Sanjeet / Ireland

      Sanjeet slowed the vehicle and turned onto the gravel track that would lead up to the farm. Both he and his passenger had been here before to meet the Irishmen and arrange the arms deal. He had received an angry call that afternoon from Billy Finnen. Sanjeet had never met the man but he had spoken to him in negotiations on the telephone. The Irishman always sounded drunk, his voice slurred and his temper volatile. Billy had demanded a face-to-face meeting to discuss the vanload of guns and grenades that had not yet been delivered; and he was demanding information as to the reasons why the deal had gone wrong at customs. He was blaming the arrest of his brother firmly at their doorstep. The Irishman insisted that the information must have been given to the police by the Axe group. Billy Finnen told Sanjeet that he had an informer that worked for the customs office at Holyhead. He said that his informer was positive that the anonymous tip off had come from a man with an Arabic accent.

      Sanjeet slowed the vehicle down as they approached the empty farm buildings. He was worried about what the leaders of Axe would think of him. They had warned him not to go to the meeting with the Irishmen but he felt that he had failed and let them down. He decided to meet with Billy Finnen at the farm, taking just his cousin, Ida, as support. He wanted to try to negotiate a refund of the monies paid, or to take delivery of the weapons. He drove the vehicle slowly into the empty farmyard.

       Suddenly the windscreen exploded inwards. A shower of shattered glass hit Sanjeet in the face. He felt the warm trickle of blood running into his eyes. Sanjeet looked at his cousin in the passenger seat as he slammed on the brakes and brought the vehicle to screeching stop. The bullet, which shattered the glass, had entered his cousin’s face just below the eye; the rear of his skull had exploded as the fat AK-47 ammunition exited, spraying the ceiling of the car red. Two more bullets smashed through the ruined glass, ripping Ida’s jawbone from his skull. Teeth and bone hit Sanjeet in the face and he wrestled with the door handle trying to escape. The door flew open and he scrambled away from the bloody scene and fell to his knees.

       Shamus brought the rifle butt down onto the back of Sanjeet`s head; Sanjeet fell forward and lay still.

       “You two get rid of the car and the dead Arab. I want it wiped down and cleaned before you torch it, now Sanjeet, you and I need a nice long chat inside!” Shamus had used the old farmhouse many times for interrogations. Several high-ranking IRA informers had eventually confessed to their betrayal inside the damp mossy walls of the farm. Many more had confessed to things that they hadn’t even done just to stop the pain.

      Sanjeet had been trained for just three months in a terror camp in Somalia. When he came to the West he moved first to London and then after a visit on holiday, he had chosen Ireland as his home. The men that captured him had been republican soldiers all their lives. The British Army occupied Northern Ireland for thirty-eight years causing a whole generation of men to grow up that had never known peace. The men involved in the Irish conflict, both the Catholic and Protestant paramilitaries, were hardened soldiers. When it came down to business they were brutal men with no mercy. Sanjeet had trespassed into their world and he was well out of his depth.

      He awoke with a start. Cold water had been thrown from a bucket into his face. He was tied to an old wooden chair in the middle of a derelict room. His hands and feet were bound tightly with plastic clip ties.

      “Wakey, Wakey, Sanjeet my friend. My name is Shamus, and I work for Billy. Now Billy is a little pissed off right now, as he feels like you`re insulting his intelligence. He has the decency to sell you some guns, and what do your lot go and do? You only go and get his brother Patrick arrested. Now that is not polite or friendly. So what I need to know from you is where exactly your friends are, so that we can go along and sort this little problem out.” Shamus emphasized the vowels as he spoke, his Irish accent almost sounding friendly. It was as if he was speaking to a child or an elderly relative.

      Sanjeet remained silent. He looked at the floor but he could not disguise the fear in his eyes. He noticed that the old wooden floorboards were stained dark red with old dried blood.

      “I am a very patient man, but we need this information as a matter of urgency. I am sure you understand. Where can we find your friends?” Shamus coaxed, his voice was still far too jolly for this situation. Sanjeet looked at Shamus and shrugged his shoulders. Shamus nodded to the man that stood behind Sanjeet. He stepped forward into Sanjeet`s line of vision. He was leaning his weight slightly on a woodcutters axe, holding it as if it were a walking cane. He had an almost inane grin on his face.

      “Now this here is Martin and he’s got no patience at all. In fact I would go so far as to say he`s mad. Now I wouldn’t want to be upsetting Martin, if I was you. The doctors have told Martin`s family not to let him have anything sharp. He is not a full shilling we would say. He’s one sandwich short of a picnic. So I will ask you one more time, where do we find your friends?” Shamus was starting to scare Sanjeet now with his jovial tone. He was enjoying this far too much. Sanjeet wished he could go back home to his family. He decided to try to cooperate.

      “I don’t know where they are. I only speak to them on the telephone. I only do as I’m asked. I`m sorry about your friend`s brother being arrested but I don’t know anything.” Sanjeet now had sweat mingling with the blood that ran into his eyes.

      Shamus nodded toward Martin. Martin picked up the sharp weapon and held it above his head. He smiled at Sanjeet as he swung the big axe. The blade arced down and smashed through the end of Sanjeet’s right foot. The big toe and the two next to it were completely severed. Sanjeet screamed and almost passed out. The pain seared through his brain. He thought about how he had become involved in this nightmare. He had known that the weapons deal that he procured would result in the deaths of many people. Now he was reaping what he had sown. He screamed again as he watched Shamus approaching him. He held a blowtorch in his hand.

      “I told you he was mad now didn’t I. You wouldn’t listen. Now we don`t want you bleeding to death here when you still haven’t told me where your fine friends are now do we?” Shamus placed the blue flame of the blowtorch on to the bloody stump that was once Sanjeet`s foot. The flesh burned and blackened as the intense heat cauterized the wound. The bleeding stopped but Shamus held the flame on his wound, this time he passed out.

      Sanjeet woke up in agony when Martin stood on his mangled foot. He screamed but found that they had stuffed a rag into his mouth to muffle the sound.

      “I am going to leave you with Martin for a while. He thinks he can cut bits off you, and then stop you bleeding from now until midnight. It’s only six o’clock so I have bet him that you’re dead by seven thirty. He’s convinced that he can keep you alive until 12`oclock though; but as I have already told you he is bloody mad.” Shamus lit a cigarette with the blowtorch.

      “No! No, please don’t hurt me anymore. I`ll tell you what you want to know. Please don’t let him hurt me again. I just want to go home to my family.” Sanjeet wasn’t sure if the Irishmen would let him go or not. He started praying that they would. Shamus pulled up a chair and sat opposite Sanjeet.

       “I thought that you might just do that.” Shamus smiled.