bindhertocross
Magistrate
I think I've seen all the Carry On movies...great comedy!!!Have you watched any of the Carry On movies? For a woman under 50, that's a very stylish look.
That's not very nice. And with CNN there and all.
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Stolen Election: A Moral(es) Tale
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
ledoux
Governor
When were the non-odd times, and how exactly did she distinguish between them? Just wondering.
Okay, so now we can put my earlier confused posts to rest. Here we have definitive proof Barbara Morales and our Barb are NOT the same person.
As if we needed more proof.
Last edited:
12.
Block B Courtyard, San Rafael Induction and Interrogation Center, Thursday, February 20, 11:00 am.
Resigned to his fate, Jack Smith, allowed himself to be led out to the courtyard without offering any resistance. He’d arrived there just in time to see the lifeless nude body of Bárbara’s campaign secretary, Maria Sanchez, dragged over to the pallet upon which the corpses of the already executed were laid, and tossed carelessly atop the heap.
He’d also thought, but couldn’t be certain, that he’d caught a glimpse of Bárbara being hustled away from the courtyard.
Of course, he’d thought to himself, the bastards would want to force her to watch someone close to her … like Maria … die. But wouldn’t bother to do the same for the likes of him … just a hired gun.
He’d felt the rough, bullet splintered post against his bare backside as they bound his wrists behind it. And, like brave Maria Sanchez, he’d refused the blindfold … but did accept the proffered long drag on a cigarette.
Exhaling, he’d noted ruefully that they’d brought Madame Rosa out as well.
No surprise there, he’d concluded. Like himself, she’d outlived her usefulness to them. He’d been present in the same interrogation room when they broke her, and got her to sign a statement that she’d witnessed how he and Bárbara had ambushed and ruthlessly gunned down five police officers in the brothel she operated. And how she had knowingly given shelter and aid to both he and Bárbara.
He’d felt no malice towards her. Even offered her a wan smile as they bound her naked, like himself, to the post next to his. Earlier, when they’d been tortured together, beaten and whipped. He’d endured it all, professional that he was. It wouldn’t have been fair to expect the same from her. And what did it matter anyway, they’d undoubtedly make the most, in the coming days, of portraying Bárbara Morales as public enemy number one with or without evidence.
Rosa had returned his wan smile, and then gyrated her hips lewdly … her way of making a parting statement. Then she’d turned away from him, refused a blindfold and a smoke, thrust out her more than amply endowed chest and made a few ‘kissy-faces’ in the direction of the members of the firing squad, unnerving some of them enough to momentarily lower their rifles.
*******************
They came for her again around midday. And this time without bearing any food or drink.
“On your feet, you piece of shit!”
This time it wasn’t Perez and his pals. Someone new, and mean looking. They called him Rodriguez. He was big and muscular, with a fleshy pock-marked face, broad jaw, thick cruel lips, broken nose, small dark eyes and shaved head. He wore high leather boots … unpolished and marked with scuffs, abrasions and dark stains … and military-style fatigue trousers. No shirt.
Behind him … his two assistants, not quite as scary looking, but neither of them anyone you’d get in a car with or let in your front door … stood ready to do his bidding.
Bárbara blinked, then did as she was told. But not quickly enough, for halfway to her feet she received a cuff on the back of her head that sent her sprawling,
“When I tell you to do something, you do it … fast!” Rodriguez snarled in her face as he lifted her head from the floor by a fistful of hair.
His breath was overwhelmingly bad.
He turned to his minions. “Get this slut down to ‘Interrogation C-2’ on the double!”
Moving quickly, soon as their boss had stomped away, they unshackled her ankle, grasped her by the elbows and manhandled her out into the corridor and off to the facility’s notorious interrogation wing.
*****************
In the meantime Capitán de Policía’ Sergio Perez was making a visit to one of San Rafael’s few VIP cells.
“Perez! My God, but you’re a sight for poor eyes!” exclaimed the Republic’s Secretary of Commerce, Felix Gomez.
The Commerce Secretary was reclining on a padded bench, his back against a wall, a cigar in one hand the other on the back of the head of a kneeling naked girl engaged in performing fellatio.
“Come to get me out of here, I assume?”
The girl stopped what she was doing, and turned to face Perez. He recognized her as one of the six young prostitutes they’d taken into custody when they raided Madame Rojas’s bordello in the immediate aftermath of Bárbara Morales’ arrest. He remembered thinking her the prettiest of the six.
