Chapter 18

18
OPERATION TWELFTH NIGHT

The black wagon carrying Mehdi and Ibthisham from the quayside stopped right under the nose of the EMB170 aircraft on the tarmac. It was dark around and the lights turned down on a quiet and deserted airport. A couple of military personnel took Mehdi straight up to the Embraer, still in handcuff.

Sergeant Usha, a short police staff climbed the truck with two female constables. Its cabin lights lit up, “Strip her!” she ordered, as of common practice among the police.

“I won’t,” protested Ibthisham, “I won’t remove my clothes!”

They tore her clothes. Tied the top piece coiled on her handcuff to the safety grip stretching her arms at full length. Her trousers and panties dropped to the ankles. She was clean shaved and body waxed since the wedding. The officers crawled like cats inside the wagon trying to pin her down on the seat. She screamed on top of her voice. Sergeant Usha slipped on a surgeon’s glove to her right hand. One girl almost climbed on her top in an effort to spread her naked legs apart. Sergeant Usha gathered Ibthisham’s right thigh between her legs and knelt down. “I have seen no cunt this big.” Usha inserted the middle finger into her vagina pretty deep just like the way they checked on suspected drug peddlers who carry bullets inside their anus and vagina at the airport. Her screams died at once.

“Piss to the bottle!” demanded the sergeant.

Ibthisham pissed to the whole seat.

Sergeant Usha slapped her on the face, “Bitch!” She collected urine and capped the bottle. She spat at the girl’s vagina and wiped her tongue on the genitals. “A native islander would require for wash.” The three officers left the wagon with the cabin lights on for the passing military to peep at the tall skinny woman totally stripped. Ibthisham turned her back on to the door and stand on a knee placed on the seat to reduce stretch on her arms.

An hour later, Ibthisham heard the engines of the aircraft whistling and turbofans turning then fired to aerodynamic noise. Someone in blindfold was helped up the stairs by three military officers. It was the Atoll Minister but she could not tell. Later some more military climbed up the stairs. Some carried suitcases. Among them there was a civilian in white shirt, free of bonds. She was able to identify him as Mr Streetboy. A moment later, military personnel climbed down and the staircase was rolled away. Door shut.

The driver climbed the wagon and switched on the headlights. The beam struck on a voluptuous figure of a whitish woman standing stark naked on the tarmac. She was escorted by Sergeant Usha and the two female officers. The naked woman was decorated in traditional ornaments; the long golden necklace around the neck and the silver girdle on her broad vibrant hip weighing two heavy silvery lockets. She was handcuffed from the rear and bangles on her wrists.

“Om Shiva!” cried Ibthisham, “My mom!”

The male driver muttered, “Is that your mother, nudy?” Ibthisham said nothing.

He laughed and dropped a hand on her butts to pat her. She flicked away and he groped in her private parts in a rapid motion.

Layla Thoif climbed the wagon car to find her daughter seated harshly naked and her arms tied to the safety grip. “Ibthisham!” cried Layla, “You brought her here?” She got seated awkwardly on the damp seat. Her hands cuffed from behind. “She’s my daughter.”

Sergeant Usha had her very first experience of sexual intercourse with her own father, a drug addict. In 2004, she worked at a resort when the tsunami hit the Maldives. Her mother called her to come home quickly. Usha told the manager, “Dad’s gone broke with another gal. Mom’s crying like hell, one kind of a wave breaks in on the island and mom wants me home. It sucks!” The manager hurriedly discharged the doper from job. The entire working community was intoxicated. Usha joined the police and in seven short years got promoted to a sergeant, still an addict. She got a scar on her shoulder from a box-cutter in a fight that involved another police girl in Lam Atoll, Haddummathi.

Usha raised her voice over the roaring engines, “How come this be your daughter?” A military officer in a fluorescent vest was marshalling the aircraft out.

“She’s my daughter,” Layla replied.

“What are you both doing here?”

“Answer me that.”

“I have orders to take you to Hulumalé.” Usha told the other staff, “In that case bring her clothes.” She then removed their handcuffs.

Mother and daughter hugged. Ibthisham hastily dressed and remembered a moment of the tsunami day. The aircraft slowly slipped away.

In a moment the police girl arrived with Layla’s clothes; libas and fàli. The doors slammed with Sergeant Usha and the police girls. The wagon rolled on.

Usha glanced at Ibthisham in her torn clothes, “I’m Usha, What’s your story?” Ibthisham stared at the aircraft disengage its wheels from the runway and took in flight efficiently.

“Where are they taking my husband?” enquired Ibthisham.

“Fua Mulak,” replied Usha.

“What’s the time?”

“Three thirty-five.”

Ibthisham watched for a long moment until the lights disappeared. By then the wagon was heading to climb the motorway. Usha listened to their stories that night during the ride and felt deeply sorry.

