Chapter 1: Choking Hurts ---
I could smell the animal within his body and his stench breath that spewed from his mouth. It was Waba. His anger and saliva ran down my ear to my neck as he confessed my life was ending. I could feel his face against mine, beard to beard, the transferring of heat and sweat. Lucifer had arrived and he had picked me tonight; death was now upon me on a Pakistani hilltop.
Struggling to free myself, I placed my hands over my throat and worked my fingers in between my neck and the rope, trying to free my airway. I moved around, trying to free myself from his grasp. Spinning and spinning, we began to wrestle on the ground. He was strong, and I had been weakened by my journey. Within seconds, I was finally face to face with the greatest Pakistani assassin, Waba. He was within an inch. I finally could tell the color of his eyes: They were black and cloudy from his life on the battlefield.
The spinning had placed the rope on the back of my neck. Waba continued to apply pressure until I began to lose consciousness. My mouth was open, gasping for air, yet nothing was coming out as my forehead lifted up to the sky. Death seemed near as the last of my dreams appeared. There she was.
Dreams and realities appeared that showed Daisy and me at home in Hippie Hollow, Texas, in the 1970s. We were running and playing along the lake. We looked like we were only three years old. She was the only true friend I had ever had then. I had visions of my German-born parents when they were young, in love and extremely happy.
I had learned in college that, when under threat of death and disease, God allows you to think about love, friendships and who really counts in your life during your last few breaths. I could only think of five total true friends that I had in my entire life. You know, the ones that will come get you out of jail anywhere, drive you home when you're drunk, pull you out of a fight just before the police show up—you know, real friends. They are few and far between. Once you get older, people you know are mostly acquaintances at best. It’s just real life.
The love of a parent and a soul mate are rare. With death upon me, I found that I would never feel their love or share life ever again. So, what was it like to lay in bed with a true love and just waste a day away? The birth of a child, it was something I would never experience, other than watching a Pakistani girl give birth ten days ago. That girl took the pain like no man could. Pushing out a small child through that little hole and then cooking dinner a few hours later. Dedication and resilience without the requirement of painkillers. The Rangers look for people like that!
As I began shaking my head mentally from the experience of watching childbirth, the rope was suddenly tightened again around my neck from behind; Waba began bending my neck to the breaking point. I tried to break free as the cold settled over my body. My legs began to freeze just as my stomach knotted. I could feel urine flowing from my body. My God, I am going to piss on myself before I die.
The only good side to that was that my family would never know or see me. When you die doing covert actions at this level, you are never recovered. And, because this was an unsanctioned mission, no rescue was coming. I starting drifting towards my last breath, and I began seeing the beginnings of life. You know, the whole-life-flashes-before-your-eyes thing. This was where I was to see my maker, good or bad. Opening my eyes one more time, I saw Laima standing in front of Waba and me, holding something and crying.