“Sorry, Gomez, not so fast. Seems there’s extensive bureaucratic paperwork that needs to be completed … you know how it is … before we can get even someone as high-placed as the country’s Minister of Commerce out of this place.”
“In other words, not until Presidente tires of screwing my wife.”
“That about sums it up, Gomez, but I won’t repeat your cynicism when I submit my report.”
“Well, between you and me, Perez, the Presidente can take his sweet time. As you can see, I’m being treated well enough here. And now, if you’ll excuse me, my charming friend and companion, Consuela here, has a job to finish.”
*************
Bárbara’s introduction to the San Raefel interrogation room labeled C-2 was not unlike what she had anticipated. Especially given that she’d passed through a corridor lined with such rooms the day before when she’d first arrived.
She had to wait briefly outside the room assigned to her while a clean up crew of two women finished cleaning up the blood stains and other detritus left behind from an earlier session. But once they’d finished and departed, her escorts shoved her brusquely inside, and ordered her to take a seat on a metal chair, bolted to the floor and facing a table … behind it an empty high-backed chair. Her wrists were quickly secured with buckled leather straps to her chair’s arms, her ankles similarly fastened to its front legs.
There she was left alone with nothing better to do than survey her surroundings and wonder what might happen next. And as she twisted about in her seat to take in everything, the sheer variety of the instruments of torture available there for the pleasure of her interrogators left her with no illusions about the pain and suffering she might very well be in for.
After what seemed an eternity, but probably was no more than a quarter of an hour, a uniformed man entered, closed the door behind him and took a seat at the table.
He said nothing at first, focusing his attention on the dossier left for him on the desktop, occasionally glancing up at her as he turned pages.
She wondered whether there was anything written on them or if it was nothing more than an intimidating act.
As he continued to sift through the material before him, she looked him over appraisingly. He, unlike the others, did not appear to be a thug. He had an aristocratic air about him, immaculately dressed and groomed … shiny black boots, jodhpurs, epauletted uniform shirt and tie … a Clark Gable in Casablanca ‘pencil-style’ thin mustache … aquiline nose, intelligent dark eyes, dark hair slicked back.
And as he read, or pretended to read, he appraised her as well … thinking her to be both wary and fiercely determined judging by her grim facial expression. Hunched slightly forward, long brown hair splayed over pert tear-drop-shaped breasts, prominent nipples poking through. Visibly tightened abdomen, possibly reflecting her level of apprehension given the situation. Somewhat narrow hipped, or so it seemed, knees pressed tightly together in an attempt, he assumed, to exercise a modicum of modesty.
Eventuality he set the file down. “Allow me to introduce myself, Señorita Morales. I am Teniente Coronel Francisco Zúñiga. We both know why you are here, so let’s not beat around the bush. I have a document here that I wish to read to you. It’s a confession … a statement of guilt for a series of crimes … very serious ones indeed … that you have allegedly committed against the State. Now, I doubt very much that you wish to confess anything. Of course you don’t. But, refusal will force me to order that certain tried and true methods of coercion be used on you … I can guarantee that you would not find these methods pleasant.”
“I’ve committed no crimes, Teniente Coronel Zúñiga … none whatsoever, as you are most certainly well enough aware. And if you wish to torture me, you’ll find me to be remarkably resilient … absolutely determined to deny everything I may be accused of. I will not be intimidated!”
“Well then, Señorita Morales, we may just have to see whether you can live up to such brave, but foolish, words. But, allow me, if you will, to make one last appeal to be sensible. You and I, you see, are very much alike. Of that I am certain … well-bred, educated, honorable members of a privileged elite … my surname is in itself evidence of that, as is yours!. And, I can say to you in confidence … knowing that this room is not bugged … that I am not entirely without sympathy for your cause. Neuva Valencia is in need of change … change for the better. On that you and I can agree. But for the sake of family and loved ones, like many others of my class, I prefer to do what I can to affect change … quietly and discreetly, behind the scenes. In other words, at this moment, like it or not, I’m the best … possibly the only … friend you have.
While I cannot prevent you from going to trial, my dear Señorita Morales. And that you will, irregardless of whether you sign this document. However, if you do sign, I can, at least for a short time, spirit you away from this dreadful place, provide you with a modicum of comfort and solace, good food and drink, decent attire, and excellent company until the time of your trial. I implore you! Say you’ll sign!”
