operator' is really a euphemism for 'Government Assassin'.

What turns a normal human being into delighting in suffering the hardships, and the ever-present danger of torture and death ' from not only his enemies, but his own employers? And what turns someone into an amoral, coldly calculating killer? Read on, but be warned you WILL be shocked.

Prologue

It was purely by chance I attended that funeral. I happened to be passing the roadside cemetery and wondered who was being buried with only the minister and two mourners present...

My natural instincts as a reporter caused me to pull into the church parking lot and join the small group by the grave in silence. As the Minister reached the crucial point in the burial service, so two suitably attired members of the local funeral parlour staff moved out from the shadows and silently lowered the coffin into the grave.

Recognising one mourner as the local hospital Registrar, with the ceremony over, I walked the short distance to the parking area with her and her female companion. After a respectful silence, I asked the Registrar, "Who was he? She stopped, looked enquiringly at me, and hesitated a moment before replying '

"You work for the Daily Herald don't you?

"I do some work for them, yes. I waited for her to continue. She looked at me again, and then tapped her chin two or three times in thought. Having made up her mind she spoke again:

"Do you have time for coffee? Something in her tone indicated it would be in my interest to make time. I replied in the affirmative.

Over a hot drink I learned from the Registrar that the deceased gentleman was something of a mystery. He had presented himself at Accident and Emergency some six weeks earlier, in a very weak state. He was suffering from cancer, which had spread throughout most his body organs. He refused to identify himself, and had no form of identification among his possessions.

He had obviously been a man of considerable means, and was used to being in a position of authority. All he would say was that he had no close relations, and those he did have were under the impression that he had died many years ago. He wanted it to remain that way

As it was obvious the cancer was too far advanced to treat, and it was a matter of days only before he would succumb to the inevitable, he was placed in the care of the St. Elizabeth Hospice nurses. He was a gentleman in every respect, and had asked and paid for, a quantity of writing materials. Receiving them, he set to work and first wrote a rather strange Will. He requested that a lawyer, religious minister, and hospital representative be present to witness his signing it, and to confirm that he was of sound mind.

The Registrar stated she had attended as representing the hospital. The deceased had signed the document with a cross, and thumb print. As near as she could recall, the Will stated the following:

"The owner of this thumb print, being of sound mind requests that the contents of the safety deposit box opened by the attached key be sold, and the proceeds used to build a new hospital to serve the underprivileged of the County. The balance is to be put into trust, and used to pay for the staffing of the hospital. A committee of five local residents of good character, and below average means, must be chosen by the witnesses here present, to oversee administration of the funds. As members of the trust leave or die, they are to be replaced by a person of similar standing, chosen by the remaining members. Members of the trust will pay themselves one new penny annually for their services.

In return for this bequest, I request the following: No mention is made of my bequest. No efforts will ever be made to trace my identity in any way. And my remains will be disposed of quietly in an unmarked grave.

The Registrar continued, saying the mystery patient had produced the key, and had written down the location of the security box, and provided the two codes needed to gain access to it. She paused in her narrative, having departed that information, then said,

"Now comes the strangest part. Over the next days, he spent every spare moment, and virtually every last bit of his energy in writing a manuscript. He never let anyone read what he had written. He never finished it. I saw him the morning he died. He was too weak to write any more. He beckoned me close and whispered, 'That writing of mine, can you ' can you ''. He never finished, but fell asleep. He never wakened from that sleep. She paused again and moved uncomfortably before continuing '

"Well, I took charge of the papers there and then. Having read some of the writing later, I was at a loss as to what to do. At first, I thought I should burn them. You see they are ' well ' shall we say they contain some rather shocking disclosures. I really have no idea what he was going to ask me to do with them. She hesitated again. "Perhaps you would like to see them? Maybe you may know what is best to do with them. You see I found them very shocking ' yet he literally gave his last life's breaths to get them written.

My curiosity was fully aroused, and I had difficulty in containing my excitement. I asked, "What about the safety deposit box?