As news spread in the local television delivered by Madam Keshàe that an aircraft carrying five civilians, three crews and a negotiator onboard left for Fua Mulak Island under documented conformity that no civilian would be harmed. People already knew the names of the six civilians precisely from other sources like CNN and media. And that they carried thirty-five million dollars from the national treasury.

Concerned bureaus then informed international sources like the Pentagon, MI6, EU, Australia, China and India that Flight DU191 of the model aircraft Embraer EMB170 had flown MLE – FUA (ETD 3:35 – ETA 4:10) on December 13th with civilians onboard and that Maldivian Government bore responsibility over mode of embargo or violation that might obstruct flight route by civil or military intrusion by internal or international sources.

Aboard the flight, ironically, the hostages were buckled to the economy seats. None were handcuffed or blindfolded. Only six civilians and unknown three crews were onboard. When the flight began a military officer instructed the hostage of passengers to cooperate fully to the orders of the adversary once the flight landed at the destination of Fua Mulak Island. Then they were all gone. Some began sacrifices inevitably reciting prayers aloud. Nobody could have thought to live this day to tell of fear haunting inside their souls on the flight of death. An eerie flight with seven rows of passenger seats and the rest removed.

Abruptly, a young female voice of feeble quality belonging to a native islander broke the silence on the intercom. Everyone knew her voice in her late teens who converted to Christian faith. And none other than Mr Mohamed Faizal who could distinguish her voice of his own daughter. Filaha Faizal sang ‘Must Life Be Like This’ from the Story of Jesus and in Divehi lyrics. She was the youngest daughter of the Tourism Minister.

Streetboy protested. He stepped to the cockpit door and banged on it. He shook his head unbelievably because it was the crew playing this Christian song on the night of terror.

 

Major General called the Prime Minister of India to assure that he got a plan documented and bearing the signatures of the adversary to end the siege in a civil manner and for once this opportunity should be given chance for trial.

“Not for granted,” Prime Minister Lotus spoke on the hotline connection, “our friend on the receiving end won’t like it.” He referred to the United States.

“I understand, sir,” Major General responded, seated behind a huge oak table at his office in Girifushi Island – the nerve centre, “I am not referring to them or take their advice or follow their instruction.”

“Go ahead,” replied the Prime Minister in his deep dangerous voice.

“We placed a request to knock out the cocks,” he referred to those enemy vehicles in Fua Mulak. “What about it?”

“Approved...” the line went dead.

Prime Minister Lotus slammed the receiver and instructed an orderly to connect him to the Air Chief Marshal General of Bharatiya Vayu Sena. Once he got connected, he laid down a command that happened to be unmistakably the smartest one in his career as Prime Minister of India that eventually made his nation one of the greatest superpowers of the world. The only reason that failed India to be regarded as a superpower was the fact that it got no occupied land. Kashmir was merely a dispute.

Prime Minister Lotus then placed his tall order, “Invade the Maldives!”

 

On that night another girl got brutally treated on the thundi point. Her hair coiled into a fist, one of the mercenaries lobbing his thick black cock into her mouth. She was crying incessantly, releasing guttural noises and fluid, breathing heavily. Another mercenary hooked her from behind. He growled like a lion. Ahmed heard her cries, only sometimes, from great distance. He saw nothing. He was tied to a dowel in the micro-farm field forty yards from the beach and several yards from the girl. Those fat Somalis who ate twice the amount of one person’s meal slapped her bums and fucked her on and on. Twenty-four thoroughbred soldiers screwed the tiny girl several times for several hours.

Jumanah lay unconscious for a good hour after the men were gone. A wind deepened her sleep relieving some pain from heavy injuries on her body and picking hair from the nape. She was bleeding heavily from her mouth and genitals. The men forced rear entry that she had never experienced before.

A tide swept further ashore hitting the naked girl. She opened her eyes to see a dark curtain encircling and a ring of silver lining on the beach in close vicinity. She felt a breeze touch her flesh and slightly jerked her neck to feel the pain. She heard a whizzing aircraft over her head. She searched the starry sky still lying on the beach.

Another wave slipped under her spreading the blood to a wider area around and spilling to the gravel sand as the waters receded. She turned her head to the right. A deepening sky of early dawn shown some light toning gradually or it grew clearer to her eyes. She saw a silhouette of the towering barge lying thirty yards away. She thought the black thing was ugly and evil. She lifted her head in search of the darkness. It was quiet, nobody in sight and no sign of Ahmed. How could he do this to me? She cried.

She began to crawl dragging a leg and keeping close to the waterline not exactly knowing any direction she kept moving away from the barge. She didn’t escape death and not yet. She suffered brutal treatment and massive injuries being raped for five hours continually. She strived with weak limbs and little strength left in her for survival. Waves rumbled in the ears and from time to time an iron chain kept hitting the hull of the barge creating an echo of clanging noises. And over the clamours she heard an aircraft. She could see the clouds in the sky and she caught sight of the narrow line drawn across stretching towards north. It was supposedly an aircraft though not visible. It gave hope thinking some help could come sometime soon.