“I appreciate your frankness and well-intended offer, Zúñiga, but I must respectfully decline.”
“Too bad. That means not only must I call for Rodriguez and his two brutes waiting outside that door to come in here and wire you up, but I’m required to sit here and watch you squirm and twist about wildly, in addition to listening to you scream and howl …. not just once, but again and again each and every time they turn up the electric current to deliver another round of incredible pain and sheer terror!”
She closed her eyes and set her jaw, as though to say ‘then, do it’.
He sighed, reached for and pressed a console button on the table top.
Outside, the clomp of heavy boots in the corridor signaled the imminent return of Rodriguez and his crew.
TBC
Block B Courtyard, San Rafael Induction and Interrogation Center, Thursday, February 20, 11:00 am.
Resigned to his fate, Jack Smith, allowed himself to be led out to the courtyard without offering any resistance. He’d arrived there just in time to see the lifeless nude body of Bárbara’s campaign secretary, Maria Sanchez, dragged over to the pallet upon which the corpses of the already executed were laid, and tossed carelessly atop the heap.
He’d also thought, but couldn’t be certain, that he’d caught a glimpse of Bárbara being hustled away from the courtyard.
Of course, he’d thought to himself, the bastards would want to force her to watch someone close to her … like Maria … die. But wouldn’t bother to do the same for the likes of him … just a hired gun.
He’d felt the rough, bullet splintered post against his bare backside as they bound his wrists behind it. And, like brave Maria Sanchez, he’d refused the blindfold … but did accept the proffered long drag on a cigarette.
Exhaling, he’d noted ruefully that they’d brought Madame Rosa out as well.
No surprise there, he’d concluded. Like himself, she’d outlived her usefulness to them. He’d been present in the same interrogation room when they broke her, and got her to sign a statement that she’d witnessed how he and Bárbara had ambushed and ruthlessly gunned down five police officers in the brothel she operated. And how she had knowingly given shelter and aid to both he and Bárbara.
He’d felt no malice towards her. Even offered her a wan smile as they bound her naked, like himself, to the post next to his. Earlier, when they’d been tortured together, beaten and whipped. He’d endured it all, professional that he was. It wouldn’t have been fair to expect the same from her. And what did it matter anyway, they’d undoubtedly make the most, in the coming days, of portraying Bárbara Morales as public enemy number one with or without evidence.
Rosa had returned his wan smile, and then gyrated her hips lewdly … her way of making a parting statement. Then she’d turned away from him, refused a blindfold and a smoke, thrust out her more than amply endowed chest and made a few ‘kissy-faces’ in the direction of the members of the firing squad, unnerving some of them enough to momentarily lower their rifles.
*******************
They came for her again around midday. And this time without bearing any food or drink.
“On your feet, you piece of shit!”
This time it wasn’t Perez and his pals. Someone new, and mean looking. They called him Rodriguez. He was big and muscular, with a fleshy pock-marked face, broad jaw, thick cruel lips, broken nose, small dark eyes and shaved head. He wore high leather boots … unpolished and marked with scuffs, abrasions and dark stains … and military-style fatigue trousers. No shirt.
Behind him … his two assistants, not quite as scary looking, but neither of them anyone you’d get in a car with or let in your front door … stood ready to do his bidding.
Bárbara blinked, then did as she was told. But not quickly enough, for halfway to her feet she received a cuff on the back of her head that sent her sprawling,
“When I tell you to do something, you do it … fast!” Rodriguez snarled in her face as he lifted her head from the floor by a fistful of hair.
His breath was overwhelmingly bad.
He turned to his minions. “Get this slut down to ‘Interrogation C-2’ on the double!”
Moving quickly, soon as their boss had stomped away, they unshackled her ankle, grasped her by the elbows and manhandled her out into the corridor and off to the facility’s notorious interrogation wing.
*****************
In the meantime Capitán de Policía’ Sergio Perez was making a visit to one of San Rafael’s few VIP cells.
“Perez! My God, but you’re a sight for poor eyes!” exclaimed the Republic’s Secretary of Commerce, Felix Gomez.
The Commerce Secretary was reclining on a padded bench, his back against a wall, a cigar in one hand the other on the back of the head of a kneeling naked girl engaged in performing fellatio.
