Excerpt from The Journalist: Attack on the Central Intelligence Agency
The Journalist: Attack on the Central Intelligence Agency
The first man who entered the room was muttering something. His face was flushed with anger and he was sweating profusely, and his hands were fisted tightly almost exploding from the pressure and there was a deep frown on his face. A punch landed on Takdeer’s face, knocking him off the chair. More men entered the room. They started breaking and smashing things. A 15-year-old boy on the corner of the room hit the jug on the wall, and slammed the laptop on the ground. A big fat man, who seemed to be in his 30s, tore the curtains. It was a nightmare, a very scary one.
The mob of angry men is on Takdeer in a matter of seconds, he is beaten badly, and he feels as if his body has received 100 punches at the same time, he is being kicked all over. His face is in blood and his body is swollen and turns black and blue. He circles his hands over his head and jams his legs towards his stomach, but it does not help much. There was too much pressure on his body. He closes his eyes as his hands getting weaker. He stretches his arms and hands trying to cover his face, but the kicks keep coming. He is a tough man, ready to take even a hundred more kicks and punches on his body as far as his head is not smashed. He catches glimpse of a man in black jeans and locally made shoes grabbing his feet and pulling him toward the door. He thought maybe the Walking Dead have come, but unfortunately for him, it was not the Walking Dead!
The mob of angry men keeps shouting “Allah Akbar” and pulls him from third floor to the ground. His clothes are torn and tattered as they drag, pulled and push him around. They grab his feet and hands, while his head and back are rammed by each step. He is in unbearable pain, blood oozes out of his mouth and nose. His friends from the fourth and fifth floors are scared to death. No one dares to come to his rescue. They record the scene on their mobile phones, while Takdeer fights the pain crippling his entire body. He looks at his friends – unable to speak, he begs them for help through his facial expressions. The pain of seeing his friends looking away is more excruciating than the physical agony his experiencing.
As he is dragged down the stairs, his head and his back are scraped against the floor with blood coming out of his mouth more quickly. Many of his friends could not stand to witness this cruelty for more than a few seconds. He is on the brink of losing consciousness, because of the pain and loss of blood, when he is dragged out into the street and the hot summer sun hits his eyes blinding him. The men standing around him are the Journalist shouting constantly, he cannot hear anything anymore, but he knows it is “Allah Akbar” the chant that is uttered before an animal or person is slaughtered. He feels a salty liquid running inside his eyes causing him irritation; he knows it is blood from his face. He is breathing blood, and experiencing excruciating pain.
There was anger and terror in the eyes of the men, long black messy beards going in and out their mouth and a thick coat of dirt over their feet and hands like a black leather jacket. The moment he makes eye contact with one of them, the man spits on Takdeer’s face. They act like they are possessed by demons.
He is beaten badly all over, but he still tries to stay awake, because he knows they are going to kill him. As he watches the men, his back touches the ground and his legs are stretched like scissors. His hands have turned blue because of the bashing he has received. One of men comes from front, with sweat all over his face, and stands still for a minute. He then looks at his face and kicks him hard in the groin. Takdeer is no longer able to understand what is happening. He is getting weaker with every passing second. His body has gone numb and his head feels as if it will explode from pain. He has no control over his limbs. The last thing he remembers is the daylight turning to dusk. As if the day has suddenly turned into night. Maybe he is dead, maybe this is the end.
The first man who entered the room was muttering something. His face was flushed with anger and he was sweating profusely, and his hands were fisted tightly almost exploding from the pressure and there was a deep frown on his face. A punch landed on Takdeer’s face, knocking him off the chair. More men entered the room. They started breaking and smashing things. A 15-year-old boy on the corner of the room hit the jug on the wall, and slammed the laptop on the ground. A big fat man, who seemed to be in his 30s, tore the curtains. It was a nightmare, a very scary one.
The mob of angry men is on Takdeer in a matter of seconds, he is beaten badly, and he feels as if his body has received 100 punches at the same time, he is being kicked all over. His face is in blood and his body is swollen and turns black and blue. He circles his hands over his head and jams his legs towards his stomach, but it does not help much. There was too much pressure on his body. He closes his eyes as his hands getting weaker. He stretches his arms and hands trying to cover his face, but the kicks keep coming. He is a tough man, ready to take even a hundred more kicks and punches on his body as far as his head is not smashed. He catches glimpse of a man in black jeans and locally made shoes grabbing his feet and pulling him toward the door. He thought maybe the Walking Dead have come, but unfortunately for him, it was not the Walking Dead!
The mob of angry men keeps shouting “Allah Akbar” and pulls him from third floor to the ground. His clothes are torn and tattered as they drag, pulled and push him around. They grab his feet and hands, while his head and back are rammed by each step. He is in unbearable pain, blood oozes out of his mouth and nose. His friends from the fourth and fifth floors are scared to death. No one dares to come to his rescue. They record the scene on their mobile phones, while Takdeer fights the pain crippling his entire body. He looks at his friends – unable to speak, he begs them for help through his facial expressions. The pain of seeing his friends looking away is more excruciating than the physical agony his experiencing.
As he is dragged down the stairs, his head and his back are scraped against the floor with blood coming out of his mouth more quickly. Many of his friends could not stand to witness this cruelty for more than a few seconds. He is on the brink of losing consciousness, because of the pain and loss of blood, when he is dragged out into the street and the hot summer sun hits his eyes blinding him. The men standing around him are the Journalist shouting constantly, he cannot hear anything anymore, but he knows it is “Allah Akbar” the chant that is uttered before an animal or person is slaughtered. He feels a salty liquid running inside his eyes causing him irritation; he knows it is blood from his face. He is breathing blood, and experiencing excruciating pain.
There was anger and terror in the eyes of the men, long black messy beards going in and out their mouth and a thick coat of dirt over their feet and hands like a black leather jacket. The moment he makes eye contact with one of them, the man spits on Takdeer’s face. They act like they are possessed by demons.
He is beaten badly all over, but he still tries to stay awake, because he knows they are going to kill him. As he watches the men, his back touches the ground and his legs are stretched like scissors. His hands have turned blue because of the bashing he has received. One of men comes from front, with sweat all over his face, and stands still for a minute. He then looks at his face and kicks him hard in the groin. Takdeer is no longer able to understand what is happening. He is getting weaker with every passing second. His body has gone numb and his head feels as if it will explode from pain. He has no control over his limbs. The last thing he remembers is the daylight turning to dusk. As if the day has suddenly turned into night. Maybe he is dead, maybe this is the end.
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