This put her in a quandary. "I must ask that you treat what I say as given in the utmost confidence for the present. Can I have your assurance on that?

I sensed she was almost afraid to tell me, yet bursting to share her secret with somebody. I assured her anything she said was completely off the record, and would remain so until such times as she may be happy for anyone else to know.

She moved closer to confide in a whisper, "That deposit box was in the Grand Cayman Isles. The lawyer and priest went to check it out. Well ' well it ' it contained dozens of diamonds. She added as if unable to believe it herself, "There are millions of pounds worth. MILLIONS. At least FIVE HUNDRED MILLIONS they say. She hissed the last mount out. "God knows. The lawyers are looking into it now, but it seems everything is totally legal. They say it will take some time, but they are confident the proceeds will legally end up being administered for the building of the hospital the blessed gentleman wished for.

In a state of excitement, I returned with her to view the manuscript secreted in her safe. She handed it to me. In doing so, and bidding me to do with it as I thought best, I think a great load was lifted from her mind. I took it home, and that evening set to reading it.

Dawn was breaking as I read the final paragraph of the amazing manuscript. Letting the bulky collection of hand-written foolscap pages rest on my lap, I sat silently contemplating the author. Who was he? Could what I had just read be true? Could it be otherwise! Surely, nobody would make such a story up, or want to do so? With life leaking out of them fast, would anyone spend their last precious hours meticulously writing down a catalogue of lies with absolutely nothing to gain?

Stretching, yawning, rubbing tired eyes, I came to a sudden conclusion ' I would get it published. There was bound to be some publisher somewhere that would take it on. Any man that donated enough money to build and equip a full sized modern hospital deserved to have his last words at least partially immortalised.

Being a freelance reporter has its drawbacks, but on this occasion I was pleased I owed no allegiance to any particular editor. I wanted this manuscript published word for word, just as it stood - including grammatical errors and Anglo Saxon expletives - not hacked about, added to, or edited to suite the whims of some national newspaper editor. The story you are about to read is a word for word copy of the one I read that night in early May.

Be warned: It is absolutely raw. It is a 'no punches pulled' and 'just as it happened' frank record of one man's life. (And what a man). It is in no way reading suitable for minors, prudes, or the faint-hearted.

Whilst the early pages mostly give an illuminating historical insight into life in England during the 1930's and 1940's for those country kids born into poverty, do not be lulled into any sense of security. As the story unfolds, the many explicit sex situations are so graphically described in some profusion, that the combined contents of the Karma Sutra, Marquis de Sade, James Joyce, and Arthur Miller's works pale into insignificance. This is 'hands on' and unexpurgated.

The first part - 'Book One' ' is what many will consider a catalogue of evil. It is the biography of a youth hell bent on monetary gain and sexual self-gratification. And of the mostly teenage nymphomaniacs who formed his stable of call-girls, whores, and adult-show performers. He made the girls rich, and in doing so amassed a fortune of his own whilst still a teenager.

From the start he sets out the motives that drove him. Why he did what he did, and why he became what he was. He puts it all down to the corrupt society in which he existed. His outlook on life, disdain for 'Authority', his desire for adventure, amoral callousness, all stem from what he saw as abuse of authority whilst he was still a juvenile.

This record of the first part of his life goes some way to explain why he later chose the life of a COP (covert operator), working both for his country, and freelancing for others. And why he chose to undergo the rigorous training, then suffer the hardships and the prospect of living with death as an ever-present fellow traveller.

The title - "Ride The Donkey can be taken as his alluding to the 'Law is an Ass', and how he rode it with disdain. Equally, it could refer to his 'Sexual Pleasure Machine' - in the form of a donkey, and used in bawdy female competitions to see 'what a woman could take!' Then again, it may refer to his own generous ten inches by seven inches sexual endowment, which was eagerly sought by many of the female gender - and just as eagerly used by him to pleasure them¦

Truth? Fiction? You decide¦ but

Prepare to be SHOCKED

Look out for part two. Check " www.justudare.f2s.com " for more information.