“Come to get me out of here, I assume?”
The girl stopped what she was doing, and turned to face Perez. He recognized her as one of the six young prostitutes they’d taken into custody when they raided Madame Rojas’s bordello in the immediate aftermath of Bárbara Morales’ arrest. He remembered thinking her the prettiest of the six.
“Sorry, Gomez, not so fast. Seems there’s extensive bureaucratic paperwork that needs to be completed … you know how it is … before we can get even someone as high-placed as the country’s Minister of Commerce out of this place.”
“In other words, not until Presidente tires of screwing my wife.”
“That about sums it up, Gomez, but I won’t repeat your cynicism when I submit my report.”
“Well, between you and me, Perez, the Presidente can take his sweet time. As you can see, I’m being treated well enough here. And now, if you’ll excuse me, my charming friend and companion, Consuela here, has a job to finish.”
*************
Bárbara’s introduction to the San Raefel interrogation room labeled C-2 was not unlike what she had anticipated. Especially given that she’d passed through a corridor lined with such rooms the day before when she’d first arrived.
She had to wait briefly outside the room assigned to her while a clean up crew of two women finished cleaning up the blood stains and other detritus left behind from an earlier session. But once they’d finished and departed, her escorts shoved her brusquely inside, and ordered her to take a seat on a metal chair, bolted to the floor and facing a table … behind it an empty high-backed chair. Her wrists were quickly secured with buckled leather straps to her chair’s arms, her ankles similarly fastened to its front legs.
There she was left alone with nothing better to do than survey her surroundings and wonder what might happen next. And as she twisted about in her seat to take in everything, the sheer variety of the instruments of torture available there for the pleasure of her interrogators left her with no illusions about the pain and suffering she might very well be in for.
After what seemed an eternity, but probably was no more than a quarter of an hour, a uniformed man entered, closed the door behind him and took a seat at the table.
He said nothing at first, focusing his attention on the dossier left for him on the desktop, occasionally glancing up at her as he turned pages.
She wondered whether there was anything written on them or if it was nothing more than an intimidating act.
As he continued to sift through the material before him, she looked him over appraisingly. He, unlike the others, did not appear to be a thug. He had an aristocratic air about him, immaculately dressed and groomed … shiny black boots, jodhpurs, epauletted uniform shirt and tie … a Clark Gable in Casablanca ‘pencil-style’ thin mustache … aquiline nose, intelligent dark eyes, dark hair slicked back.
And as he read, or pretended to read, he appraised her as well … thinking her to be both wary and fiercely determined judging by her grim facial expression. Hunched slightly forward, long brown hair splayed over pert tear-drop-shaped breasts, prominent nipples poking through. Visibly tightened abdomen, possibly reflecting her level of apprehension given the situation. Somewhat narrow hipped, or so it seemed, knees pressed tightly together in an attempt, he assumed, to exercise a modicum of modesty.
Eventuality he set the file down. “Allow me to introduce myself, Señorita Morales. I am Teniente Coronel Francisco Zúñiga. We both know why you are here, so let’s not beat around the bush. I have a document here that I wish to read to you. It’s a confession … a statement of guilt for a series of crimes … very serious ones indeed … that you have allegedly committed against the State. Now, I doubt very much that you wish to confess anything. Of course you don’t. But, refusal will force me to order that certain tried and true methods of coercion be used on you … I can guarantee that you would not find these methods pleasant.”
“I’ve committed no crimes, Teniente Coronel Zúñiga … none whatsoever, as you are most certainly well enough aware. And if you wish to torture me, you’ll find me to be remarkably resilient … absolutely determined to deny everything I may be accused of. I will not be intimidated!”
“Well then, Señorita Morales, we may just have to see whether you can live up to such brave, but foolish, words. But, allow me, if you will, to make one last appeal to be sensible. You and I, you see, are very much alike. Of that I am certain … well-bred, educated, honorable members of a privileged elite … my surname is in itself evidence of that, as is yours!. And, I can say to you in confidence … knowing that this room is not bugged … that I am not entirely without sympathy for your cause. Neuva Valencia is in need of change … change for the better. On that you and I can agree. But for the sake of family and loved ones, like many others of my class, I prefer to do what I can to affect change … quietly and discreetly, behind the scenes. In other words, at this moment, like it or not, I’m the best … possibly the only … friend you have.