One of the HAL Tejas jetfighters of the IAF flew over the island. Flight Lieutenant Feroz Daksh observed the situation below.

Jumanah remembered the airstrip. It should be lying to her left not too far if her estimated position was correct. She searched the sky and sighted a signal light blinking in the horizon. It certainly was an aircraft. That instant, lights lit up the airstrip producing a luminous glow in the space. She was below the rise of dunes and bushes so she could not see the airstrip but it helped to locate her position. She hastened to crawl up ahead. By then the aircraft turned to approach and landing lights hit the girl on the seashore. She got pain in the legs but managed to creep many yards south and up the dune. She felt fluid in the inner thighs and touched to find heavy bleeding from her vagina burst open. The light from the aircraft lit up every detail of the thundi.

By then the aircraft was flying very low directly towards her with its undercarriage lowered and landing lights hurting her eyes. She could hear increasing noise of the engines rolling in vortices on the ground surface. She caught her intimate areas exposed in the intensity of lights. She thought it was too low over the sea and banking on its sides. All of a sudden she was thrown on her back, legs spread wide, hands cupping her ears, she gushed out pee as the aircraft zoomed a couple of yards over head and touched down at the airstrip.

 

As it turned out, snipers got no option for dry clothes or time to get rid of diveskins. They changed on the vessel called Ragondi and left behind the olive green T-shirts and camouflage pants. They hurriedly fastened the bullet-proof vests and helmets, cocked the guns and checked the equipment. They lined up in the front hall to make a cross to Doondigam School. Someone by the turn to Funad Pass relayed a signal after checking no APC or soldier heading up this way. Another down on the right angle corner of Malegam Pass flashed a green light and the path was clear to cross the road.

Divers in dark blue diveskins wearing helmets, armed with M25 sniper rifles and MP5 submachine guns disengaged the fortress of Doondigam house to cross to the other side of the road. They scattered through the bushes to line up on Doondigam Street. Once again after observing signals intently, all flocked inside Doondigam School.

Lieutenant Thasneema and the cop, Inspector Jabir, advanced to check on the situation. With night-vision support they observed a dozen of mercenaries relaxing and drinking somewhere much closer to the harbour unit – a shelter on the bulwark. Those tourists were tied two metres from the Browning machine gun that stood on the tip of the bulwark facing the sea, two more mercenaries hanging near the gun. There was no sign of either Zehreban or Fathina. Those girls could be behind the harbour unit shed and they assumed more mercenaries could be out there out of sight. Some locals climbed down from the boats alongside the pier, seated on the promenade and smoked with a couple of police officers keeping watch.

Jabir sneaked across the empty space towards the harbour. He crossed the cargo area and joined the islanders. Had a smoke and chatted for a moment. They could only shape out a moving figure under the lights on the bulwark to the naked eye from that distance of 300 metres. The platform was hidden behind the boats from where Jabir was standing then.

 

At the FBI office on First Avenue in Phenix City, Georgia, John Mueller observed for hours the boarding aeroplane on the tarmac at Malé International Airport, sitting isolated from other aircrafts in the parking area. Geraldton Space Facility in West Australia controlled the most powerful satellites of the United States set up for surveillance of the Indian Ocean and the Middle East. American bureaus of the Pentagon, Diego Garcia, CIA and FBI were watching closely the aircraft EMB170 and even traced a van that carried Ibthisham and Layla Thoif up the motorway to the reclaimed area called Hulumalé but none of the thermal images could identify people.

After the plane left at 3:35 hrs local time, Zaffir and Halym determined to save Mehdi knowing he was onboard called Thinadu hoping to arrange some Enama supporters on a boat and dispatch to Fua Mulak. They succeeded to send a boat. At the same time, a speedboat from Divehi Uduhun left Hithadu Island in order to take care of the aircraft and two more left from Estado Mello Gan. All those boats stopped in the outer waters of Fua Mulak along with other boats and coastguard vessels encircling the island.

Many boats left from the Suvadives in support of Jaws of Sprout, mainly from Villingili and islands of Vado, Gaddo and Kolamafushi. Two of the boats in the Equatorial Sea were hit by QRF7 trying to stop vessels from crossing 0˚ latitude to the south. Three died and one gone missing in the cordon. Maldivian military HQ in Bandèrigé passed information of such nature thus the international sources assumed the situation was rather under control.

As orders received, the Blue Sharks advanced east from Doondigam School to surround the gunners on the bulwark and knock them down one by one with snipers. Meanwhile, FBI and CIA venues observed closely the movement of the mercenaries unaware of an assault force on the ground. A sudden move of a small faction caught by surprise of the watchful eyes at around four o’clock in the morning and a series of incidents took place in the hours that followed.

That was the moment Ushrif caught on screen of one of the monitors hanging on the panel in front of him at the FBI office on First Avenue. Ushrif placed the coffee mug on the table and tapped Mueller, “Looks to me ther