While I cannot prevent you from going to trial, my dear Señorita Morales. And that you will, irregardless of whether you sign this document. However, if you do sign, I can, at least for a short time, spirit you away from this dreadful place, provide you with a modicum of comfort and solace, good food and drink, decent attire, and excellent company until the time of your trial. I implore you! Say you’ll sign!”
“I appreciate your frankness and well-intended offer, Zúñiga, but I must respectfully decline.”
“Too bad. That means not only must I call for Rodriguez and his two brutes waiting outside that door to come in here and wire you up, but I’m required to sit here and watch you squirm and twist about wildly, in addition to listening to you scream and howl …. not just once, but again and again each and every time they turn up the electric current to deliver another round of incredible pain and sheer terror!”
She closed her eyes and set her jaw, as though to say ‘then, do it’.
He sighed, reached for and pressed a console button on the table top.
Outside, the clomp of heavy boots in the corridor signaled the imminent return of Rodriguez and his crew.
TBC
Last edited:
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
13.
San Rafael, interrogation Room C-2, Thursday, February 20, 1:15 pm.
In a dry, unemotional tone, Teniente Coronel Francisco Zúñiga dutifully informed his prisoner that she was to be subjected to ‘la parrilla’, which meant attaching electrodes to her body, one inserted inside her vagina and the two others, in the form of clips, attached to her nipples. And then to inflict on her a series of prolonged electrical shocks, each one successively set at a more powerful amperage than its predecessor. This to go on until either she agrees to talk, in this case to sign a confession, or the highest allowable amperage is reached. Should that happen without a confession, which he highly doubted, she would be removed to a larger interrogation room equipped with the means of inflicting other forms of torture, such as ‘Pau de arara’ or waterboarding.
“Last chance to avoid such unnecessary suffering, Señorita Morales. Resistance, however brave and righteous, is futile.”
Bárbara shut her eyes and said nothing.
He sighed, then nodded his assent to the three men waiting expectantly behind her.
*************
At roughly the same time in Washington DC the National Security Council reconvened in the Roosevelt Room. Justin Merriweather, National Security Advisor to the President, surveyed those assembled, checking to see that everyone was present. An aide entered the room to inform him that the President and her Chief of Staff, Claire McDaniels, were on the phone in the Oval Office but would be joining them shortly.
A quarter of an hour passed before they appeared.
“Good afternoon everyone. Please be seated. Justin, you may proceed with the briefing. What have we learned over the past 24 hours?”
“Well, Madame President, we have a few options that I can lay out for you. First one is to take military action. The Joint Chiefs inform me that the preparation for that would require a minimum of 36 hours, probably more. They envision a complete suppression of air defenses in the San Rafael region, and then the landing of a force sufficient to quickly overwhelm the security forces at the installation there in which Bárbara Morales is being held, free her and extricate her from the country.”
“Downside?”
“We’d likely take casualties. Our political opposition here at home would seize upon it and cause considerable trouble. Morales might be killed in the operation.
“Other options?”
“State says they can increase diplomatic pressure by rallying allied governments around the world to condemn the stolen election, and impose severe sanctions on Neuva Valencia’s already struggling economy.”
“Too slow, and likely ineffective.”
“I’d have to agree, Madame President. The third option would be a clandestine operation mounted by the CIA. Langley informs me that they have an asset inside the San Rafael complex where Morales is being held. A mid-level officer there … I believe he holds the rank of Colonel … by the name of Francisco Zúñiga. Contact has been made with him, and he’s indicated a willingness to help … namely by finding a way to remove Morales, at least temporarily, from the maximum security section of the complex. It could be risky, Madame President. It would place an awful lot of trust in the ability of Zúñiga to get her to a place where she might be rescued, an awful lot of faith in him truly being on our side, and trust that a CIA team could successfully reach her and extricate her. Nonetheless, that seems in my opinion to be our best option, Madame President.”
“Alright, we’ll go with the third option, and tell Foggy Bottom to apply diplomatic pressure as well. As for the Joint Chiefs, there’s no harm in them going ahead with preparations, just in case.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now, Claire McDaniels and I have something of our own to share that may offer us some hope. Claire has worked through an intermediary in New York City to get in touch with a retired police detective there, by the name of Stan Goldman, who provided security for Morales a year or so ago when she attended a conference there. Seems he and Morales spent a lot of time together … alone in the city over a weekend, some of it ‘intimate’ … his word, not mine … while his partner, whose name by the way is also Barbara, was elsewhere. And I believe Goldman has offered us a useful insight … under strictest confidence … for his own domestic protection … this must go no further than this room.”
“And what could that possibly be?” said Merriweather, his facial expression, along with his words, telegraphing skepticism.
“Well, if Goldman can be believed, Morales …. is intelligent, determined and passionate … absolutely committed to her cause of avenging what Mendoza did to her father and mother, and to restoring true democracy to her country. He believes that she may well be able to withstand torture far better than anyone, including the Mendoza regime, believes. Which, in turn, may buy our special operation, especially if Zúñiga does his part, some much needed time.
****************
She gasped and shook her head from side to side after the contents of a bucket full of cold water hit her square in the face.
She’d just undergone the fourth electro-shock treatment since her ordeal began. Through teary eyes she could make out the cruel face of Rodriguez, who loomed over her, control device gripped in his huge paw … saw him turn expectantly to Teniente Coronel Zúñiga for the go ahead to take the amperage to the next level.
Bárbara had already endured the first four levels. She knew it was going to get worse. But she thought she’d overheard than saying the fifth level was the maximum. She hoped to outlast them … somehow.
It had all begun as her team of torturers came into the interrogation room not long after Zúñiga had offered her an alternative … an offer she’d chosen to refuse.
And they’d moved quickly to wire her up. First by temporarily raising her ass up and forward enough off the metal chair to which she was strapped to allow them to push a wetted cone-shaped steel mesh attached to an electrode up into her vagina. And then by attaching electrodes to her breasts by clipping them to her nipples.
The effect of being then subjected to ‘la parilla’ had been excruciatingly painful, causing her to writhe and squirm about wildly within the limits of her bonds, and to curse and scream until the current was turned off. Only to have it begin all over again after a brief respite, set each time to an ever higher level.
It was as bad as she imagined it would be, actually worse. Just the day before, at the time of her incarceration, she’d briefly witnessed the same method administered to her campaign press secretary, Maria Sanchez. And she knew that ‘la parilla’ had eventually broken Maria. Poor Maria! Poor Maria whom she ‘d subsequently been forced to witness executed before a firing squad. Nevertheless she was determined to withstand the electrical shockings, no matter what.
Zúñiga had indicated his assent. Rodriguez had leaned in to tug at the wires leading to the clips on her breasts. Satisfied that she was still well wired, he’d made a show of holding the control device close to her face, grasping the dial between his fat fingers and abruptly twisting it to its highest level.
TBC
San Rafael, interrogation Room C-2, Thursday, February 20, 1:15 pm.
In a dry, unemotional tone, Teniente Coronel Francisco Zúñiga dutifully informed his prisoner that she was to be subjected to ‘la parrilla’, which meant attaching electrodes to her body, one inserted inside her vagina and the two others, in the form of clips, attached to her nipples. And then to inflict on her a series of prolonged electrical shocks, each one successively set at a more powerful amperage than its predecessor. This to go on until either she agrees to talk, in this case to sign a confession, or the highest allowable amperage is reached. Should that happen without a confession, which he highly doubted, she would be removed to a larger interrogation room equipped with the means of inflicting other forms of torture, such as ‘Pau de arara’ or waterboarding.
“Last chance to avoid such unnecessary suffering, Señorita Morales. Resistance, however brave and righteous, is futile.”
Bárbara shut her eyes and said nothing.
He sighed, then nodded his assent to the three men waiting expectantly behind her.
*************
At roughly the same time in Washington DC the National Security Council reconvened in the Roosevelt Room. Justin Merriweather, National Security Advisor to the President, surveyed those assembled, checking to see that everyone was present. An aide entered the room to inform him that the President and her Chief of Staff, Claire McDaniels, were on the phone in the Oval Office but would be joining them shortly.
A quarter of an hour passed before they appeared.
“Good afternoon everyone. Please be seated. Justin, you may proceed with the briefing. What have we learned over the past 24 hours?”
“Well, Madame President, we have a few options that I can lay out for you. First one is to take military action. The Joint Chiefs inform me that the preparation for that would require a minimum of 36 hours, probably more. They envision a complete suppression of air defenses in the San Rafael region, and then the landing of a force sufficient to quickly overwhelm the security forces at the installation there in which Bárbara Morales is being held, free her and extricate her from the country.”
“Downside?”
“We’d likely take casualties. Our political opposition here at home would seize upon it and cause considerable trouble. Morales might be killed in the operation.
“Other options?”
“State says they can increase diplomatic pressure by rallying allied governments around the world to condemn the stolen election, and impose severe sanctions on Neuva Valencia’s already struggling economy.”
“Too slow, and likely ineffective.”
“I’d have to agree, Madame President. The third option would be a clandestine operation mounted by the CIA. Langley informs me that they have an asset inside the San Rafael complex where Morales is being held. A mid-level officer there … I believe he holds the rank of Colonel … by the name of Francisco Zúñiga. Contact has been made with him, and he’s indicated a willingness to help … namely by finding a way to remove Morales, at least temporarily, from the maximum security section of the complex. It could be risky, Madame President. It would place an awful lot of trust in the ability of Zúñiga to get her to a place where she might be rescued, an awful lot of faith in him truly being on our side, and trust that a CIA team could successfully reach her and extricate her. Nonetheless, that seems in my opinion to be our best option, Madame President.”
“Alright, we’ll go with the third option, and tell Foggy Bottom to apply diplomatic pressure as well. As for the Joint Chiefs, there’s no harm in them going ahead with preparations, just in case.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now, Claire McDaniels and I have something of our own to share that may offer us some hope. Claire has worked through an intermediary in New York City to get in touch with a retired police detective there, by the name of Stan Goldman, who provided security for Morales a year or so ago when she attended a conference there. Seems he and Morales spent a lot of time together … alone in the city over a weekend, some of it ‘intimate’ … his word, not mine … while his partner, whose name by the way is also Barbara, was elsewhere. And I believe Goldman has offered us a useful insight … under strictest confidence … for his own domestic protection … this must go no further than this room.”
“And what could that possibly be?” said Merriweather, his facial expression, along with his words, telegraphing skepticism.
“Well, if Goldman can be believed, Morales …. is intelligent, determined and passionate … absolutely committed to her cause of avenging what Mendoza did to her father and mother, and to restoring true democracy to her country. He believes that she may well be able to withstand torture far better than anyone, including the Mendoza regime, believes. Which, in turn, may buy our special operation, especially if Zúñiga does his part, some much needed time.
****************
She gasped and shook her head from side to side after the contents of a bucket full of cold water hit her square in the face.
She’d just undergone the fourth electro-shock treatment since her ordeal began. Through teary eyes she could make out the cruel face of Rodriguez, who loomed over her, control device gripped in his huge paw … saw him turn expectantly to Teniente Coronel Zúñiga for the go ahead to take the amperage to the next level.
Bárbara had already endured the first four levels. She knew it was going to get worse. But she thought she’d overheard than saying the fifth level was the maximum. She hoped to outlast them … somehow.
It had all begun as her team of torturers came into the interrogation room not long after Zúñiga had offered her an alternative … an offer she’d chosen to refuse.
And they’d moved quickly to wire her up. First by temporarily raising her ass up and forward enough off the metal chair to which she was strapped to allow them to push a wetted cone-shaped steel mesh attached to an electrode up into her vagina. And then by attaching electrodes to her breasts by clipping them to her nipples.
The effect of being then subjected to ‘la parilla’ had been excruciatingly painful, causing her to writhe and squirm about wildly within the limits of her bonds, and to curse and scream until the current was turned off. Only to have it begin all over again after a brief respite, set each time to an ever higher level.
It was as bad as she imagined it would be, actually worse. Just the day before, at the time of her incarceration, she’d briefly witnessed the same method administered to her campaign press secretary, Maria Sanchez. And she knew that ‘la parilla’ had eventually broken Maria. Poor Maria! Poor Maria whom she ‘d subsequently been forced to witness executed before a firing squad. Nevertheless she was determined to withstand the electrical shockings, no matter what.
Zúñiga had indicated his assent. Rodriguez had leaned in to tug at the wires leading to the clips on her breasts. Satisfied that she was still well wired, he’d made a show of holding the control device close to her face, grasping the dial between his fat fingers and abruptly twisting it to its highest level.
TBC
